Page 23 of Arranged Bullied Mate
Tears spring to my eyes as the weight of it all comes crashing down. I could lie, try to deny it. But as I look up at her, I know the truth is in my eyes. I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of despair that has descended. “No,” I say quietly, “I’ve been trying to find the right time. I didn’t know when I left, and I think he’ll be angry.”
Emily shakes her head. “Angry? No, this is wonderful news. He’ll be happy, I—”
“Please let me tell him,” I plead, “please don’t tell anyone.”
“No, of course not…” she begins, and then trails off, the color draining from her face.
“What is it?” I ask, dread coiling in my stomach.
Emily’s hand flies to her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. “Oh Goddess,” she whispers. “Oh no, Ava, I’m so stupid.” She covers her face for a second, then drags her hands down, leaving streaks of fresh tears across her cheeks. “I told him,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I told Maddox.”
My brain stutters, the words refusing to make sense. “Told him what?”
She looks up, and her lower lip is trembling now. “About the photo. I know you said she was your cousin’s little girl, but I was just so sure she was yours. Your reaction…the way she looks like you and Ronan. I—I’m so sorry.” She starts to cry again, harder than before, but she pushes through, gulping for air. “He asked about you, and about Ronan, and I thought he was justbeing nice—he is, was, practically part of our family. I thought…I thought it was kind of romantic that there could be this secret kid. I got kind of carried away with the idea.” She laughs, a bitter, brittle sound. “We were dating, and I was just gossiping; we weren’t talking seriously or anything. Maddox even said we shouldn’t assume anything. I didn’t realize he was using me to find information about Ronan. To hurt Ronan. I told him so much about all sorts of things. I didn’t know he’d—”
The thought of anyone using Sophie to hurt Ronan, or what he’d do to me or her if he found out, makes my stomach lurch. “What if Maddox tries to take Sophie, brings her here to parade in front of the pack and show them that Ronan had a child with the traitors, that we were together at the same time my parents were plotting against the pack? People may turn on him or doubt him.”
A thousand scenarios, each worse than the one before, flash through my mind, but I snap out of it when I realize how distraught Emily is. Yes, it was naive and silly to tell someone when she didn’t even have all the facts, but it wasn’t malicious.
“Em, come on, don’t cry.” I say, pulling her into my arms, “Just give me some time to figure out the best thing to do. I’ll tell Ronan, okay? I just need some time to figure out the best way to do it.”
“Are you going to tell him that I told Maddox?” Emily sobs.
I shake my head. “Hopefully, he won’t need to hear that part. But it doesn’t matter, anyway; I’m not mad about that, and he wouldn’t be either. Maddox is the one in the wrong. It will all be okay.”
She sniffles and nods, apologizing again. “Tell me about her?” she finally says. “I want to hear all about my niece.”
We both cry as I begin to tell her all about my beautiful daughter, but I can’t bring myself to mention the danger she’s in. That’s something I’m going to have to deal with all by myself.
Chapter 15 - Ronan
There’s an undeniable edge to today’s training session, and the specter of Maddox’s disappearance yesterday hangs heavily over the assembled wolves. I can hear the whispers, the speculation, and frankly, the drama of it all overshadowing what is supposed to be an important session. Most of these are young wolves who hope to be betas with a role in protecting the pack one day; they’re here to show their worth and potential.
And, in a way, so am I.
They want to see what kind of alpha I’m going to be and how I’m going to handle Maddox’s challenge. I look over the crowd of wolves running through their drills and wonder how many of them think Maddox might make a better leader. How many of them are doubting me? From what I’ve discovered, he’s been targeting the younger ones. The ones who probably only remember my father's leadership when he was old and in decline couldn’t appreciate that the peace this pack enjoys is because of the good decisions he made long before they even existed.
I know I’m not my father, I’m my own wolf. But I do believe I have been raised to follow his good example. My wolf is clear in his desire to lead Starcreek and continue the prosperity we’ve enjoyed all these years. I’m ready to do things slightly differently, better in some ways, I hope, but still honor the solid foundations he left.
Maddox? His style is all about division and unnecessary drama. He loves to stir up infighting and unhealthy competition. Unfortunately, there are elements of that which can sometimes appeal to the younger wolves who are hungry to prove themselves and rise to the top, even at the expense of others.
I have no doubt that Maddox would have no time for the day-to-day running of the pack, the admin, and the more mundane aspects of keeping everyone happy and our society thriving. What he wants is the fight—the posturing. The moment of glory when everyone is watching, and the pack splits into winners and losers, and nothing else matters. He’d turn this place into a pit, a cycle of endless dominance games and blood feuds, and the first ones to suffer would be the ones who aren’t built for that—the ones who need protecting most.
The young wolves are circling in loose knots, all restless energy and half-hidden glances, waiting for me to announce the plan for today. Jacob walks toward me, seemingly reading the mood too, and he gives me a nod as if to sayit’s now or never. I raise my voice, and the sound rolls out over the field, silencing all but the birds.
“Listen up.” I pause just long enough to let heads turn. “We’ll split into groups for the next drill. You’ll rotate through sparring, field tracking, and strength training. Everyone gets a turn. And before anyone starts crying about fairness, betas will captain each group, and anyone who thinks they’re too good to learn something today can go home right now.”
There’s a ripple of laughter, some of it nervous, but the tension has definitely shifted. This is what they want: a genuine contest, a chance to prove themselves, but also bond with their pack. I’m not giving them Maddox’s style of bloodsport. I’m giving them an afternoon of hard, honest work and a reminder that being in this pack means more than just taking down the wolf in front of you.
Jacob takes over, reading from a clipboard. He’s smart enough to make the teams random, but he still manages to put the right mix of personality and strengths together. Soon, the field is in full action, and the sound of bodies hitting thegrass, barks of wolves half-shifting for advantage, and the sharp, satisfying crack of a good tackle. The air is full of adrenaline and the scent of sweat, and for the first time in days, I feel the tension in my shoulders loosen. This is what we’re made for. Not pointless drama, but pushing each other to be better, stronger, tighter as one unit.
The first round of sparring is all teeth and elbows, but I go out of my way to move through the groups, offering pointers and encouragement. I single out the ones I know Maddox has been targeting—the rookies with more muscle than confidence, or the ones from families who live on the edge of our pack but clearly want to belong, the ones that remind me of Ava. I make a point to spar with them myself, letting them see I’m not afraid to take a hit or admit when someone gets a clean shot in. When one of them, a wiry kid named Tanner, actually manages to sweep my legs and pin me for about half a second, the whole field erupts in shock, followed by wild howls of laughter. I let him help me up, clapping him so hard on the back he almost goes down. “Nice move,” I say, and it feels good to mean it.
By the time we break for water, the sun is high and hot, and everyone’s breathing hard, cheeks flushed. The lines between friend and rival have begun to blur. Young wolves who used to eye each other like competitors are now sprawled side by side in the grass, passing bottles and joking about whose ass hurts the most. Jacob tosses me a water bottle, and I catch it one-handed. He’s grinning, sweat running down his jaw.
“Not bad, not bad at all,” he says, nodding toward the clusters of kids lying on the grass.
I wipe my forehead with a sleeve and look out over the field. The difference from when we started is palpable. The pack is already reordering itself, a hundred small social adjustments playing out in real time. I see Tanner, the kid who dropped me,suddenly at the center of a small circle, his face caught between pride and disbelief as the older betas clap him on the back. I see two others who used to only run with their own now sitting under a tree as they compare matching bruises from their earlier spar.