Page 21 of Broken Arranged Mate (Badlands Wolves #4)

I have never been a man to care about weddings.

When my father renewed his vows with my mother—an excuse to throw a party, and one with a punchline—I’d fussed against the suit I was stuffed into, resented being made to carry rings to the altar when my father didn’t honor them in the first place.

But this—even I can admit that this wedding is a thing of beauty.

Every aspect is at its peak, from the lighting to the expressions on the guests’ faces. Everything is perfect—that is, except for one thing.

The door opens, and when I see Ash in her wedding dress, the sensation reminds me of the time I grabbed an electric fence as a kid. More than having the breath knocked out of me, it was like my soul left my body, slinging up into the atmosphere before hurtling back into my chest.

She is breathtaking.

I should have known better than to imagine she would be in a simple white dress—especially not with the way Kira was talking about it, how my sister was evading the topic. Everything about the dress is completely Ash.

It’s impossible for me to take my eyes off her.

And, also, it’s impossible for me to catch her scent.

I notice it the moment I see her, see Veva step forward and move her hands, clearly casting.

Maybe it’s magic that’s affected her scent, or something else, but I can’t fathom why in the world they would hide my bride’s scent from me on our wedding day.

I want to smell her right now, as she walks up the aisle. When I look back on this memory, I want to be able to remember the way her scent intertwined with the moment. Every time I smell her from now on, I want to think about this, watching her walk toward me in that dress..

Even as I’m thinking it, I’m aware that these are the thoughts of a sentimental man, and certainly not someone marrying purely for political reasons, but the thoughts are outside of my control.

Ash reaches me, and I realize, after a beat, that I’m meant to pull the veil up and away from her face. I do, letting my thumb trail along the curve of her jaw, and I watch the shiver work its way through her body at the touch.

All I want is to get her alone.

Beyond the glass to our left, you can almost distinctly see the two lands—the tall, red mesas of Ambersky, and the smooth, rolling dunes of the desert. A union of two people, two packs.

Ash knew what she was talking about when she said this was the right choice for the ceremony. The symbolism of it is staggering—an old watchtower, instead converted to a place of celebration and unity.

“It looks amazing in here,” she whispers, and I realize there are tears at the corners of her eyes. Maybe she’s just overwhelmed with the moment.

I didn’t realize we were allowed to speak, and glance at the officiant to see if he’s going to do anything, but he’s too preoccupied opening his book and setting it on the altar to chastise us for breaking rules.

Turning back to Ash, I try to think of something to say. Ask her if she really thinks that, or if it's just a wedding day platitude. I could tell her that I did it for her. That all I want is for her to be happy—but it’s too late. The officiant has already begun.

“Welcome, everyone, to this very special evening.” He clears his throat, addresses both sides of the room, which not only hold Grayhide and Ambersky, but also Llewelyn and other, further packs.

If we’d had a contact for the Hysopp, we might have even tried to invite them, too, though I’m not in the school of people who think of the coven as anything more than a bedtime story.

“As I’m sure you all know, we are here to celebrate the union of Oren Blacklock, Alpha Leader of Grayhide, and Ash Fields of Ambersky. Our friends and family, loved ones and neighbors, are all here to witness the joy of this ceremony. And so let us begin.”

He starts by reading ancient tomes, words written by shifters in the pre-Amanzite times, grandfathers and great-grandfathers much older than me, who likely never imagined we would ever reach a place of allyship between the Grayhides and the Ambersky.

When I hear someone start to sniffle, I glance out into the crowd and realize it’s my mother, holding a handkerchief to her eye. Raegan sits next to her, rubbing her back. Next to Raegan is Wyn, who has taken his directive to protect my sister very seriously, his eyes drifting over to her.

The officiant finishes the reading and clears his throat, drawing me back to the moment. When I look back, I realize Ash is biting her lip—maybe to keep from laughing—and it makes a coil of lust push through me, getting tighter and tighter with each little unassuming thing that she does.

