Marcel Conway is fresh on the market for a new year of the Mating Season: a sex auction masquerading as a Peace Trade to keep the packs from going to war. But she's gritting her teeth and digging her heels in, determined to come home to her small bu...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
☽☾☽☾☽☾
☽☾Donovan Blackmon☽☾
Exhausted didn't even begin to explain how the fearless Alpha of Night Blood felt...
After allowing his grandmother to take over introducing Marcel, he quickly fled to his office where he found the insurmountable task of towering paperwork waiting on him. It was mainly bills, and updated agreements with human territory.
The pile of papers, however, increased ten fold when he noticed the change of residency requests from his neighboring packs and the vanilla files that littered his desk. No doubt, lazy Sigmas came in after claiming their mates and just threw their files on his desk.
The files would have crucial information about the new females. Medical records, banking information the would need to be changed, bills and notes, and a request of residency, along with any information about continued education and an evaluation card of their time and success in their previous pack.
Donovan sighed tirelessly, throwing his hand through his loose black locks and let out a perturbed groan. He had finally organized his desk just last week. He physically deflated as he took his seat at the mahogany wood desk and melted into the cushions of his office chair.
He commenced to his work, sorting the files speedily and organized the bills from the loose agreements that would need signing and returning immediately.
It seemed to never end.
With each scrawl of his delicate signature, his eyes drooped that much more. Who knew that driving could tire someone out so much? The paperwork seemed infinite. He might fall asleep at his desk again...
After what seemed like a century passed, he finally set his pen down, hand cramping insistently and stood up to stretch, groaning in relief as his bones and joints popped and cracked.
"Bedtime..." He mumbled to himself, slinking out of his office. "Drop off records with paper pushers, medical records with the gammas, initiate a request for training form for the new arrivals...fuck, I need an assistant."
He stopped in the middle fo the hallway leading to his room and furrowed his eyebrows.
"I have an assistant?" He mentally facepalmed as he remembered Jaxon, his all-too-eager second in command. Besides being a tad eccentric, Jax was efficient and often chastised Donovan for trying to do everything on his own.
Just do what you need to do and push everything else off your desk and let it fall down the chain...Jaxon would tell him often, usually setting a beer on his desk. Too often, Donovan found himself trying to do everyone's job for them.
Just as he pushed his room door open, he had a fleeting thought.
Marcel? Will she be...? His question was quickly answered as he took note of his perfectly put together bedroom: king size bed, finished with creme and gray blankets and mismatched black sheets. His closet door still hung wide open, revealing a large walk in storage. His marble tile bathroom was barely lit with a nightlight, and the only light being offered was through the entire glass eastern wall from the moon. His sitting area was untouched.
