The Mating Run

Chapter 3

| watch Ettie exit the ‘Clinic’ room, clutching brochures and pamphlets, and my grin grows wider. “Not one word, Alina. | mean it.” | wrap my arms around her, blocking out everything else around us, including her.

With Ettie by my side, we exit City Hall, and the flashes of the cameras from the photographers and reporters blind me momentarily. Reporters and photographers are swarming around us, their questions about our registration process causing Ettie to cover her face in frustration.

Ettie’s grip on my arm is tight as she pulls me away from the noisy press.

“Come on, it’s too damn early for this,” A photographer’s camera flashes in Ettie’s eyes as he gets too close, causing her to snarl in frustration. “Don’t take any more pictures, seriously!”

The press is hot on our heels, but we manage to lose them by ducking through small alleyways and climbing up and down gates and fences.NôvelDrama.Org owns all content.

| already know that Ettie will be the center of attention and that many people will want to take her picture. If there is anyone who could gather a large group of sponsors during the Mating Run, it would be her.

With a mane of golden hair and sparkling green eyes, she is the embodiment of timeless beauty. Those who manage to stay in the spotlight, even after the event, who find themselves with a leading role in an upcoming sitcom or featured in the pamphlet for the next Mating Run.

| wonder what the doctor told her, if it was more encouraging than what she told me.

Just as the thought enters my head, | notice Ettie’s house coming into view. The place where she lives is quaint and only has two floors. Ettie lives by herself and looks after five plants, exactly how she wants it.

“Goddess, | thought we’d never get away from those assholes.” Wiping the sweat off her forehead, Ettie lets out a whine in frustration.

Our morning jog pales in comparison to the distance we covered while fleeing from the persistent photographers. Ettie surprises me by remaining standing, despite my expectation that she would collapse to the floor in exhaustion.

| observe her movements as she walks towards the watercan, picks it up, and waters each of her five hibiscus plants. Just as | was about to tease her, the sound of both of our phones ringing interrupted me.

| furrow my brows and glance down at my phone to see an unfamiliar number attempting to reach me. | turn to look at Ettie, who mirrors my own expression of confusion. With a shrug, she answers the call and walks away from me. As | answer the call, my eyes fixate on the picture frames that decorate her wall.

“Alina Mockett?” “Yes?”

“Your biodata and contact information have been shared with us by City Hall for the purpose of the upcoming Mating Run. I’m Miles and I'll be taking care of the styling and PR for you. Got a minute to talk?”

My spine straightens involuntarily as soon as | hear what Miles said.

People have mentioned the speed at which PR works to get a contender’s name out there, and the intense effort put into pre- Mating Run events.

Prior to the event, the contenders’ names would be promoted through parties, interviews, and radio appearances to attract potential sponsors. Experiencing it firsthand is an entirely different matter than hearing about it, and the mixture of emotions is both overwhelming and exhilarating.

“Uh, yes?”

“Great! Wanted to give you the heads up — City Hall’s partying tonight. Registration closes soon, and they’re planning a big red carpet extravaganza to showcase all the contenders for this year’s Mating Run. You'll have a chance to meet the Alpha and the High Council Elders. Got any flashy, maybe red dress? So, you're kind of plain according to your file. Let’s work on making you stand out.”

The comment stings just as much now as it did when the doctor first uttered those words. | steel myself and push through, reminding myself that this is a small hurdle. It's up to them to make me beautiful, not me.

“| don’t have a dress that’s gonna be eye-catching enough. I'll check with my friend who’s in the running and see if she’s got one I can borrow. You know who I’m talking about, don’t you? Her name’s Ettie-”

Miles gasps, then quickly clears his throat before continuing to speak. | could almost feel the weight of his disappointment in the air, even without seeing his face.

“Wait, are you referring to Ettie Winterman? You know, the bombshell with green eyes? | don’t think so. Whatever you do, don’t wear her dress or show up together at the event. You’re free to mingle with her at the party, but once you're there at the red carpet, you're solo. You gotta be the center of attention, but that won’t happen if Ettie’s right next to you. You'll end up with nothing and she'll get it all. You got what | meant, right?”

Miles, my PR guy, thinks I’m uglier than my friend. It goes without saying that | got it.

“Right.”

Despite the hurt in my voice, Miles doesn’t seem to notice and continues on with the conversation. Or maybe he does notice, he just doesn’t care.

