The damned thing wouldn’t burn. Scarlet had tried. Twice.

The invitation had appeared bright and early, popping onto her counter the moment the clock had struck 8:01 A.M. and she’d officially hit thirty.

Unmated and thirty.

Fuuuccckkk.

She glared at the pristine page, at the cream linen that boasted the handwritten words requesting her attendance at the coming Gathering.

Request. Right.

She glanced at her scorched sink, frowned and wondered if steel polish would remove the marks. That thought brought her back to the idea of burning the invite and she wondered if the local witch could help her out. Maybe…

The shrill ring of her phone busted in on her illegal wonderings. If she were honest, which she didn’t want to be, she had already broken the law by attempting to burn the stupid paper. Having a Mark meant she had to adhere to the same rules that governed the furballs. So, no circumventing a wolfy summons. Even if she wasn’t a wolf.

With a sigh, she abandoned her spot at the counter and snatched up the phone. Holding the handset between her cheek and shoulder she greeted her caller. “Heya.”

The caller screamed. Scarlet took a peek at the microwave clock. 8:14 A.M.

“So, you got your invite.” She smirked, kind of glad she wouldn’t be the only one forcefully attending the upcoming annual Gathering.

Scarlet was one of three, the first-born of the Wickham fraternal triplets. Each of them as different from the other as the stars in the sky. Thankfully, it’d only be her and Gabriella attending. The third, Whitney, had been born sans the necessary birthmark, so she wouldn’t be receiving the mandatory summons. Lucky bitch.

“They can’t do this!”

Scarlet eased her ear from the handset. “Apparently, they can.”

She wanted to say “duh”, but refrained. They should have been prepared for this, should have had some sort of plan. Like, Operation: What the Fuck to do When Forced to Parade Ourselves in Front of Mate Hunting Wolves When We Hit Thirty. Instead, Scarlet had pushed the eventuality from her mind, conveniently forgetting that particular law. Apparently, Gabby had done the same.

She fingered the unmarred invitation. “I’m pretty sure Mom covered all this during the whole ‘What to Expect When You’re Marked’ lessons.”

“Quit being rational and logical,” her sister snapped. “I’m too busy for this, Scarlet. You need to do something. Go…do what you do.” She imagined Gabby waving her hands around, fingers fluttering, and she smiled. Her sister in a tizzy was something to watch.

Her mongrel cat Burger came sneaking over and twined around her ankles. While listening to her sister rant and rave at the injustice of their summoning, she fed her sweet boy. Scraping out the rest of his organic, homemade cat food, she stood and placed the empty container in the sink. She’d have to make him more food for the pet sitter before she flew out to the Gathering. Mentally, she ticked through the contents of her freezer. He tended to like the shrimp and salmon more than—

“Are you even listening to me?” Gabby’s screech nearly blew her eardrum.

“Not really.” She stared down at Burger. “Do you think I’ll have to get rid of my cat?”

The thought poked at her heart and deflated it. She’d rescued him when she first graduated from college. It’d been her and Burger against the world.

“Scarlet!” She heard her sister panting and gasping with rage.

“What? I mean, Burger’s a cat, they’re wolves. I don’t want them eating him.” Silence met her. “Just sayin’.”

Scarlet understood Gabby’s feelings, sensed her sister near the edge of sanity, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about the situation. She was as freaked-the-fuck-out over the slip of paper as her sister, but she dealt with things with humor. Humor few people appreciated.

They’d both been born with a Mark, a symbol of their inevitable mating to Alpha wolves.

And it’d be Alphas. Plural. Not because they’d meet more than one wolf. No, because they’d be mating more than one wolf. Alphas ruled in pairs, the men sometimes related, generally not. But there were always two.

Women in the Wickham line had been partnering with the furballs for as long as they could remember, though not necessarily every generation. Their mother hadn’t been Marked and had happily settled with a lovely human man. But two out of the three triplets had been born with the three-pointed, spiraling symbol. Looking more like a scar than anything else, the Mark was slightly raised and a hint darker than her natural skin tone.

So she and Gabby would be mating a pair of wolves. Subconsciously, she’d been waiting for the invite. Once a Marked woman hit thirty and was still unmated, the Ruling Alphas summoned the ladies to the annual Gathering to meet Alphas from outside the female’s hometown.

Basically, werewolf speed dating.

Sniff-sniff. Am I your mate? No? Next!

The Alpha pairing could form at any time. Once one wolf recognized a power that matched his own in another wolf, they bonded. From there they either formed a new pack or took over another. She was sure there was more secret furball mumbo jumbo involved, but that was the extent of her non-mated knowledge. Oh, she’d asked, and her mother had said: “You’ll find out when you’re mated, dear.”

Great.