I want to know what this wedding dress looks like on the floor. I want to get her skin under mine again, feel that warmth, bury my nose in the crook of her neck until her scent returns to me once more.

“Now,” the officiant says, closing the book and looking between the two of us. “We can move into the vows.”

Neither of us wrote vows—what would I manage to write that would be reasonable for the people here to witness?—so he recites the standard ones, his eyes heavy and serious on me as he begins.

“Oren Blacklock, here before your pack, do you swear to uphold this union, treat this shifter with respect, and continue the bloodline with honor and dignity?”

“I do.”

“Ash Fields,” he turns to her, and I track her throat as she swallows. “Do you swear, here before your pack, to uphold this union, treat this shifter with respect, and continue the bloodline with honor and dignity?”

Her eyes flicker to mine. “I do.”

This is the moment that we would typically turn and address the pack, allowing anyone to object to the pairing. In dramatic retellings of previous weddings, this is typically the opportunity for mates to declare themselves, asserting that the marriage should not be finalized.

But something overtakes me, and I can’t stop myself—I reach forward, anchor a hand at the small of Ash’s back, and pull her to me, taking her lips with mine.

Dorian and the others might think of this as a show, a bit of acting to demonstrate my feelings for Ash. Yet another demonstration meant to soften the aggression between our packs.

But the truth is just that I wanted to kiss her, and I wanted every person in the room to know, without a doubt, that she belongs to me.

A whoop sounds from the crowd, and when I release Ash, she looks dazed, her cheeks flushed, her hands still gripping the lapels of my suit. Slowly, I raise my hands to hers and loosen them, and she drops her gaze to the floor, seeming embarrassed.

I don’t want her to be embarrassed. In fact, the only thing I want in the world right now is to get her alone, and I don’t understand why this urge is coming on so strongly at this precise moment.

“Now, as is customary, please grant your honored guests the privilege of witnessing your wolves.”

The statement shocks me so much that I swing my head around, giving the officiant a look that must read as confused and also slightly angry, because the beta shuffles the slightest bit away from the altar when I level it at him.

Ash’s hand lands on my wrist, and I meet her eyes. “It’s a tradition in Ambersky,” she says, eyes still sparkling with emotion. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to.”

For the Grayhides, the first shift for the couple is private, something you do alone after the wedding. Something of a night-after activity. The last thing I want to do is shift and show my wolf to all the people in this room.

But it’s her tradition, and I’m doing this to bring our packs closer together. Besides, I’ve already interrupted the ceremony enough with the kiss, so I suppose it’s something of karmic retribution.

“No.” I put my other hand over hers, look into her eyes. “I’ll do it.”

I watch her hand go to her wrist—where I know her Amanzite bracelet rests—and she meets my eyes again. Connecting to my own Amanzite, I close my eyes, breathe, and open them again in my true form.

My father always talked about his wolf like a tool, something to bring out when he wanted to intimidate someone, or to move quickly through the land.

But I’ve always felt most at peace in this form, often sneaking away from the grounds to run across the dunes like this, the feeling of the sand in my fur almost freeing enough to help me feel sane.

Now, Ash and I circle one another on the dais, the officiant having grabbed the altar and moved back to make room. My wolf is much larger than most, and I feel the effect of that size on the people in this room.

Good. Maybe word will spread, and shifters will stop challenging me for the alpha leader position.

Breathing deeply, I realize I actually can catch her scent now.

And I understand why it is that Veva and Kira chose to block it. Because Ash is either in heat or just about to be. I swallow, using every ounce of my willpower to maintain control over my body.

That’s the unfortunate thing about the wolf—he has a much more difficult time listening to reason.

Coming back to my original position, and not sure I can stand much more of scenting her like this without doing something I’ll regret, I shift back to my human form and stand, reaching out for her hand when she follows suit a moment later.

“Shifters and dignitaries,” the officiant says, “packmates and family—I give you the new Luna of Grayhide!”