When My Alpha Priced Our Mating Bond

The year of the famine, my aunt Luella Jenkins sent me to seek refuge with my intended mate, Ryan Johnson, a high-ranking Alpha from the Johnson Pack.

Ryan looked down on me the moment I arrived, his sharp eyes scanning my tattered clothes. He pointed to an empty candy jar on the table, his Alpha tone dripping with disdain:

"The Johnson Pack doesn’t have the funds to host a mark ceremony for you.

When you’ve filled this jar with coins, then I’ll consider marking you as my mate."

Money was hard to come by.

For a year, I scrimped and saved. I washed clothes in freezing water during the winter and wove mats in the scorching summer. My hands were a patchwork of old and new wounds. Just as the jar was nearly full, my aunt told me there had been a mistake—it wasn’t the Johnsons I was promised to, but the Grahams.

When the Grahams’ car arrived to pick me up, Ryan wasn’t there. Jamari Pierce, one of Ryan’s Deltas, looked uneasy:

"The Grahams are struggling. You’ll probably go hungry if you join that pack.

The money for the car? Half of it was scraped together by Finnegan Graham from odd jobs, and the other half was donated by his packmates and mentor."

The car, though old, was clean and well-maintained, a clear sign of effort. I couldn’t help but smile as I climbed in, clutching my little jar of coins.

Jamari stepped in front of the car, trying to plead Ryan’s case:

"Just a few days ago, Alpha Ryan ordered red silk from the tailor and spent a fortune on a batch of fine wine from the city. It’s clear he was preparing to mark you as his mate."

When I didn’t respond, he pointed to the jar in my arms:

"Didn’t Alpha Ryan say he’d mark you as his mate once the jar was full?

Now that you’ve finally filled it, why are you leaving?"

I paused, thinking I might be acting a bit rash.

A year ago, when I first arrived at the Johnson Pack, it was dinner time.

I was thin and small, dressed in rags.

Afraid of being judged, I kept my head down, trying not to stare at the food on the table, though my mouth watered.

Ryan looked at me with disgust and nearly had Jamari throw me out, mistaking me for a beggar.

His father, however, scolded him, reminding him that the Johnsons had once been refugees themselves, saved by a kind soul who gave his grandfather a meal.

With a stern look, his father told me that the Johnsons wouldn’t forget their debt of gratitude.

But seeing Ryan’s sneer and his expensive silk clothes, I hesitated.

Maybe... maybe this arrangement wasn’t worth it. I’d rather exchange Ryan for a few loaves of bread.

Before I could speak, Ryan’s mocking voice cut through:

"I’ll mark you as my mate, but don’t expect my pack to host a lavish ceremony.

I’m not