We continue our conversation, and it seems like Ettie is unhappy with the way it’s going, judging by the way she’s grumbling. After my hour-long call, Ettie and | sit on the couch for about five minutes, just absorbing the atmosphere before we speak.

“Ugh, | can’t believe you convinced me to register, Alina.” “You know you love me, don’t let me hide out there alone.” “They're making me wear a dress that barely covers my knees. One without straps!”

“They're making me wear a flowy pastel dress. They think my face isn’t enough, so they’re banking on my innocence. I’ve got the doe-eyed thing going on, apparently.”

Ettie’s forehead creases, her eyebrows forming a high arch.

“You can’t be serious. Alina, who cares what they think? You're so beautiful. It’s all about ratings and putting on a good show, and maybe making some dough from sponsors. Nothing more to it.”

| appreciate Ettie’s compliment, but | know she’s just being polite.

Since Miles doesn’t know me, | can trust that his opinion is impartial. | take comfort in knowing that when the Mating Run starts on the trail, Ettie will be there with me, hiding and watching every move.

When | look at the clock on the wall, | can’t help but grimace at the time.

“Need to run home and shower before | meet my PR team outside City Hall. They’re gonna try dresses on me and do my makeup, so | gotta get there pronto. Once you're at the party, send me a text, Ettie. I'll be late, so don’t wait up for me.”

“Wait, we're not going together?” | can’t shake Mile’s words about Ettie getting all the attention out of my head, even as | try to focus on something else. And so, | lie.

“| don’t think so. Miles said the dress fitting might drag on since I’m tinier than the rest. There’s a good chance they don’t have many dresses that fit me.”

Ettie lets out a low groan and rubs her tired eyes.

“This is killing me. | just left City Hall and now | have to go back. Can't believe it! | don’t give a damn about meeting the Alpha, and sponsors seem pointless to me.”

“They don’t wanna go through what happened last year, Ettie.” Ettie rises from the couch with a snort, stifling a yawn, as she makes her way towards the shower.

“It happened the year before last year and ever since the Mating Run began, so it’s not gonna stop anytime soon. That’s when the pheromones start doing their thing, Alina. You’re good to go as long as you read the consent form and waiver... Did you?”

“Well, yeah, but-”

“That’s the end of it. No more discussion. I'll be in the shower. Can you lock up when you leave, please?”

| make my way home, the cold air biting at my cheeks as | walk.

Once | arrive home, | immediately take a refreshing shower. With my fingers, | smooth down my hair, put on a face mask, slide on some sunglasses, and zip up my hoodie. Miles instructed me to avoid being seen, as the initial photo to be released to the press is the one where | am already fully dressed up.

The area outside City Hall is already bustling with reporters and photographers swarming around the closed off white tents. When | arrive, | am greeted by a small but enthusiastic crowd, some of whom are already waving and smiling at me, having recognized me as a contender.

With the event being broadcasted live, it was expected that every step of the bonding process, from registration to the final ceremony, would be captured on camera.

The bright flashes of the cameras make me feel like I’m in a dream, and | have to blink several times to regain my vision. As | try to make my way to the white tent Miles had mentioned for make-up and dress rehearsals, photographers and reporters jostle for position, shoving each other and their equipment in my face.

When a warm arm grabs my shoulder and pulls me away, my tense muscles finally begin to loosen. The unmistakable sound of a camera hitting the pavement fills the air as a man with shaved pink hair and purple eyeshadow growls. And | know the only person who could have done it was Miles.

“How’s it going, Alina? You hanging in there? We're sorry we couldn’t come get you. We had a ton of things to take care of, including calling boutiques and make-up brands. But good news, we found three dresses that should fit you perfectly. Are you good to go?”

As we step into the white tent, my heart flutters with excitement, and | can’t stop grinning. “Ready as I'll ever be.” Everything after that passes by in a blur of motion, leaving me feeling disoriented and dizzy.

The sound of buzzing clippers and the pungent scent of hair products fill the room, as Miles and his team of skilled assistants work tirelessly to transform me into a vision of perfection for the press. | am surrounded by a fluttering of chiffon as they hold up dresses in varying shades of pastel, the sound of rustling fabric filling the air. The soft, ethereal colors are a stark contrast to my usual practical and muted wardrobe.

Taking the lead, Miles exudes an air of sophistication and unwavering poise.

