Page 45 of Broken Arranged Mate
What—he just wanted to have me again, then realized it wasn’t like he remembered? He was only doing his duty? I did something, but he’s not willing to tell me what it was.
I rip out the vinyl flooring in the bathroom and replace it with real tile, which I grout myself, all the tension and focus in my body funneled into the long, straight lines.
Oren comes and goes during the day, but I don’t. Where would I go? It’s not like I can travel across the territory myself. According to him, it’s not safe.
So, instead, I work on the house until I’m sore and exhausted, too tired to think about the fact that Oren is just down the hallway from me, that his body is only a stone’s throw from mine.
And every night, it’s seemingly very easy for him to avoid me, to keep from coming to my room.
I tricked myself into thinking he was someone he’s not. And I won’t make that mistake again.
***
My resolve not to talk to Oren breaks three days later, when I get a call from Kira in the middle of the night. I rollover, hand grasping for the flashing screen on my dresser. I know it’s Kira because it’s some pop song she was obsessed with last summer, and I used to be the kind of person who set a personalized ringtone for each person in my phone.
“Kira?” I croak into the speaker, and the first string of words she gets out are incomprehensible to me, wet and long, broken up by sobs.
My first thought is that something happened to her boys—and my second thought is that something happened to mybrother. I dig my heels into the mattress, realizing with a startling clarity just how much I love him and how terrible my life would be to lose him this quickly.
But it’s not Dorian.
Oren answers on the fourth knock against his door, looking wide awake and wild-eyed, his gaze traveling up and down the length of me with such hunger that for the briefest, briefest moment, I forget why I came to him in the first place, and think that he might reach for me and I might let him.
And then, in the next second, I remember. Everything comes rushing back, and my words come out choked, half-formed, only an approximation of language.
“It’s Beth.”
Oren must be able to understand me, because that hunger—if it was ever there—disappears immediately. He’s turning and pulling on real clothes, and the two of us are moving out the door together, making the drive to Ambersky for the first time since our marriage.
Before the wedding, I’d thought my first time back would be something of a victory lap. That I’d be able to tell my friends, my brother, that they had nothing to worry about. That all thewarnings and assurances that I could change my mind weren’t needed.
I’d thought, foolishly, that this marriage would help me prove that Oren and I were mates after all.
And instead, I’m barreling through the dessert with my husband—in name only—to make it to one of my best friends before she’s lost to me forever.
When we reach Beth’s house, there are several cars outside, and I nearly fall to my knees when I burst from his truck, miscalculating the distance between me and the ground.
But somehow, Oren is there, catching me and righting me, helping me make it the rest of the way to the house. I should push him away—even his touch on my shoulder is making it difficult for me to stay angry at him—but I simply can’t.
I’m sick, the nausea roiling inside me, hot and sticky, climbing up my windpipe and pushing against the bottom of my throat with a blinding, dreadful, oxygen-stealing force.
My brain is a small world, and the rail tracks loop again and again inside it, repeating the phrase again and again:Beth is going to die.
Together, Oren and I burst through the door, and the first person I see is my brother, standing just inside Beth’s crowded front hallway. Books and plants rise on either side of us, and in a rush of memories, I see my entire history with Beth.
She was a friend of our grandfather’s, and a listening ear when I grew angry with my position in the world. Beth was there for Kira when she came back to Ambersky and again for Veva when she was unsure about her gift. Beth has always used her ability to help others and her place in the community to create a space for those who might otherwise feel left out.
Just like me.
Maybe all the other women in Beth’s group have abilities, and maybe I don’t, but Bethnevermade me feel like I didn’t belong. And, according to Kira, she’s not going to make it through the night.
Though the panic in me insists I rush straight to Beth, I take two lumbering steps forward and throw myself into Dorian’s arms, stuffing the sob in my throat back down so it can’t rise up and strangle me.
“Ash.” Dorian’s voice is deep, with a note of surprise, which makes sense. He and I are not exactly the hugging kind of siblings—not touchy. We never hugged or play-fought. Gramps was like that, too—he shook my hand the day I graduated from high school.
After a childhood of little to no physical touch, it’s probably confusing for Dorian that I would fall into his arms right now.
“Sorry,” I croak, pushing away from him, but he catches me for a moment, studying me, and I feel it for the first time—my brother and I are no longer packmates. He seems to register it, too, likely in the fact that he’s no longer hypersensitive to my feelings, because he’s no longer my pack leader.
