Chapter 3

My muscles screamed as I pulled up the totes full of large cans and started another set. Staring at Sylvia's picture made it easier, and I'd pasted every sketch I'd drawn of her on my wall to remind me why I was doing this. I swear I could feel the muscles tearing, but each tear, each rep brought me closer to her, and I counted on my lycan healing to get me there fast. A dangerous practice forbidden in the guard program and one that left my body throbbing with pain and filled with an alarming weakness, while my system worked to stitch itself back together.

But I needed to look the part, and with only four weeks left to go before Sylvia went into heat again, time was running out. That was assuming she didn't get pregnant this cycle and that she'd remain for at least one more. If I were religious, I would have prayed to the Moon Goddess for this one chance, for everything I was doing to be worth it.

Or maybe just to meet her.

Anxiety clouded my mind, turning every thought into one with sharp edges. If anyone caught me, there'd be no coming back to my current, albeit miserable, existence. They might forgive a guard, but no one would think twice about reassigning or exiling a watcher.

Oh sure, they told us we were just as important as everyone else. Each pack member had their role, but they'd already deemed me unsuitable for the hard labour in the fields. There wasn't much respect to be had for supervising the breeding progress. Just a bitter sort of jealousy that had poisoned my mind and body for the past three years, leaving me a husk of a person with no real prospects for life. Until Sylvia had appeared on my screen and made my body her willing puppet.

But if I was being honest with myself, something I was typically brutal about, it had happened long before Sylvia pulled me into her heat. It had started when she'd cried.

Just a few tears, a simple thing, but the crumbling of that beautiful face and the way she'd hid it from the coordinator had struck a chord deep inside of my chest, had revived something within me I'd thought was long dead. A spark of interest.

What reason would a beautiful girl chosen as a pack mother have to be so heartbreakingly sad?

Her place in this pack was secured. She was to be honoured and given every privilege, so why the tears?

Fascinated, I pulled the sketches of her crying from the wall and held them under my desk light.

Beautiful. Her face, touched by sorrow, was so much more real than the joy I'd seen there a few minutes prior. That wasn't Sylvia, this was.

And I could help her. Whatever was bothering her, I would meet her and find out what it was so I could play the hero. I didn't care what happened to me, and the realization hit me with a jolt. My life had been nothing but going through the motions since I'd been assigned as a watcher. I'd resigned to it, but I wouldn't call it a living. If sneaking into the breeding program to meet Sylvia meant my life was forfeit, well, I didn't have much of a life to forfeit in the first place.

With a smile, I brushed the charcoal tear off her cheek as though it were real, and I could touch her. There was a promise in the movement. I might only have my drawings of her for now, but one day soon, I would meet her and see if she reacted to me the way I reacted to her.

"Hey, are you in there?"

Reg. Shit. His booming voice would not be ignored, and he pounded on the thin door to my tiny room hard enough to leave it trembling. Fuck."Um, yeah, just one sec." Hurriedly, I gathered up the drawings of Sylvia and tenderly tucked them into the drawer of my single tall dresser. Moving aside the folded up pants, I dropped them back in place to obscure the precious papers. "Yes?" I pulled open the door, catching the man outside in mid knock. Reg, my would-be best friend. At least on his end. I'd done absolutely nothing to encourage him, and all my attempts at dismissal had failed.

A friendship between us didn't make sense. His abrasive personality had rubbed me the wrong way since we'd met and we had nothing in common. Physically, he was my polar opposite, beefy where I was thin and squat where I was tall, with a thick neck and a buzz cut that only served to emphasize how fleshy he was. With a grin perfectly showcasing his wide mouth, he retracted his outstretched hand.

"Time to get to work, Buddy. Everything's got to be spic-and-span for tomorrow's breeding party."

Right. Fuck.I only hoped my trembling arms could complete the task.

The microfiber cloth slid easily over the gleaming, thick plastic of a stag mask. Its horns twisted majestically above its head. Cleaning up the rooms wasn't bad. Cleaning the masks they deemed us unworthy to wear? Now, that was a stab in the gut, and a cruel reminder we weren't suited to wear the mask.

I decided right then and there that I would play The Stag when I entered Sylvia's room. I would come to her for our first meeting not as a watcher, but as a breeding male.

"Fuck, man, it's clean. Now come help me with these. They want to get started within an hour and everything needs to be disinfected and dry or they'll be pissed," Reg grumbled, moved past me and bumping me with his shoulder.

With a parting look at the stag mask, I placed it carefully on the table, wondering who would wear it this night. I turned back to Reg, who was fumbling clumsily with a stack of masks, his meaty hands unable to work the delicate creases.

Taking half to myself, I lifted my bucket of disinfectant, wincing as the movement pulled at torn shoulder muscles. Those muscles would be stronger tomorrow.

I would be stronger.

We worked in silence. When I noticed Reg getting particularly frustrated with the grooved beak of a hawk mask, I took it from him, wondering which mask he would have chosen if he had been selected for the breeding program. I didn't dare ask. It was bad enough I'd be leaving him and everyone else behind. I couldn't arouse their suspicions, or I'd risk the whole plan.

Instead, I turned to a different line of conversation.

A safe one.

"I'm almost finished restoring a new comic."

