Page 2 of Broken Arranged Mate (Badlands Wolves #4)

Gramps was never a whistle-while-you-work kind of guy, but I whistle anyway, the sound of it drowned out by my power drill.

Around me, my kitchen is in a state of disrepair, panels pulled off the cabinets, some of them laid out with pastel yellow paint, the other half sanded down and ready for a coat.

My hands are stained, dry, and rough from the work, and my wild hair is piled on top of my head, tied into a knot, a few strands drifting down and sticking to my neck.

“Hell- o ?”

When the song playing on my Bluetooth speaker switches to a different one, a voice floats through the dead air, and I startle, nearly ripping the screw clean through the wood panel I’m holding.

The drill stops, and the person reaches over to pause the music. When I look up through my bangs, I realize it’s not just one person—it’s three.

Kira, Emaline, and Veva stand just beyond the kitchen, each of them looking in on it with a different expression—Kira with concern, Emaline with awe, and Veva with appreciation.

“Ash,” Kira says, her voice getting a bit higher. Today, her red-gold hair is pulled into a thick braid on the right side of her face, and she wears a dark floral dress that hugs her chest, a long-sleeve sheer white shirt stretching to her wrists beneath. “We came to check on you.”

Kira is just a few months healed from giving birth to the triplets—in fact, all three of them have recently had babies, with Emaline only weeks out from hers.

Something pangs low in my chest at the feeling of exclusion, and I swallow through it, not letting it rise up.

It’s not their fault I’m firmly on the outside of the mom club. That’s not the only club I’m on the outside of, but again, I’m not thinking about it.

“You came to check on me?” I ask, raising an eyebrow and getting to my feet. I’m wearing my thick working overalls—which are great for when I’m doing hard work, but which make me feel frumpy next to the other three women.

Kira is always dressed perfectly, her clothes precisely tailored, and Veva has a certain, almost punk-rock coolness about her. Emaline wears a purple plaid dress with a matching bow, her hair tumbling over her shoulders and down her back.

Self-consciously, I brush some of the sawdust off my chest.

“Well, check on is a bit strong,” Veva says, popping her hip and looking around. “I always forget what a wizard you are with this stuff, Ash.”

That’s rich, coming from an actual wizard—I was at the ceremony where my brother, the alpha leader, commended Veva for her work. Her ability with magic is unmatched.

“You’re doing yellow?” Emaline asks, her eyes darting to the freshly-painted cabinets. “I love that—it’s so pretty.”

“Thank you.” Addressing Emaline is easier than answering the other two. Of course, Kira is checking on me—as the luna of the pack, she has an inclination toward nurturing. And Veva doesn’t mean to, but her forgetting about my doing carpentry cuts straight to the center of me.

Building stuff was the one thing Gramps and I did alone together. Every other part of him, Dorian got first dibs on, and I was left with the scraps.

“You weren’t answering the group chat,” Kira says, those sharp eyes on me. I feel some walls go up, even as that makes me guilty.

If a shifter wants to keep something to herself, a room with these three women is the worst place to be—Kira as a clairaudient, Veva with clairsentience, and Emaline with claircognizance.

And they’ve all been working with Beth—the oldest and most knowledgeable psychic in the pack—to develop their abilities.

I take a step back from them, as though the physical distance will help me keep my secret.

I’ve managed to keep it for years, from my brother, from my friends, even from Gramps when he was still alive. And there’s no way I’m going to let them figure it out now, just because the unrest in my stomach drove me to remodel my kitchen.

Clearing my throat, I say, “Sorry. I got sucked into this project. I found that antique stove I was talking about, and figured I’d have to adjust the cabinets to fit it, and then I remembered I wanted to put in that dishwasher and paint, so figured…”

“You’d do it all at once?” Veva laughs, shaking her head. “I just don’t know where you find the time.”

All I have is time. Kira has five babies now—Noah and Oliver, growing up so fast, their single words turning into full sentences and demands. The other day, Oliver took Kira’s phone, ran into the backyard, and threw it into his kiddie pool.

She told me she and Dorian were so shocked they had to hide their laughter behind their hands while putting him in a time-out.

