The Full Moon Breeding Club novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Door
Anja walks into the shifters' mate club as a skeptic, tells the Registrar what she thinks of his list, and catches the eye of the man at the door.
The man at the lodge door took my wrist before I had finished saying my name.
He was the biggest person I had ever stood next to.
He had a shaved head, a black beard, and a canvas coat that smelled like woodsmoke and cold lake.
His thumb pressed down on the inside of my wrist, right on the pulse.
"Aune," he said, reading the sign-in sheet upside down. "Anja."
"That's my name. You can let go now."
"You're angry."
"I'm skeptical."
"Your heart says angry." His thumb didn't move. "And a little curious."
I should have pulled away.
I have taken calls from people with their own blood on the phone, and my voice has never shaken once.
It shook then, just slightly, on the word "curious."
"Is that a wolf thing?" I said. "Reading people by their wrists?"
"It's a door thing." He finally let go and snapped a paper band around my wrist. "I'm Eero. I keep the door."
"Do you keep it from people like me?"
"No." He looked at me for a long second with dark eyes. "From the ones who don't leave when they want to."
I walked into Birchwater Lodge with my wrist still warm.
The great hall had a stone hearth big enough to roast a deer, and about sixty folding chairs.
Most of the chairs held humans in coats and sweaters, sitting very straight.
The wolves stood along the walls.
Two months ago, a pack council had held a press conference in Duluth and announced that they were real.
Wolves, shifters, whatever you wanted to call them, about four hundred in our county alone, and dying out.
Three babies in four years.
So they had opened a list for adult humans who wanted to put their names down, for free, no money either way.
The town called it the breeding club.
The sign over the door said THE FULL MOON CLUB, with a little hand-painted moon.
Somebody had a sense of humor.
My best friend Jo had signed up a month ago and dared me to come.
I came because I wanted to watch it fail.
I sat in the back row with my arms crossed.
A short white-haired woman in a flour-dusted apron climbed on a chair at the front, and the room went quiet.
"I'm Ingrid Haugen," she said. "I started this club, and I run the kitchen. There's soup after."
People laughed, a little.
"You all know why we're here."
"Three babies in four years. Wolves choose with their noses, and our noses have run out of people to choose."
"So we asked you to come. You come on the full moon, and you look us over, and we look you over."
She nodded at the wolves along the wall.
"They're on their best behavior. Mostly."
A wolf coughed into his fist.
A man in a tweed jacket stepped up beside her.
He had grey hair combed flat, rimless glasses, and a clipboard held against his chest.
"Gunnar Torvik," he said. "Registrar. I'll explain the pairing."
He read it off in a flat voice.
"The Registry holds the bloodline of every unmatched male in the pack."
"Each new member is matched within one week of orientation, by line, by health and by temperament."
"The match is presented at the next potluck. It is customary to accept."
My face went hot.
"Excuse me," I said, and put my hand up.
Sixty heads turned.
"What if I don't like him?"
"Liking comes later, Ms. Aune."
"Later than what?"
"Than the pairing."
A wolf by the wall laughed out loud and turned it into a cough.
"So you hand me a man off a list," I said, "like a casserole."
The Registrar's mouth went thin.
"The Registry has paired this pack for ninety years."
"And you've had three babies in four."
Nobody in the hall made a sound.
On her chair, Ingrid pressed her lips together, and I saw she was fighting a smile.
"Well," she said. "She's counted."
"Ms. Aune will be matched like everyone else," said the Registrar.
"I came to watch," I said. "Not to be matched."
"Then watch, dear," said Ingrid. "Soup first."
The soup was venison and barley, and it was very good.
I stood in the line with my bowl, and Ingrid ladled it out herself.
"Gunnar will have a name for you by Tuesday," she said, low. "He'll announce it at the potluck. He likes an audience."
"And I say no."
"You can say it. Nobody has."
She put the bowl in my hands.
"There's one man in this lodge the Registry has never put a woman beside."
I followed her eyes to the back door.
Eero stood there with his arms folded, and he was already looking at me.
"Why not?" I said.
"Ask him," said Ingrid. "I'm told it's a door thing."
I had not told her what he said at the door.
She smiled into the soup and moved on to the next bowl.
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