Three thousand, six hundred, twenty-two miles. That is how far I am having to travel for my father this time. That is how far I am having to go to get him off my back about not having a mate. I am having to travel over three thousand miles from the north part of Alaska to some tiny, country-bumpkin, farm-ridden pack in North Alabama to see if some little girl magically happens to be my mate. Pathetic. I am twenty-four years old, I have been searching for my mate since I turned eighteen. She has yet to show up, but I had to take over the pack since my mother passed away four years ago. My father couldn’t keep going without her anymore. I should be running my pack in peace. Not traipsing all over this Goddess-forsaken, hell hole they call the South just so my father doesn’t hurt some child’s
