Page 14 of Broken Arranged Mate
Nobody suspected that we had a history—albeit a brief one—and that’s how I want it to stay. I could tell Dorian that I’d given up on finding my mate a long time ago, that I met him and he didn’t want me, so I’d thought I’d grow old alone.
Like Beth, but without the powers, without the students and the studies.
“I just want you to know that you can change your mind at any time.” Dorian’s voice is as serious as I’ve ever heard it, and he lowers it as we near the border crossing, like they might be able to hear him from this distance. “Even up at the altar, or after. You call me, and I’m coming to get you.”
Something lodges in my throat. As much as Dorian and I have fought in the past, and as much as I’m jealous of him for getting to be alpha leader, for being born something I wasn’t, he’s there for me. He’s a good guy and a good brother.
I tell him as much as we near the post, and I spot Oren standing there, posture perfect, eyes locked on the truck.
“Thanks,” Dorian says, clearing his throat and putting the truck in park. When he looks over at me, I see a flash of Gramps in him. “Be safe, Ash.”
***
Oren walks stiffly beside me, his hand at his side, the back of it brushing against mine every third step. It’s infuriating, sending little tingles up my arm each time he does it.
I’ve been in Grayhide territory three times. The first was during the super blood moon. The second, when Emaline and I came together, and the third was for the cactus festival, which several Ambersky shifters were invited to, in the spirit of trying to bring the packs together.
Kira went into labor, Dorian and I left early, and I was honestly too distracted by Oren to pay much attention to the scenery. Already, I miss the formations in the distance—this area feels strange and echoing, too large and vast, with nothing to anchor the land down, connect it to the sky.
I’m here as a sort of introduction after the engagement celebration. Partly a chance for Oren and me to publicly court, and partly a chance for me to get used to this territory before it becomes my home.
We walk down the main strip of the town, which is more city-like than what I’m used to—large, brick, and adobe buildings rise up higher than they do in Ambersky, with wide, arched windows and outdoor walkways stretching between them. Food stalls on the street smell amazing, but are barred up, the attendants peering out at passersby with more suspicion than salesmanship.
Now that I’m really looking, I realize there areveryfew people walking around in this area, and other than a paper bag rolling down the other side of the street, Oren and I are largely alone.
“I can practically hear your brain whirring,” he mutters, but when he turns to look at me, it’s not with malice.
My eyebrows raise of their own accord. I can’t remember the engagement party specifically, but this might be the first time that Oren has initiated a conversation with me. Maybe he’s putting on a show, just in case anyone is watching from the windows above.
Clearing my throat, I say, gently, “It just…seems pretty empty. For this time of day, and for a downtown area like this.”
Oren sighs, and it carries with it a thousand others before it, the compounding sound of stress and exhaustion. I want to reach up, push my hands into his shoulders, which look tense, balled up.
“It was nice down here,” he offers, glancing at me, “when I was a kid. Before things started to snowball.”
“Did you come down here a lot?”
He studies me, like he’s trying to determine whether or not he can share this information with me. Like the most basic facts of his life are precious, and not something he often shares.
“Yeah.” Oren finally pushes the word out, like it’s hurt him to do so, then he turns, taking in a sweeping view of the area. “My mom—”
Even though I am ravenous to hear more about this—and it’s the first time he has ever mentioned his mother to me—I don’t hear the rest. Because at that moment, a shifter comes flying out from between the buildings, launching himself at Oren with a snarl.
Instantly—moving faster than I’ve ever seen—Oren whips away from me, throwing me hard enough that I stumble down the sidewalk, but don’t fall.
“Go!” he says over his back, positioning himself between me and the attacker, “Shift! Run!”
Before I can follow any of his instructions—or even decide if I want to—he’s shifting himself, and the sight of it is enough to make my mouth go dry.
His wolf is…big. Maybe even bigger than Dorian’s, his black fur sleek and rippling in the sun, almost like a panther’s, a red hue shining in its depths, like some sort of molten ore. His scent hits me, stronger than before.
Thick, full, rolling, and deep. Like caraway and star anise, but with the slight hint of something fresh and earthen—wet slate and moss, petrichor and the deep blue stargazer lilies growing between the rocks at home.
He’s beautiful. And I’ve never wanted him more than I do, right now.
Unfortunately, the attacking wolf makes contact, but Oren is ready, easily pouncing on him and flipping him over in the street, the attacker’s back cracking against the ground sickeningly. It echoes down the street, bouncing off the buildings, and Oren pants, staring down at the wolf, waiting to see if he’s going to get up.
Instead, the man just shifts back to human, gasping for air, his eyes moving, but nothing else in his body following suit.
