Page 17 of Broken Arranged Mate (Badlands Wolves #4)

It’s late, and I’m eight years younger, running.

Of course, my father is having a massive gala for the super blood moon, a mansion full of horny wolves.

I’d thought I could hide in my room, steer clear, but when I tried to dart to the bathroom, I was cornered by an older woman, pressed against the wall, the sound of her growl against my throat making my stomach turn.

Barely an adult, and the women of this pack are already trying to stake their claim to me.

Whispers fill the halls about when I might challenge my father for the alpha leader position.

I want nothing to do with the cycle of violence, but I know it’s my responsibility to get him out.

It’s the only way to protect the people of this pack.

When I come to the top of a sand dune and look out, I realize I’ve run long enough that I’m near the border, staring out at the transitioning land, where it turns from desert to hard, red earth.

And there’s someone out here.

She stands in the center of one of the plateaus, nose to the air, as poised and beautiful as I’ve ever seen.

The second I see her, I know without a shadow of a doubt that this wolf is my mate.

And I also know that I am not a shifter with the luxury of claiming a mate.

If my father were to find out about it—to discover the identity of my mate—he would use her to control me.

He would hurt her, and she would never be safe from his reach as long as he was alive.

And still, I make my way to her, moving through the brush, eyes locked on her.

If she’s aware of my presence, she doesn’t make it known, holding herself stock still, almost as though she’s trying to drink in the light of the moon itself.

Her wolf is much smaller than mine, in a shade of chocolate brown that’s dusted with silver and gray, reminding me of puppy chow, TV static, the dots behind my eyes when I can’t sleep at night.

I consider myself to be a strong man, not often easy to manipulate, but I feel the essence of the moon washing over me, softening me, bringing some of my synapses, long buried, back to life.

When I rise up onto the rock with her, I expect her to be afraid. An omega, out here in the middle of nowhere, on her own, in the middle of the super blood moon.

A scent rises from her—not quite a heat, but something adjacent to it, something heady and intoxicating. She stares at me, those wide, ocean-blue eyes steady and large, reflecting the light of the moon.

At once, it’s like I’ve known her for a millennium.

When I step closer to her, she shifts into her human form, standing tall, not at all intimidated by me. Her cheeks are round, her dark brown hair loose around her shoulders, and shining with streaks of silver, like sparkling tinsel.

It’s only when I reach out to touch it that I realize I’ve also shifted into my human form, and we’re standing together, bathed in the moonlight.

“Hello,” she says, voice ethereal, and when I run my hands over her arms, my fingers grazing the skin there, I feel her shiver in my bones.

It’s the super blood moon, that massive red-gray sphere, hanging in the sky.

I try to tell myself that its effect is the only reason I’m feeling this way.

It’s what urged that woman to press herself against me in the hall earlier, and it’s what’s making me feel like my soul is floating out of my body, untethered to anything except a mindless, consistent roll of desire.

Pleasure, touch. All I want is to touch this woman, this shifter, to put my claim on her and know her inside and out. It’s more than I’ve ever wanted from a woman, and she is the first I’ve wanted to map for myself, to keep like a talisman.

Then I get what I want. She steps into my arms, tipping her head up to mine, our lips just about to brush.

And I’m waking up.

Reality comes flooding back to me like a rush of ice water, and I gasp against it, sitting up in bed and throwing the sheets off my body.

The faintest early morning light shines in through the windows, and the memory of that night—the first time I met Ash Fields, long before I ever knew her brother was the alpha leader of the Ambersky pack—continues to play through my mind, no matter how badly I want it to stop.

Standing, I push to my feet and force myself to walk to the bathroom, stepping into the shower, but even the cold shower doesn’t stop my cock from insisting we find her, do something about this feeling.

It’s not the first time I’ve jacked off in the shower while thinking about Ash Fields, and I know with a certainty that it won’t be the last.

When I step out of the shower, I’m just cold and horny, flashes of her running through my head from the past few weeks.

The last time we were in the watchtower, working together, I’d turned around to find her on her knees, ass in the air, reaching for something under one of the control panels, and had to turn around, biting the inside of my cheek to keep myself from going over to her, taking her in my hands, doing everything to that body that I’ve dreamed of since that day on the plateau.

As of now, I’m still sleeping in the family house, the massive, cavernous mansion in which my father died, and when I walk down the hallway, I feel the anger of all those years working through me.

“Landon.”

I knock on his door, and a moment later, he opens, half-dressed and groggy.

“Sir,” he croaks, turning to look at the clock. “Sorry, I—”

“Gather up the Blacklock loyalists,” I say, clearing my throat. “I have a job for them.”

Landon blinks, then says, “Will do. Should I invite Reeyan as well?”

The man who has made it perfectly clear he wants to be on my council. Fine—if he wants to prove himself, a little manual labor might do him good.

“Fine, but make sure they all meet us near the old watchtower on the northern border in the next hour.”

Landon’s eyes widen, but he nods, then turns around, I assume to dress and get ready.

I need something to take my mind off Ash, need to vet my choices for council members. And that watchtower needs to be finished before the wedding.

Might as well accomplish all things at once.

***

Raegan is with our mother today, so Wyn has been relieved of his bodyguard duty and is instead here in the watchtower, helping with the renovations.

Ash has told me her vision so many times I could recite it by heart—string the ceiling with fairy lights, which we’ll have to wire for.

Encase the walls in flowers, set the altar just beside the floor-to-ceiling windows, and have some people help us transition the space between the ceremony and the reception.

I can hear her voice in my head, “We’ll have to leave the control panels,” a sigh, “because there’s just not enough time to figure out how to get them out.”

Now, one of the guys hoots as they rip the massive, wiry things out of the floor. I’ve cleared them to throw them off the side of the tower, rather than carrying them down, and that’s enough of a reason for them to be in a good mood.

“You must be whipped,” Wyn mutters, sidling up next to me. I turn and glare at him, but he just grins back at me, unfazed by the expression that usually gets other people to leave me alone.

I mean to say something sarcastic, but instead I say, “I just want her to be happy.”

It catches Wyn by surprise, and me, too. I swallow it down and turn away from him, already berating myself for being so careless, not watching the things I say.

But why? It’s good for people to think Ash and I are besotted with each other. When the shifters in these packs see the affection between the two of us, it will alter their thinking, soften their aggression toward one another.

That’s the entire point.

But maybe the problem is that Wyn can see through me—without me telling him, he knows the truth about what’s going on here. Which means there’s something inside me, right at the core, that’s unguarded when it comes to Ash.

“Alright, man,” Wyn says, eyes wide, his hand swinging up to clap me on the back. Turning, he surveys the room, a hammer in his hand. “That’s all you had to say.”