“Alina, sweetheart, you have three options.” Holding up the dresses like delicate canvases, he chimes and twirls them around. “Which one do you prefer: lavender, white, or pale pink? All chiffon. All divine. Take your pick.”

My eyes flick over the array of dresses, and | feel overwhelmed at the variety of styles and colors. The dresses are stunning, each one more delicate and intricate than the last, but | can’t imagine wearing them without feeling like I’m playing dress-up.

“| don’t know, Miles,” | reply, my voice betraying a hint of uncertainty. “They’re all so... vibrant.” Asoft chuckle escapes Miles, as though my comment is old news to him.

“Sweetheart, lighten up! It’s the Sponsor's Gala, not a funeral. We want you to stand out, and these colors will make it happen. What does your gut say?”

As | run my fingers over the white chiffon with puffed sleeves, I’m struck by how light and airy it feels.

“| guess... this one. White. It’s subtle.”

Miles gives a nod of approval and shoves the dress into my arms.

“Excellent choice. Now, let’s work some magic.”

Hastily, | slip the dress over my head, and I’m amazed that it fits me perfectly. Like a glove, not too tight and not too loose, and the hemline ends just above my knees. It covers enough skin, and I’m grateful for that.

It may not be too extravagant, but it’s still captivating.

Miles then runs his fingers through my hair, smoothing it into a shiny curtain that frames my face like a midnight waterfall. He runs his fingers lightly over my face, his touch gentle yet purposeful as he admires how the makeup highlights my cheekbones and makes my eyes stand out.

“You have such pretty golden eyes, Alina. Let's make them pop a bit.”

He uses his skilled hands to make me look more innocent and wide-eyed, as he had described. As | stand in front of the mirror, Miles adjusts my collar with ease, while | fidget with my dress, feeling self-conscious.

“There, sweetheart,” He says, and his face lights up with satisfaction. “You look like a literal angel. Don’t forget, tonight’s your time to shine.”

As | stare at my reflection, the changes are impossible to ignore. The white chiffon dress with puffed sleeves, sleek hair, and makeup make me feel like a completely different person.

Miles has worked his magic, and | feel like a new person, confident and beautiful.

The air is thick with the scent of freshly cut flowers and the sound of trumpets playing as | step onto the crimson carpet on the way to City Hall.

The cacophony of reporters shouting my name makes my head spin, drowning out the sound of my own thoughts. I’m completely unaccustomed to the amount of people giving me attention, and it makes me uneasy.

“Alina!”

“Alina, hey, look here!”

“Alina Mockett!”

| try to smile, but my lips feel stiff and uncooperative, and it comes out more like a grimace.

The photographers’ shouts are an unrelenting barrage of questions and demands. The words tumble out of my mouth, jumbled and incoherent.

The sudden appearance of a microphone in my face startles me as a reporter shouts a question.

“What made you decide to do the Mating Run, Alina?”

“Um, well,” With a trembling voice, | begin to speak. “I... | guess because it’s time.”

Suddenly, another voice chimes in, asking about the style of my dress.

“Alina, why the white dress? Are you trying to convince the pack that you’re an innocent person?”

| can’t help but feel self-conscious in the white chiffon fabric dress I’m wearing, my eyes nervously darting down to examine it. “You got it wrong, it’s not like that. This is what my designer recommended.”

While posing awkwardly for the cameras, | feel my body collide with someone else’s.

Startled, | turn to face the tall, striking man who | had just bumped into and find myself craning my n*ck to meet his gaze. His tawny eyes hold a softness that contrasts with the intensity of the moment, as does his russet-colored hair.

There is no mistaking it; | recognize him right away.

His smirk is softened by the gentle way he steadies me, his amusement at my clumsiness clear in his eyes. The photographers. are ecstatic and clamoring for our attention, shouting both our names and urging us to pose together.

| feel his presence as he leans in, his whisper sending a shiver down my spine. The paparazzi erupt in chaos, their shouts and screams filling the air.

“You're looking like you’re going to vomit any minute now. Everything okay?” My eyes widen instantly, and I curtsy.

The sound of Victor Craft's laughter fills the air as he pulls me close, draping his arm over my shoulders and pressing our bodies together for the camera. My heart is pounding so hard against my chest that | struggle to keep a smile on my face.

It's impossible for me to pretend that I’m not star struck, because | am.

It's not every day | get to be in the presence of the Alpha’s son.