Page 33 of Broken Arranged Mate
It smells faintly of vodka and the perfume of a thousand women, and I already feel a tension headache coming on. I may not sleep much, but I much prefer lying awake in bed to being here in the middle of the night, breathing in the stench of cigarette smoke and watching wasted shifters make fools of themselves.
“I’d like to remind you that I explicitly said I didn’t want to do this,” I retort, cutting my eyes to him. I’m wearing a plain black button-down shirt and a pair of plain black slacks—it was all I’d had time to change into when the three of them appeared and told me that I’d be going to my bachelor party. Earlier, someone mistook me for a server, and the night had only gotten worse from there.
More than anything, I wanted to tell them to fuck off and leave me alone. That I’d been tense enough with the upcoming wedding and the reality of being around Ash all the timelooming, and the last thing I needed was to pretend to enjoy a shitty, off-the-rack celebration.
But Dorian has been nothing other than gracious to me, and I managed to convince myself that this is all just part of foreign relations, maintaining the goodwill between the two packs.
My only solace is that I will never have to attend my own bachelor party ever again. Not by the end of next week, when I’ll be a married man.
Aidan returns with yet another drink and shoves it under my nose, grinning sloppily at me. “Here,” he says, gesturing back to the bar, “from the bartender. She says you’re hot.”
I grit my teeth together, glance over at Dorian, who doesn’t look bothered. “Isn’t the whole point of this that I’m getting married tomorrow?” I ask, glancing between the three of them. “Why would I even come here, to flirt with other women?”
“It’s not like you’re in love with my sister,” Dorian says, and when I look to him in surprise, he raises his hands. “Don’t get me wrong—I’ll fucking kill you if you hurt her or make her look bad. But I don’t expect other women to disappear for you. This is a political arrangement, and the two of you can work out what that means for you.”
It takes me a moment to realize what he’s talking about, and a wave of fury hurtles through me so hot and violent that I have to pull air in just to cool it off.
“That won’t be happening,” I say through gritted teeth.
Dorian stares at me for a long moment, then nods once. Aidan and Emin slide into the booth, still chuckling, and I realize, not for the first time, that these guys aren’t reallymypeople.
They’ve thrown this bachelor party for me because they know nobody else is going to do it. I’d almost thought about inviting Wyn along, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, to trust another man like that again. Being with these three is the closest I’ve come to it, and only because Dorian let me into Ambersky. I respect him for that decision, know with certainty that he’s noteviland won’t stab me in the back.
An awkward silence descends over the table, and Emin’s eyes dart down to the glass, now sweating, in front of me.
“Come on, man,” Emin says, throwing one arm on the back of the seat. “Aren’t you going to have at least one drink? Isn’t this your last night of freedom, and all that?”
“Ha.” The laugh comes out of me dry and rasping. “I’m not sure I have ever had a single night of freedom.”
Even as I’m actively bringing the mood down, I reach out, take the glass, and knock the entire thing back in a single movement. To my surprise, it’s actually strong enough to take the edge off of the feelings swirling, potent, in my chest.
“Alright,” Emin says, then, hand clapping Aidan’s shoulder, “go get us some more, alright?”
“Yes,sir,” Aidan rolls his eyes, but slides out of the booth. The drinks keep coming, and even though I know better, I keep drinking them.
A voice in the back of my mind turns bitter, talking to me as it always does.You’re drinking because you can’t handle it, the pressure of being the leader. You were never cut out for this. You’re drinking like this because you’re just like your father.
We leave the club and start walking down the streets, laughing under the lights and stopping, bugs swooping aroundus, the sounds of other late-night patrons walking around us, also laughing, taking pictures.
They recognize us—Dorian and I together—and I wonder if a friendship like this might function in the same way as an inter-pack marriage.
Dorian and Emin insist we have to get food from a truck on the street, and as we wait for it, I realize why Ash thought the downtown area in my city was so derelict—this one is bustling, people everywhere, some sections of the road marked off and filled with tables. Lights flashing, food and drink smells wafting, and overall, smiling abound.
It’s nothing like at home.
I’ve already been an alpha leader for a year, and I haven’t managed to make any tangible changes.
“What’s that face for?” Aidan asks, passing me the food on the stick, and for some reason, I tell him the truth.
“I’m pretty sure I’m doing a worse job than my father,” I say, staring at the thing—which slightly resembles a corn dog, but twisted—trying to figure out where I’m supposed to bite it.
When I look up, all three of them are staring at me. Dorian, as the oldest, the leader, and the most knowledgeable, looks troubled. Aidan stares at me, something like regret and guilt running over his face, and I wonder if he’s wishing he’d taken the spot from me when he had the chance.
“That sounds like a joke,” Emin says, “but I’m not totally sure that you’re joking.”
“I’m not joking,” I say, knowing my voice is flat and not sure how to change it. “My father wanted to be evil, and he succeeded at it. I want to fix things, and so far, I’ve managed to make no real progress.”
Another beat passes, then Dorian opens his mouth, but Aidan beats him to it.
