Moonrise Hunt: Rejected Mates Book 1

The allure of the night of mating has always captivated me, instilling a sense of hope and endless possibilities within the pack. It goes beyond simply bringing the pack together or offering a break from the chaos of city life. Mating nights hold the power to ignite a flicker of optimism, urging us to envision a future that we believe we can attain.

The air is charged with anticipation as the pack prepares for this significant event.

My closest friend, Molly, is visibly flustered by the upcoming festivities.

"I just can't seem to get my braid right," she grumbles, her frustration evident.

Sensing her unease, I position myself behind her, gently taking hold of her hair.

"Your braid looks great," I assure her, although I begin to comb through it with my fingers, offering a soothing touch.

Deep down, I understand that her anxiety stems from more than just her appearance. Tonight holds immense significance for her.

"You'll find a wonderful match, I'm sure," I reassure her, attempting to ease her worries.

"The odds are in your favor this year. There are eleven eligible men and only five women."

Molly nods, finding solace in the numbers.

"At least I won't be left without a partner," she remarks, acknowledging the favorable gender ratio within our pack.

However, I can't help but voice my concerns.

"We shouldn't settle for that," I respond.

"We need more women. The fact that there are so few of us..." I trail off, aware that this is not the time to dwell on the challenges we face as a pack.

Tonight is meant for celebration, a night to revel in the possibilities that lie ahead.

Molly's voice trembles with uncertainty as she asks, "Do you think we'll be able to have healthy pregnancies?"

She is plagued by doubts about our reproductive capabilities.

"The alpha will pair us with someone who offers the best chance of a successful pregnancy," I explain, drawing from the knowledge instilled in us since childhood.

While it is a comforting thought, it also signifies the gravity of the situation.

"I have this fantasy that I'll be the one to triumph," Molly admits, her voice filled with longing.

"To carry a baby to term."

I empathize with her deeply.

It is a rare achievement in our world, particularly under the influence of the Inverse Moon.

Curiosity gleams in Molly's eyes as she inquires, "Who are you hoping to be paired with?"

I deflect the question, feeling as though it would be tempting fate to reveal my desires.

However, Molly sees right through me, a knowing smile gracing her lips.

"You want Vermon, don't you?" she states, her words sending a surge of warmth coursing through my veins.

Of course, I long for his companionship.

Vermon is not only the most attractive man within our crew but in the entire pack, in my opinion.

I have harbored a crush on him for years, and now that I have reached the age of mating, I am determined to be with him, regardless of whether he becomes my alpha mate.

In a world where women are encouraged to seize every opportunity to conceive, there is something undeniably special about having an alpha mate.

Our bond would be solidified by our pack's alpha, and we would spend a significant portion of each month together, during the time when conception is most likely.

We would immerse ourselves in the pursuit of creating life, spending a week in intimate communion.

The thought of spending a week in bed with Vermon every month is akin to paradise.

The intensity of our connection might render other potential partners irrelevant.

"Everyone desires Vermon," I respond to Molly, skillfully evading her question.

"He is the strongest member of the pack and the most likely to father a successful pregnancy.

If anyone from our crew were to carry a baby to term, it would undoubtedly be his mate."

Molly chuckles at the old saying, and I join in, recognizing that it is one of those phrases handed down by our pack's elders, even if it lacks true significance for us.

I possess a vague understanding of the concept of money from books, but it became obsolete before I could comprehend its full implications.

"You look stunning," I assure Molly, seeking to quell her nerves.

She tentatively pats her hair, seeking reassurance.

"Are you sure?" she inquires.

I adopt a soothing tone as I respond, "Listen, your mate has already been chosen.

Your appearance won't alter the outcome.

I understand your desire to look your best, just as I do.

However, trust me when I say that it won't change anything.

So, there's no need to stress about it."

"But it could make a difference," Molly insists, her voice tinged with lingering doubts.

"He could reject me."

I burst intoThe night of mating has always held a captivating allure for me, filling the pack with hope and endless possibilities. It goes beyond being a mere gathering or a break from the chaos of city life. Mating nights have the power to ignite a spark of optimism, inspiring us to dream of a future we believe we can achieve.

As the pack prepares for this momentous occasion, there is a palpable sense of anticipation in the air. My closest friend, Molly, is visibly flustered by the upcoming festivities. She grumbles about not being able to get her braid right, her frustration evident. Sensing her unease, I position myself behind her and gently take hold of her hair. Though her braid already looks great, I run my fingers through it to offer a soothing touch. Deep down, I know that her anxiety stems from more than just her appearance. Tonight holds significant meaning for her.

