Page 5 of Broken Arranged Mate
Chapter 3 - Oren
If it weren’t for the Amanzite shortage, I would be doing this every single day.
The landscape flies by on either side of me, flashing past in a series of cacti, sand, and the odd snake, slithering out of my path at the last moment. As a human, I wouldn’t even consider it, but in this body, my brain tells me I could snap a snake up as a tasty snack.
Landon runs somewhere behind me, desperately trying to keep up.
I could slow down for him, but this is the first time in weeks that I’ve started to feel some of the tension leaving my body. Lifting weights in my human form can only do so much—it’s in this body, infused with power, that I can work out the rage, simmering and dormant. An emotion I refuse to even acknowledge on two feet.
This morning, I felt enough of it, saying goodbye to my mother, who still refuses to get out of bed, lying comatose, her eyes empty besides the occasional show of terror. Raegan told me, gently, that I might just look far too much like our father, that our mother flinched as an automatic response.
The idea made me sick enough to leave the room.
Now, I jump over a small cactus, landing back in the sand with a skid. I’ve been studying the Grayhide territory since I was old enough to recognize a map. While my father was never really a competent leader, he did like to travel, and I’d often accompany him on his trips, learning about each of the borders.
Of the four territories on our corner of the continent, we are the only landlocked area—Hysopp to our west, Ambersky toour north, and Llewelyn to our east all have access to the Edune sea, while we are strapped with the weight of three different borders to defend.
Hysopp mostly keeps to themselves, and that border is kept largely secure by the deep gorge running its length, cleaving the land cleanly into two distinct regions—ours sparse and sandy, theirs lush and green. Several of my father’s books would posit that the Hysopp region deviates from the dry landscape due to the coven’s natural magic, but I’ve never heard of magic that strong.
Not even Veva Argent, the strongest caster in the Ambersky pack and the mind behind the synthetic Amanzite, could grow and maintain millions of acres of ancient trees on otherwise barren soil.
We face some threat from the Llewelyn pack to our east, who have been known to take in omegas from other packs. From Landon and other shifters deeply involved in the Grayhide community, I’ve heard stories of omegas—and women, specifically—leaving our territory and making the journey through the treacherous, freezing tundra of the Llewelyn pack, just to find a society that would accept them.
The thought makes that rage rise up in me again, and I push harder against my burning muscles, running faster,faster, my paw pads hitting the searing earth for only a second before lifting again.
Around us, the scenery morphs from loose sand to packed, hard red stone, the trademark formations rising in the distance to signal our entry into the Ambersky territory. There are several entry points we could use, but through the canyon is the most scenic, and that’s where Dorian said he would meet us, so that’s where we go.
As I run, I catch the faint echo of Landon behind me. I feel sorry for the kid and hope that he’s saving some of his energy for the way back. But with the supply of Amanzite looking how it does, this might be one of the few opportunities in which I can justify shifting.
Doing it only for pleasure would be selfish. I refuse to repeat my father’s mistakes, become the leader who takes from his pack for only his own enjoyment.
We reach the mouth of the canyon and find Dorian and his men there waiting for us. I shift back into my human form and find that I’m out of breath, which makes Emin—tall with the same copper hair as his sister, the luna—laugh.
“What?” he asks, clapping me annoyingly on the back. “You haven’t made that run in a while, huh?”
If we were following convention, it would be customary for me to address Dorian first, but the other alpha leader doesn’t look bothered by it, so I let it slide, too.
“Why don’t you and I have a race sometime?” I ask Emin, which makes Dorian laugh.
“Yeah, you should. He’s getting out of shape, sitting around watching movies all the time.”
“It’s once a week,” Emin defends, but he’s still laughing.
To my surprise, it’s not just Dorian and Emin present—Aidan is here, too, that familiar gray-blonde hair glinting in the early morning sun. He’s tanned and smiling broadly as usual. If the events in that ballroom have left a scar on him, he doesn’t show it.
“Hey, man,” he says, and instead of shaking my hand, he grabs it and pulls me into a hug, the kind where you bumpchests, his free hand clapping against my back. I awkwardly return the favor.
“Hey,” I say, giving him a curt nod when he releases me.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that my discomfort with touch comes from a childhood of neglect in that area—I don’t need anyone to tell me. And I decided a long time ago that it wasn’t something worth exploring. It’s not like I’m just craving a lot of touch from strangers.
Or from anyone, for that matter.
A very small voice in the back of my mind adamantly tries to correct me on that, but I ignore it, squashing him without mercy under my boot.
There’s notimeto think about that. Besides, there are a million reasons why it’s a terrible idea.
As Aidan and I are exiting our hug, Landon appears, heaving in a deep breath. This also makes Dorian let out a bark of laughter as I finally address him, giving his hand a firm shake.
