She smiles. “Thanks.”
Upon closer inspection, I notice its rough texture beneath the color—a scar in the shape of large claw marks.
Every woman has tattoos covering various scars.
“You all have them.”
The women at Bloodhound didn’t have visible scars, and if so, I never saw them.
“This world can be cruel to strong women. Our scars are proof of survival, and the tattoos are our way of saying, ‘Fuck you, we’re still here.’”
I always thought it’d be disgraceful and disrespectful to consider my scars as something to celebrate, considering the people I killed to stay alive. I never looked at it as a fuck-you to the people who tried to break me.
There was something uplifting, empowering and validating about being surrounded by a woman who found community in their imperfections. I may not find my mate, but perhaps I just acquired friends.
“Huh,” I say appreciatively. “I like that.”
“Thanks. Are you thinking about getting that beauty inked?” She points to my leg.
“After seeing yours, I might.”
“You should. It’d look really cool. I’m Michelle.” She extends her hand to me, and I take it.
“Jay.”
“Welcome to the Hunt. First time?” Michelle asks.
“Yeah.” I look around. “Did any of you find your mate?”
“No,” one says.
Another one down the way yells, “Nope!”
There are more no’s, until finally, one says, “I did.” I turn my head to see a she-wolf finish putting her hair in a ponytail.
She joins us, crouching. “But let’s see if he can live up to the namemate.”
She’ll make him work for it.
One laughs in approval. “I hear that. There’s an alpha in there Iknowwants more than anything to sink his teeth into this.” She outlines her figure with her hands. “But he’ll be working for it.”
“Girl, tell me about it.” says a she-wolf with a short black bob is clipped back half-up half-down in a claw. The freckles that pepper her nose are shaped like miniature stars. She turns her head to face me. “These men get in the presence of an alpha female and salivate at the idea of our submission. What they forget is that I won’t roll over for just any male.”
“For the right one, I would do more than just roll over,” another says, “just as long as he knows that’s the only time he’s in charge of me.”
I crack a smile at her bluntness. I’m starting to understand why they stay behind. It’s about destiny and duty. They’re meant to lead. And they don’t want to waste any more time unmarked. These are women with goals, visions, plans—all to create change and better their pack.
Which brings me to my next conclusion: They all have luna potential in their blood.
They’re making a statement, a first impression. It says, “I may roll over for you, and only you, but you only caught me because I wanted you to.”
A luna is meant to uphold her alpha’s commands, but this act reminds the male who comes first. These females were leaders prior to their mate bond—and they always will be.
I’m honored to be among dominant she-wolves.
The silence that spreads across the clearing to the forest is loud, but I know chaos awaits me.
I look up at the clouds and notice a storm is passing through. Thunder pounds and crackles and lightning flickers through the thick puffs, adding to the moody ambience.