"You'll find a wonderful match, I'm sure," I reassure her, attempting to ease her worries. "The odds are in your favor this year. There are eleven eligible men and only five women." Molly nods, finding solace in the numbers. "At least I won't be left without a partner," she remarks, acknowledging the favorable gender ratio within our pack.

However, I can't help but voice my concerns. "We shouldn't settle for that," I respond. "We need more women. The fact that there are so few of us..." I trail off, aware that this is not the time to dwell on the challenges we face as a pack. Tonight is meant for celebration, a night to revel in the possibilities that lie ahead.

Molly's voice trembles with uncertainty as she asks, "Do you think we'll be able to have healthy pregnancies?" Her doubts about our reproductive capabilities weigh heavily on her mind. "The alpha will pair us with someone who offers the best chance of a successful pregnancy," I explain, drawing from the knowledge instilled in us since childhood. While it is a comforting thought, it also highlights the gravity of the situation.

"I have this fantasy that I'll be the one to triumph," Molly admits, her voice filled with longing. "To carry a baby to term." I empathize with her deeply. It is a rare accomplishment in our world, especially under the influence of the Inverse Moon.

Curiosity gleams in Molly's eyes as she inquires, "Who are you hoping to be paired with?" I deflect the question, feeling as though it would be tempting fate to reveal my desires. However, Molly sees right through me, a knowing smile gracing her lips. "You want Vermon, don't you?" she states, her words sending a surge of warmth coursing through my veins. Of course, I long for his companionship. Vermon is not only the most attractive man within our crew, but in the entire pack, in my opinion. I have harbored a crush on him for years, and now that I have reached the age of mating, I am determined to be with him, regardless of whether he becomes my alpha mate.

In a world where women are encouraged to seize every opportunity to conceive, there is something undeniably special about having an alpha mate. Our bond would be solidified by our pack's alpha, and we would spend a significant portion of each month together, during the time when conception is most likely. We would immerse ourselves in the pursuit of creating life, spending a week in intimate communion. The thought of spending a week in bed with Vermon every month is akin to paradise. The intensity of our connection might render other potential partners irrelevant.

"Everyone desires Vermon," I respond to Molly, skillfully evading her question. "He is the strongest member of the pack and the most likely to father a successful pregnancy. If anyone from our crew were to carry a baby to term, it would undoubtedly be his mate." Molly chuckles at the old saying, and I join in, recognizing that it is one of those phrases handed down by our pack's elders, even if it lacks true significance for us.

"You look stunning," I assure Molly, seeking to quell her nerves. She tentatively pats her hair, seeking reassurance. "Are you sure?" she inquires. I adopt a soothing tone as I respond, "Listen, your mate has already been chosen. Your appearance won't alter the outcome. I understand your desire to look your best, just as I do. However, trust me when I say that it won't change anything. So, there's no need to stress about it."

"But it could make a difference," Molly insists, her voice tinged with lingering doubts. "He could reject me." I burst into a reassuring smile.

BAILEY

I've witnessed this ceremony every year for as long as I can remember. It's become ingrained in my memory, every word and every gesture. But this time, it feels different. This year, I find myself among the women waiting anxiously to be assigned a mate. Standing in line, facing the men of the pack, I can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. The weight of the moment hangs in the air, as our alpha, Brandon, begins to speak the sacred words of the ritual.

Beside me, I feel Molly's hand searching for mine. I interlace our fingers, providing her with a sense of comfort. She's nervous, but I'm not. I'm filled with anticipation, knowing that tonight will mark a significant turning point in my life. The moonlight bathes us in its ethereal glow, and my heart flutters in my chest. I dismiss the sensation as mere jitters, focusing on the event unfolding before me.

Brandon strides confidently to the center of our clearing, commanding everyone's attention. The silence is deafening, a testament to the respect we hold for our alpha. He begins his address, welcoming everyone to this auspicious mating night. His gaze falls upon the five of us women, standing shoulder to shoulder, before shifting to the men across from us. Slowly, he turns, taking in the entire pack that surrounds us.

"With each passing year," Brandon starts, his voice carrying a tinge of solemnity, "our pack ages." A hushed silence fills the atmosphere, as we all grasp the gravity of his words. We understand the significance of this night, not only for us as individuals, but for the pack as a whole. It is a reminder of our resilience, our ability to survive the trials and tribulations that have befallen us since the Night Weavers unleashed their malevolence.

"In the aftermath of the Lunar Reversal," Brandon continues, his voice steady and commanding, "our pack witnessed a new generation, a generation we considered fortunate. We called ourselves survivors, for we had weathered the storms and overcome the perils that claimed the lives of so many others." I lift my gaze to the moon, its radiant presence serving as a constant reminder of the forces at play in our lives.