Reg's blue eyes lit up like I knew they would. Rolling my eyes, I pretended I'd said something as uninteresting as washing a dish. I didn't particularly like comics myself, but it passed the time, and it was a good skill for trades.

"Oh, man." Reg's gaze turned hopeful. "Please, just tell me if Chaosman survives."

The comic I was restoring for him had left the hero trapped in a cage at the bottom of the sea and rapidly running out of air. The nearly indecipherable image had been a challenge, but I'd discovered gill lines on his neck and used my imagination to fill in the rest.

"You got extra jerky for me?" I asked. Reg knew someone in the building's kitchens. With all the muscle I was tearing up, I needed a lot more meat than we were given.

"Yeah, yeah. Though I don't get why you want so much all of a sudden."

"Chaosman has gills," I blurted.

The distraction worked, and I watched in satisfaction as he smiled, eyes twinkling. He gave a knowing nod. "I fucking knew he was a child of Atlantis. You know Caleb said I was crazy when I told him my theory, but I know my shit. Yes." His fist shot up into the air so fast, I was at risk of being struck, and I took a step back with my hands raised defensively.

"Whoa, easy there." I held up a hand to block any further wayward limbs.

Reg smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, and yeah, I've got you two trays of beef jerky. You're my hero, man."

I didn't want to be Reg's hero. I'd much rather be Sylvia's.

The invasion startled me, but I quickly regained my calm, letting my muscles relax as Carter pushed past the first ring of muscle. He used enough lube that the anal wasn't as painful as it could be, but tears still leaked from the corners of my eyes.

I couldn't wait for it to be over. His deep grunts warned me that he was near to finishing, and if he came there…Well, this entire act with him would've been a waste. But The Party Girl didn't complain, so I cooed and leaned back into him. The last thing I wanted was to make it seem like I was only eager for their cum.

Even though I was.

Positioned at the edge of the bed, on my hands and knees, I curled my fingers into the soft, white bedding. He was close, and I couldn't stop myself from gasping when he stepped onto the bed and slammed his way in with one stroke.

Damn, I'd be sore tomorrow.

He gripped me about the waist, pulling me towards him and ramming himself into me with a guttural growl. His tense bicep was an iron band across my abdomen as he ravaged my ass.

He came a moment later, and a swell of frustration took me when his release shuddered through him. What a wasted opportunity. I could've chosen any of the guys huddled around the counter eating breakfast, and instead I'd let Carter intercept me. I didn't even know he liked butt stuff.

His arm still around my waist, I gasped when he flipped me over in one, swift movement. Grinning in my face, his teeth gleamed.

"Your turn, baby."

Oh fuck, now he was going to concern himself with my pleasure.

It was the last thing I wanted, but The Party Girl—she was insatiable.

I gave him a coy smile as he pulled my nipple into his mouth. He trailed kisses down my body, spreading me with both hands.

He sucked on my clit, and I arched back off the bed. But I knew by the clumsy movements of his tongue that it was likely to be an ineffective attempt.

"Baby, I could really go for some wings or something spicy," I interrupted. He looked up at me, his mouth wet.

"Yeah? Cool, I'll go put some on for us."

My muscle tension eased, and I relaxed back into the bed, watching as Carter jumped nimbly back onto his feet and went to retrieve his pants from the other side of the bed. Fucking butt stuff. What a waste of my time. Carter was only too happy to get out of his pussy-eating duties and go prepare something to eat for us.

So much for aftercare.

I used some tissues on his nightstand to clean myself up and quickly dressed in my miniskirt and tank top combo. There was nothing stylish about my outfit and I hated it, but this place wasn't about what I liked or wanted. It was about being someone different until my future could be secured.

Tugging the top down to make sure the swell of my breasts was visible, I headed out to the main area. Three guys sat at the counter, laughing and digging into cereal bowls, the milk spraying from their mouths as they talk and ate. Maybe wings for breakfast were a bit weird, but I spotted Carter whistling while putting them in the oven. At least it had been believable enough to fool him.

"Hey, guys." I sidled up to Casey at the end. The conversation stopped abruptly, and all three men turned to me.

"Oh uh. Hey, Syl."

I pushed my lips out into a pout, draping an arm across his shoulder.

"What are you guys doing before the run?"

Casey cleared his throat and looked over at Carter, where he was fussing with the oven.

"Yeah, well, we're actually going to go hunting beforehand and see if we can catch some fresh meat." His eyes slid back to mine, and I nodded, turning with a huff.

Carter had warned them off. Good old butt fucking asshole. I was pissed, but The Party Girl wouldn't be. What would she do? I kissed my teeth in thought before turning back to Casey.

"Oh cool, I love hunting. I'll go get ready and join you guys in ten, okay?" I grinned, knowing the little gap beside my incisor was showing. Why guys thought it was cute, I didn't know, but I was happy to use it to my advantage. Turning back to my room before Casey could answer, I left him with his mouth hanging open and his hand still in the air, but it was Carter's voice that gave me pause.

"Hey, Syl, wings are ready in twenty."

I pretended not to hear him.

If I planned it right, I'd be getting gangbanged by the guys on the counter by then, and I swear to fuck, if any of them went for my ass, they'd learn what happened when you pissed The Party Girl off.