Page 1 of The Alpha's Arranged Bride

Chapter 1

Agnar

It could be a cruel land, but after the driving snows and icy temperatures that stole the breath clean out of his body, Agnar craved the red dirt and earthy smell of his desert home. There was death there and darkness, but it was also a land strewn with sunlight and flowers, their pungent scent perfuming the air. It might be a perilous place to live, but its beauty was resplendent.

The delicate beauty of his mate was nothing like Arizona.

Shadowed in the dark of night, Prairie Rose faced the window as she had for most of the drive. No matter how many hours passed, she stayed fixed in one place like a statue. She was beautiful in the traditional sense. High cheekbones, star lights twinkling in the depths of velvet brown eyes, a delicate nose, and full lips. Her hair, somewhere between blonde and white could probably have been called champagne. Expensive champagne. Prairie Rose was as regal as any princess, especially dressed in a velvet dress, the fabric so thin that it looked decades old and in danger of tearing the second she made a single movement.

Nothing much scared Agnar anymore, but there were the intrinsic fears that ran so deep they couldn’t be rooted out. The fear of death or pain visited on his children. The fear of losing his pack, of being wiped out, of becoming extinct. The ever-present threat of enemies, humans, and discovery. Prairie Rose was a new brand of terror. It fizzed through his bloodstream like he’d downed a whole bottle of champagne and then reached for another and another.

If his new mate was hoping for a break on the twelve-hour turned fifteen-hour journey because of the terrible blizzard in Wyoming, she was going to be sorely disappointed. He’d brought three of his men with him, senior pack members who were good soldiers and warriors to a man, not only for protection, but because they’d split the driving and ensured they were all alert to potential dangers.

To say he disliked being out of Arizona and off pack land was an extraordinary understatement for the acute discomfort he felt.

When the rented black suburban shot over the Arizona state line, he felt that it was his job to prepare his silent, flushed bride for what she was about to encounter. He’d promised her brother, who was the alpha of the pack, and her parents, that he’d take good care of her. He’d sealed that vow with a mating ritual and his own blood. Sometimes, he felt like Atlas, bowed under the weight of the entire world. Prairie Rose was nothing more than another responsibility.

The men he traveled with under the cloak of night couldn’t be mistaken for anything less than thugs, which was why they stuck to the cover of darkness. They’d draw unwanted attention to themselves otherwise.

The suburban had three rows of seating. Ireland was currently driving, and though he was still not more than a pup in his twenties, he was one of the best trackers they’d ever produced. Their pack had been raided and participated in raids for centuries. Vengeance was something his wolves understood. It was fed to them as babies and spooned into their mouths all their lives.

But living in a constant state of warfare had taken its toll on their pack. Their numbers had dwindled drastically. They were raising children and they’d taken women from other packs and mated them. Families were torn apart by deaths, and since the women of their pack trained as warriors because they needed to know how to fight and defend themselves, sometimes both parents tragically died, and their offspring were raised with another family.

He’d been alpha for three and a half years, and in that time, he’d fought hard to bring about a peace that was tenuous, but holding.

Beside Ireland was Bathos. He was a big brute, but he was kind—if anyone in their pack could be called such a thing. He had a fondness for stray animals that no one could rid him of, and for some strange reason, they gravitated to him. Usually animals shied away from shifters, sensing the wolf underneath the human.

Gideon dozed in the seat behind Ireland. He’d taken the first shift driving. Dozed, because none of them ever really slept.

He’d taken the bench seat with Prairie Rose because he thought it would be most comfortable for her, though it was most uncomfortablefor him to cram his large body back there.

He inhaled deeply, studying the white-gold crown of his mate’s hair, twisted into numerous braids and pinned up on top her head. When he cleared his throat roughly, she finally turned. She looked like a prairie rose. Beautiful, but hardy, he hoped. She’d have to find her thorns. No doubt, she’d need them. He had no notion of how to lay down the rules she’d need, so he just got on with it, knowing full well it made him sound like a tyrant and excusing that by telling himself she knew what she’d mated.

“You must always obey me, above all else. Never publicly argue with me or denounce me. Disobeying an alpha’s orders can be punished by death.”

Her sweet coral lips parted. “You’re joking.”

“I’m utterly serious about everything I’m going to say to you, which is why I’m saying it now, before we get to the pack.” The others pretended they couldn’t hear what was being said, but he knew how attuned they were to every word.

“So, if you said the sky was green and I said it was most definitely blue, even though I would be right and rational science would be on my side, you’d what? Behead me with one of your battle axes?”

If he wasn’t so fucking dead inside, he might have smiled at that. He was borderline relieved that she had some sass. She looked like she’d blow away in a strong wind.

The women of the pack would eat her alive. His children were going to run roughshod over her, even though he’d long suspected that his sons had more of their mother’s intelligence and softness and far less of his unfeeling warrior soul.

The males would detest her and scorn her for being an outsider, especially those who didn’t want and didn’t believe in peace. They were trained, unruly, dangerous men, and for the last three and a half years, he’d penned them in. No raids. No fights. No vengeance. They saw their skills wasting away on building better quality housing and putting together a community. The fights amongst themselves had increased as frustrations mounted.

“I would never claim the sky to be green. I’m not talking about rational disagreements. I’m not above being corrected, and I can admit when I’m wrong or at fault.”

“I see.” She tried to appear cold, but it didn’t work on her the way it worked on him. Perfecting that marble sculpted façade had taken years of training. She’d had no need to perfect such a thing before now.

“There’s the manner of my home and my children. Our packs are nothing alike. We agreed to this mating because not going through with it would have had dire consequences, and neither of us wanted our packs embroiled in a war. You did this to save your family and the ones you love, as I did. I had no desire to ever be mated again. You might be the alpha female now, but you will not stand at my side. My pack will have trouble respecting you. You have no authority on my lands. You will not command my wolves.”

No one could call the Nightfalls mean people. The men might be larger than humans, but they didn’t have the warrior look about them. They weren’t covered in scars, both physically and mentally. They lacked the starved, haunted look that most of his pack carried. When he looked into the eyes of the alpha’s family and into those of the people at the ceremony the day before, he’d found them brimming with life. They might have been reserved at having outsiders amongst them, but no one was hostile or unfriendly. They all had an innocent air about them that made them seem almost childlike. He knew they were still wolves and could still be deadly—one of theirs had killed one of his, starting the whole sorry business that almost brought them to war and necessitated a peace pact between them—but deadly was a sliding scale.

Her eyes glinted like a pair of glowing candles. “No. Of course not. We don’t believe that an alpha pair should rule their pack like a king and queen or like a set of tyrants. My mother stood by my father, giving him wise counsel. She was a rock for him at all times. She loved our pack and cared far more for every single person in it than she ever did for herself. She’s wise and kind and a more compassionate woman you’d be hard pressed to meet.”

“Compassion and kindness have little place on our land. The desert is a hard place, princess, as you’ll find out.”

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