I've witnessed this ceremony every year for as long as I can remember. It's become ingrained in my memory, every word and every gesture. But this time, it feels different.

This year, I find myself among the women waiting anxiously to be assigned a mate. Standing in line, facing the men of the pack, I can't help but feel a mix of excitement and nerves. The weight of the moment hangs in the air, as our alpha, Brandon, begins to speak the sacred words of the ritual.

Beside me, I feel Molly's hand searching for mine. I interlace our fingers, providing her with a sense of comfort. She's nervous, but I'm not. I'm filled with anticipation, knowing that tonight will mark a significant turning point in my life. The moonlight bathes us in its ethereal glow, and my heart flutters in my chest. I dismiss the sensation as mere jitters, focusing on the event unfolding before me.

Brandon strides confidently to the center of our clearing, commanding everyone's attention. The silence is deafening, a testament to the respect we hold for our alpha. He begins his address, welcoming everyone to this auspicious mating night. His gaze falls upon the five of us women, standing shoulder to shoulder, before shifting to the men across from us. Slowly, he turns, taking in the entire pack that surrounds us.

"With each passing year," Brandon starts, his voice carrying a tinge of solemnity, "our pack ages." A hushed silence fills the atmosphere, as we all grasp the gravity of his words. We understand the significance of this night, not only for us as individuals, but for the pack as a whole. It is a reminder of our resilience, our ability to survive the trials and tribulations that have befallen us since the Night Weavers unleashed their malevolence.

"In the aftermath of the Lunar Reversal," Brandon continues, his voice steady and commanding, "our pack witnessed a new generation, a generation we considered fortunate. We called ourselves survivors, for we had weathered the storms and overcome the perils that claimed the lives of so many others."

I lift my gaze to the moon, its radiant presence serving as a constant reminder of the forces at play in our lives.

----------

"It took us several years to understand what we now know and accept," Brandon said. "For reasons we don't comprehend, the Inverse Moon has affected our ability to bear children. In the twenty years since the reversal took place, only six new children have been born to us."

This time I'm not the only one looking away from my alpha. Everyone's eyes find the children. When I was younger, we came to the ceremony with family or sought out our friends. But now because our few children are so precious, they're minded constantly by Brandon's mate, Melinda. We can't risk that a parent would decide to try to leave the pack with a child.

"The Iron Claw are a proud pack," Brandon says. "We survived the Lunar Reversal, when so many were killed. And we will survive whatever blight has caused us to struggle to produce our next generation. We'll survive by creating the best and strongest mate bonds possible, giving each of you the best chance to produce children who can survive in this new world."

I survey the men standing across from me. As usual, my eyes go right to Vermon. Tall, fair-skinned, blond hair that he keeps cropped close. Even though I know that tonight is about my alpha mate, he's the only one I can't wait to be with. After this ceremony, I'm allowed to mate with anyone I want, as long as I go to my alpha mate's bed when I am most fertile. But no matter what, I am determined to mate with Vermon.

"When I call your name," Brandon says, addressing the women now, "step forward to receive your mate." My heart skips again.

My heart races, pounding in my chest like a wild stallion galloping freely. It feels as if my blood surges through my veins at an accelerated pace, flowing like a rushing river eager to reach its destination. Is it possible for anxiety to have such a physical impact? I can't deny the strange sensations coursing through me, even though I'm not particularly nervous. I wish I could understand why my body is reacting in this peculiar manner. Perhaps it's a normal occurrence on the night of the mating ceremony. I should have taken the opportunity to ask Molly if she's experiencing anything similar.

"Molly, daughter of Verne," Brandon announces, breaking my train of thought. Molly gives my hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go and stepping forward. It's a familiar scene, one I've witnessed countless times before. But this time, it's different. It's my best friend, the person I've shared countless secrets and dreams with, taking this momentous step. Brandon takes Molly's hand in his, his voice resonating with warmth and sincerity.

"Molly, our pack honors your compassionate heart and gentle nature," he declares. "Your mate will be the man whose kindness matches your own-Harley, son of Peter." A radiant smile lights up Molly's face as Harley steps forward, his presence exuding warmth and kindness. I share in her joy, knowing deep down that Harley is a perfect match for my tender-hearted friend. He's a true sweetheart, the type of person who will cherish and protect her with all his might. Yet, as happy as I am for them, I can't help but acknowledge that Harley is not the one I would have chosen for myself.

