Page 37 of Broken Arranged Mate
“I do.”
“Ash Fields,” he turns to her, and I track her throat as she swallows. “Doyouswear, here before your pack, to uphold this union, treat this shifter with respect, and continue the bloodline with honor and dignity?”
Her eyes flicker to mine. “I do.”
This is the moment that we would typically turn and address the pack, allowing anyone to object to the pairing. In dramatic retellings of previous weddings, this is typically the opportunity for mates to declare themselves, asserting that the marriage should not be finalized.
But something overtakes me, and I can’t stop myself—I reach forward, anchor a hand at the small of Ash’s back, and pull her to me, taking her lips with mine.
Dorian and the others might think of this as a show, a bit of acting to demonstrate my feelings for Ash. Yet anotherdemonstration meant to soften the aggression between our packs.
But the truth is just that I wanted to kiss her, and I wanted every person in the room to know, without a doubt, that she belongs to me.
A whoop sounds from the crowd, and when I release Ash, she looks dazed, her cheeks flushed, her hands still gripping the lapels of my suit. Slowly, I raise my hands to hers and loosen them, and she drops her gaze to the floor, seeming embarrassed.
I don’t want her to be embarrassed. In fact, the only thing I want in the world right now is to get her alone, and I don’t understand why this urge is coming on so strongly atthisprecise moment.
“Now, as is customary, please grant your honored guests the privilege of witnessing your wolves.”
The statement shocks me so much that I swing my head around, giving the officiant a look that must read as confused and also slightly angry, because the beta shuffles the slightest bit away from the altar when I level it at him.
Ash’s hand lands on my wrist, and I meet her eyes. “It’s a tradition in Ambersky,” she says, eyes still sparkling with emotion. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”
For the Grayhides, the first shift for the couple is private, something you do alone after the wedding. Something of a night-after activity. The last thing I want to do is shift and show my wolf to all the people in this room.
But it’s her tradition, and I’m doing this to bring our packs closer together. Besides, I’ve already interrupted the ceremony enough with the kiss, so I suppose it’s something of karmic retribution.
“No.” I put my other hand over hers, look into her eyes. “I’ll do it.”
I watch her hand go to her wrist—where I know her Amanzite bracelet rests—and she meets my eyes again. Connecting to my own Amanzite, I close my eyes, breathe, and open them again in my true form.
My father always talked about his wolf like a tool, something to bring out when he wanted to intimidate someone, or to move quickly through the land. But I’ve always felt most at peace in this form, often sneaking away from the grounds to run across the dunes like this, the feeling of the sand in my fur almost freeing enough to help me feel sane.
Now, Ash and I circle one another on the dais, the officiant having grabbed the altar and moved back to make room. My wolf is much larger than most, and I feel the effect of that size on the people in this room.
Good. Maybe word will spread, and shifters will stop challenging me for the alpha leader position.
Breathing deeply, I realize I actuallycancatch her scent now.
And I understand why it is that Veva and Kira chose to block it. Because Ash is either in heat or just about to be. I swallow, using every ounce of my willpower to maintain control over my body.
That’s the unfortunate thing about the wolf—he has a much more difficult time listening to reason.
Coming back to my original position, and not sure I can stand much more of scenting her like this without doing something I’ll regret, I shift back to my human form and stand, reaching out for her hand when she follows suit a moment later.
“Shifters and dignitaries,” the officiant says, “packmates and family—I give you the new Luna of Grayhide!”
Chapter 22 - Ash
When the reception is over, Oren and I walk to the vintage baby-blue car stationed at the end of the walk, and our friends and family throw flower petals over us, which drift down in an impossibly soft haze of colorful confetti.
Oren opens my door, tucks my dress in at my feet, and slides into the driver’s.
“This was my great-grandfather’s car,” he says, flashing me a surprisingly boyish grin. “Let’s hope it still works.”
It roars to life, and a cheer follows us as we peel off down the road.
When I turn and look at him, it hits me—the man in the seat next to me is myhusband. I’m married now. To Oren Blacklock.