The problems with Alpha pairs arose from the fact that both were controlling and dominant as hell. Which is where the Marked came in. The ladies acted as the balance, the one who kept the two calm. Sure, the guys could rule without one; the world was just better if they had a mate at their side. Less bloody, too.

She took a deep breath. She’d have to travel and meet some wolves. If she found her Alphas, group sex would occur, one male in her pussy and the other in her ass, some scar-inducing biting, and voila, mates. She’d never had sex with two men at once. So, yeah, that was scary as hell. But then again, two men pleasuring her at the same time had…possibilities.

“Scarlet? I don’t think I can keep two men happy.” A sniffle reached her.

“Oh, honey.” She sighed. Poor Gabby. She’d been through hell the past few years. She’d been dating, regardless of the fact that she was Marked, and had fallen in love several times. Only the men had torn her heart to shreds and left a broken Gabriella in their wake. “You know none of that is your fault. It’s theirs. We’ve talked about this.”

Another sniffle. “But Allen said—”

“No. Allen said a lot of things. He also put his dick in other women. His cheating had nothing to do with you.” Part of her wished she were a wolf. Then she could have gone and torn that sorry excuse for a man apart. “Good sex takes two people, and Gabby, I’ve seen you on the dance floor. Your crappy sex life is so not your fault. Hips don’t lie.”

“I know, it’s just—”

A low beep interrupted her sister and Scarlet glanced at the caller ID. Whitney. “Hold on a sec.”

Her gaze shot to the microwave clock. 8:36 A.M.

Scarlet flashed over to her other sister. “Whit?”

“It’s a mistake. Scarlet, it has to be. Has to.” She heard the tears in her sister’s voice, the heartbreak that filled every word. “Why are they doing this to me? I’m not Marked, Scarlet. Isn’t that enough? I finally got over not having the stupid Mark and now they’re messing with me like this?” Whitney sobbed.

“You got an invitation? From the Ruling Alphas?”

“Yes.” Her poor sister was such a sensitive soul.

Anger bubbled in her chest, churned and grew until she felt as if she’d explode beneath the feelings coursing through her veins. Scarlet and Gabby had always viewed the Marks as a sort of death sentence, seeing them as something that stole their free will. Finding a mate was biological and had nothing to do with emotions. No gentle “getting to know each other” period like with human men. Relationships between a Marked and wolves were more along the lines of: You’re our mate. Bend over. We mate you now. That’d be followed by a grunt.

At least, that’s what she’d gotten from her mother’s explanations. Scarlet and Gabriella had agreed that they’d put off mating as long as possible. The wolves that claimed them could be total assholes, and they’d be stuck with them for life. They’d decided to enjoy a little freedom before the ax finally fell. And then they’d sort of forgotten about the whole Gathering thing. Oops.

Geez, even when she’d adopted her cat from the shelter, she’d gotten a trial run.

Go to a Gathering voluntarily? Nu uh. Over their dead bodies.

The only one who’d craved a Mark was Whitney. Sweet, delicate Whitney. From the moment they began playing dress-up, Whit was the gorgeous bride who married not one, but two men. Two werewolves. She just didn’t carry a Mark.

And through a weird twist of nature, Alpha wolves didn’t mate with human women unless there was a Mark. Single, non-Alphas only mated female furballs. It was two for a human or nada. It had something to do with the way a girl wolf interacted with two boy wolves and yada, yada… She’d sort of tuned her mom’s voice out after that.

“Scarlet?”

“Shh… It’s okay. We’ll figure it out. If it’s a mistake, I’ll beat the shit out of the Ruling Alphas for upsetting you.” She would. Without a doubt. “If—” She licked her lips, mouth dry. “If they’ve somehow changed things, we’ll find you the best set of furries out there.” Scarlet took a deep breath. “Or, we can try and hide you. Whatever you decide, Whit.”

Her sister sniffled. “It says I have to go. Have to. There’s punishments and stuff.” Just like there were punishments for exposing werewolves to the general public, there were consequences for refusing an order from the Ruling Alphas.

Scarlet sighed, ran a hand over her face and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I hadn’t read that far yet. I sort of tried burning it once I got past the first line.” Whitney giggled. “The damn things found us, so there is probably a lovely bunch of witches involved in the whole thing. Which means that if we don’t show, the punishment will probably kick in.” Scarlet swallowed past the lump in her throat. “So, yeah, we gotta go. But I’ll take care of you Whitney. No matter what, nothing is gonna happen that you don’t want. I promise.”

She stroked her cat, taking comfort in his gentle purr. “Okay, I’ve got Gabby on the other line. Lemme do a three-way call, and we can make plans. We’re going to the damned Gathering whether we like it or not, so we might as well go all-out.”