Brandon leads Molly and Harley through their vows, their voices overflowing with love and commitment. As they exchange heartfelt words, sealing their bond with a tender kiss, they join the ranks of the mated pairs. The atmosphere around us shifts subtly, the expressions on some of the men's faces turning sour. The realization dawns upon them that one woman has already found her mate, leaving them still awaiting their turn.

Vermon doesn't look upset, though. His expression is one of extreme confidence. He should be confident. I can't imagine he won't be chosen.

One by one, the women around me are called forward and assigned their mates. Finally, I'm the only one left in the line. There are six men still standing across from me. Some of them are looking at me like their predicament is my fault. I raise my eyebrows at them. As if I can help the fact that there are more men than women in this pack!

"Bailey, daughter of Elizabeth," Brandon says. "Come forward." I'm the only one to be called by my mother's name instead of my father's, of course. I'm the only one here who never knew my father. He wasn't from our pack; my mother told me when I asked, and refused to say another word about it. I learned pretty quickly to stop asking questions.

I step forward, and Brandon takes my hand.

"Bailey," Brandon said, "our pack honors your warrior spirit and the fighting skills you've honed throughout your life. One day, you'll no doubt be one of the best female hunters our pack has ever known. Your mate will be the man who can hunt by your side, our greatest warrior."

I know then. I know I'm going to get my wish. He knows it too. I can tell because he starts to move forward a moment before Brandon says his name.

"Vermon, son of Thomas."

A surge of triumph courses through my veins, though I make sure not to let it show on my face, maintaining a composed smile. Brandon, our pack leader, takes Vermon's hand and seamlessly places it in mine. The moment our skin touches, a wave of heat engulfs me, igniting a primal desire within. There's an unmistakable hunger in Vermon's gaze, mirroring the intensity of my own longing. I can't help but believe that he desired this outcome as fervently as I did.

"Vermon," Brandon's voice resounds with authority. "Do you willingly accept Bailey as your alpha mate?"

"Hell yeah, I do," Vermon's response reverberates through the air, each syllable feeling like a seductive caress. I never anticipated that the moment of our alpha mating would hold such power over me. It's as if even the sound of his voice becomes a form of foreplay.

"And Bailey," Brandon's gaze shifts to me. "Do you willingly accept Vermon as your alpha mate?"

"Yes," I reply, my voice barely above a whisper. I find myself locked in a mesmerizing gaze with Vermon, his piercing blue eyes radiating a heat that matches the intensity of his touch. In that moment, I realize that I have never yearned for anything as strongly as I do for him.

"As the alpha of the Iron Claw, I bind you," Brandon solemnly declares. "You have chosen each other freely, and now I command you to fulfill your duty to our pack by procreating, starting tonight and continuing throughout your lives."

The weight of Brandon's words settles around me, intensifying the hunger that courses through my body. There is an undeniable magnetic pull drawing me towards Vermon, a gravitational force that transcends mere desire. It is no longer solely about what I want; it is a shared responsibility, a commitment to our pack's future.

The hunger for him consumes me completely. I never thought it was possible for my desire to intensify, but here I am, yearning for him with a burning intensity. While it is not a requirement to seal our union with a kiss at this stage of the ceremony, it seems that we will be no exception. If only I could unleash my primal instincts and ravish him right here and now. However, I must adhere to the formalities of the ceremony. There are still tasks to complete before I can revel in the pleasure that awaits me.

Nevertheless, he pulls me closer, his grip firm and possessive, and we engage in a passionate kiss. The forcefulness of his lips against mine ignites a fire within, spreading throughout my entire being. His teeth graze my flesh with a sharpness that matches his eagerness, his tongue explores my mouth with a scorching and uninhibited fervor. I lose myself in the overwhelming intensity of the moment, feeling the heat building up inside me, drawing me closer to the edge of desire.

With a mischievous grin, he releases his hold on me, breaking the kiss. "Let's embark on our hunt!" he exclaims, his voice filled with excitement and anticipation.

BAILEY

I barely register the presence of the men who were not chosen, as they are escorted off the field. In previous years, I would have paid closer attention to their disgruntled expressions as they remained behind while the new mates embarked on their first hunt together. However, my focus tonight is elsewhere, consumed by the anticipation of embarking on my own official hunt with my mate.

"Bring forth the quarry!" Brandon's commanding voice echoes across the field. A group of five Night Weavers, their wrists bound and connected by a lengthy iron chain, are brought forward. It was by chance that we discovered iron's ability to disrupt their magic, and I am grateful for this knowledge as it allows us to keep them captive. These five individuals would have met their demise upon capture had we not required them for the hunt. Consequently, we have kept them imprisoned throughout the year. This implies that the hunt will not be a genuine test of their abilities, for these prisoners are far from their full strength. Months of deprivation, both in terms of nutrition and the ability to utilize their magic, have left them weakened. Perhaps they hold onto a glimmer of hope for escape, but the odds are stacked against them. This hunt merely serves as part of the ceremony.