And the triplets, all just as fussy as the twins were as babies. The two of them just can’t catch a break.

Veva has her oldest, Sarina, who’s thirteen now, and also a baby. And Emaline just has the one, a precious little thing with wide eyes and a huge, gummy smile. He gets that from his father.

They’re all busy raising their children, building their families. And the best thing I have to fuss over is the flower garden behind my house.

When the silence stretches on for too long, Emaline clears her throat and shifts from side to side, saying, “We were wondering if you wanted to get margaritas with us?”

I should go. I’ve been in this house, between jobs, for too long.

But if I’m around them, especially when drinking, I might just say too much. Tell them how Dorian let it slip that a certain alpha leader is coming to the Badlands tomorrow. Explain why that makes my insides sing and cry, all at once.

And I absolutely cannot do that.

Besides, the special guest isn’t the only reason I’ll need to keep busy during the meeting. I’ve been nudging Dorian to let me sit in on the council meetings for ages, but it’s never included an omega before.

The Ambersky pack may be making progressive leaps when it comes to other things, and the general treatment of women and omegas, but it’s not far enough that he could do it without blowback. I know that, but it still hurts.

When your brother is the alpha leader, you can’t help but feel you’ll always come second to the pack, even when the pack is in the wrong.

Shaking my head, I gesture to the kitchen. “I’ve got a lot to deal with here. But I’ll take a full recap in the group chat, please.”

They look at me collectively for a moment, Kira chewing on her lip, then Veva steps forward and punches me lightly on the arm.

“Fine,” she says, pointing a finger in my direction. “But you’d better actually answer the damn thing.”

***

Beth answers on the first knock, like she always does.

I don’t know if it has to do with her abilities, or if she knows that I’m chronically on time and her body has Pavloved itself into getting to the door right at seven.

“Good morning ,” she sings to me, impossibly chipper.

I pass her a coffee and step into the house, following her silently to her kitchen, where a basket of muffins sits—no doubt baked by Kira, who, for the second time in her life, has had a rush of post-bed-rest energy and assaulted the entire town with baked goods.

It doesn’t look like Beth has broken into them yet. I reach forward and take one for myself.

Beth settles into her seat, sipping her coffee and chatting to me about various things—a rare crystal she’s ordered, her plans to maybe dye her roots, and Sarina’s most recent achievement with her abilities.

The kid is a wonder, but it’s scary how fast she’s learning.

As Beth goes on, I drink my own coffee—black, not because I hate flavor, but because I ran out of creamer and put the rest in Beth’s—and listen.

This is our dynamic. I’m not a morning person, but I like to check on her each day, and she’s always busy in the afternoons, whether with the whole group of psychics or working individually with a few of them.

“Oh, this damn thing,” Beth says when her faucet starts to sputter. She holds the travel coffee cup underneath it, turning it, but the faucet spits out water and air.

“I can fix that,” I say, pushing to my feet and starting toward the sink, but Beth holds her hand up, tilting her head to the side.

“You won’t have time, dear,” she says, and a moment later, there’s a knock at the door.

I raise an eyebrow at Beth as she hurries to open it, revealing Kira on the other side, looking excited, her hair wild and loose around her shoulders, the copper curls tumbling like the crashing of a waterfall against rocks.

“Ash!” she says, “today is the day!”

“Today is the day?”

I’m tired and grumpy, and the words come out more cynical than I intend. Kira either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, bouncing inside and taking me by the arm. I wriggle out of her grip, not wanting the contact to trigger a premonition for her.

The last thing I need is for her to reach into the past, using her clairaudience to hear the sounds of the secret I’m desperately trying to keep.

“It’s the day,” she says, gesturing for me to follow her, “that we finally get to sit in on the council meeting! Come on.”

I blink, surprised, but my feet are already following her command. When I reach the door, I turn back to say goodbye to Beth, who’s giving me a smug look.

“What?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “You had a vision that Kira would be coming.”

“No,” she laughs, shaking her head, eyes sparkling, “Of course not. Kira texted me.”

Of course.

“Come on!” Kira calls from the car, and I shake my head at Beth before turning and walking to the car, feeling strangely like I’m walking right off the end of the plank and into the sea.