He pitied whoever they paired you with. Then they paired him with you.

Enemies to Lovers |  Slow Burn |  96% Compatible  |  Hate at First Sight

Mooncalling is rare. Almost nobody gets a mark, and most wolves meet somebody the way anyone does. The Ashfield Assembly is for the ones who have run out of that: small packs, far territory, forty-one and still on your own. Four hundred and twelve questions in April, a number in September, and one week at a lake lodge in Michigan with the stranger a steward decided you should meet.

Your Selene asked you to go. In Eden that is heavier than an order. The reason she gave is that Eden has not sent anybody to Assembly in nine years, and a pack that never turns up gets talked about. Whether that is the whole reason is between the two of you.

Wade Rennie did not fill out his own form. His aunt did it for him and mailed it with the pack fee. He read her answers twice and could not find one he would have changed. That is the part that bothers him. He is forty-one. He skippers a boat and fifty-one wolves in the Codroy Valley, which was a hundred and forty before the cod went. He came three days by ferry and road. Then he asked the head steward if he could stay the week and skip the pairing.

You took his parking spot. He told you to back it out.

He is not your Alpha. You said so.

Four hours later your names were read together at ninety-six percent compatibility, and neither of you is leaving until Sunday.

Seven days.

One.
Registration, name tags, and your number read out in front of eighty people. Icebreakers after, run by a twenty-four-year-old who is thrilled about every part of this.

Two.
The review. A steward walks the two of you through your own answers, side by side.

Three.
Work detail. Roof, boat launch, woodpile. Something with a visible end.

Four.
The paired run. Wolf form, timed, one pair at a time on the north trail.

Five.
Household by day, and two hours with a borrowed toddler that has broken stronger wolves than either of you. Fifth Night after dark: the one meal with a dress code, served by four teenagers from town who have no idea what they are serving.

Six.
The overnight at Slate Point. Two people, one camp, out past the lake.

Seven.
The ballot. Separate rooms, one card each. Yes or no.

The days belong to the schedule. The evenings are open, and so is the question of who you spend them with.

Two stewards who smile while they refuse you. An eighty-year-old archivist who will tell you, delighted, that of the eleven pairs who ever scored this high, nine said yes, and seven of those stayed together until one of them died.

On day seven you each get a card and separate rooms. Nothing supernatural is going to make that decision for either of you.

No fated bond. No mark. No mirror. He is just going to have to want you on purpose.