The newly mated couples pivot, their attention fixed upon the prey before them. Vermon flashes me a mischievous grin, and I cannot help but mirror it with my own. This is bound to be an exhilarating experience. The Night Weaver standing in front of us appears to be a man slightly older than myself. A flicker of inhuman panic flickers in his eyes as he gazes upon me. However, I am indifferent to his plight.

To me, he is far from being human. Every Night Weaver on this planet deserves nothing but death for the havoc they have caused. Their insatiable thirst for moon magic, their excessive reliance on its power, to the point of upsetting the natural balance of our world, has led to its downfall.

"Set the prisoners free," Brandon commands. The chains restraining them are released, and without hesitation, the Night Weavers dash into the depths of the woods. Vermon and I share a laughter, well aware that their feeble attempts to outrun us are futile.

"One kill per couple," Brandon declares. "Bring back the body as proof once you've made the kill." He doesn't explicitly state what follows, but we all understand. After the hunt, the moment of our first mating awaits. That is the part I am truly eager for.

"Go," Brandon urges, and we swiftly shed our clothes. I catch a fleeting glimpse of Vermon's physique before he undergoes a transformation, morphing into a magnificent gray wolf. Following suit, I allow my own inner wolf to emerge, finding solace in this form as we embark on the hunt. The wolf within me desires more than Vermon's physical presence.

I match Vermon's pace as we chase after the scent left by the Night Weaver. Although I have only caught a whiff of his scent before, he has been confined for so long that his odor is potent. If the Night Weavers possessed any intelligence, they would have taken measures to mask their scent immediately.

They would immerse themselves in water, rub their skin with aloe, or resort to their magical abilities. Such tactics would prove more effective in evading us rather than foolishly attempting to outrun us. Of course, if they possessed even an ounce of intelligence, they wouldn't have been the cause of our world's destruction. We wouldn't have dedicated ourselves to the mission of hunting them down.

Vermon accelerates, stealing a glance in my direction, challenging me to keep up with his pace. It's a dare I readily accept. I push myself even harder, for I am undoubtedly the swiftest woman of my age. There's a reason why I was chosen as a mate to our fiercest warrior. Perhaps he is testing me, and I am determined to prove my worth.

Suddenly, Vermon veers off to the left, but I come to a halt. He's heading in the wrong direction. I can't explain how I know, but I feel a magnetic pull and that familiar flutter in my heart, guiding me. He continues to follow the scent, which seems like the correct course of action. Yet, somehow, I am certain that the Night Weaver we seek lies ahead, not to the left. It's a trick. Vermon looks at me in frustration, but I shake my head. He rolls his eyes, reluctantly trusting my instincts and follows my lead. I can sense his amusement, fully expecting to mock me later. And he probably will. There's no rational way for me to possess this knowledge.

Then, I catch the scent once more, and it's right upon us. The Night Weaver proves to be cleverer than I had anticipated. He must have taken a roundabout path, doubling back in an attempt to elude us. Perhaps he did indeed cross bodies of water, hoping to erase any trace of his trail. It might have worked if we hadn't taken this route. He stands before us, and as soon as he spots us, he levitates in the air. It's unnerving to witness them perform such eerie feats. However, what happens next brings me immense satisfaction. Vermon swiftly lunges at him, sinking his jaws around the Night Weaver's ankle, forcefully pulling him back down to earth. I step back, assuming my role in this endeavor, as the women assist with tracking but refrain from participating in the actual kill.

That's how the ritual goes, but man, it's frustrating. I don't like being stuck back here, just watching from the sidelines. I want to be in the thick of it, showing my new mate what I'm capable of. I've never taken down a Night Weaver before-no one does until they hit 23. Only the adults go on these hunts. But I'm confident I could handle it. Vermon seems to manage just fine without me, though. The fight is over in a blink of an eye. The Night Weaver lies motionless on the ground, blood pooling beneath him, his vacant eyes staring into nothingness. I look at him with a detached gaze. He got what was coming to him. I'm glad to see him dead.

Vermon shifts back into his human form. I do the same, and for a moment, we size each other up. I can tell he's checking out my physique, just as I'm taking in his. We both know what comes next.

"We better get this thing back," he says, gently nudging the lifeless body with his toe. I nod in agreement. The hunt ended sooner than expected. There's only one thing left for us to do tonight, and we still have plenty of hours ahead of us, but I don't want to wait any longer. I want him right now.