Page 26 of Broken Arranged Mate (Badlands Wolves #4)

I funnel every ounce of hurt and rage into projects around the house, fixing problems and upgrading areas I hate.

It’s an ugly house with good bones. I can make it better.

Unlike this thing between Oren and I, which was, apparently, a pretty thing with awful, rotted bones that fell out from underneath us the second we were alone. And I should have known better.

He rejected me. That first time, when we were out on the mesa, standing naked together under the moonlight, I’d told him without fear that he was my mate.

And he’d told me it wasn’t true. That maybe I felt it, but he didn’t.

Then he ran off and left me standing there, confused, shaken, and alone. And my heat started in response to it, but that time, and every time after, the toys and my own touch were nowhere near enough.

My body had the real thing, and I’d always be left with a tinge of hollowness after that.

Maybe that’s part of the reason I rushed to volunteer myself for this marriage. Because I thought I might be able to fill in the space with whatever part of him I could get.

And that was so, so stupid. It was stupid to let myself lean into him—helping me fix up the space, making sure it was ready for the wedding. Every time he let his hand linger on my back.

Every time he made me think I was more precious to him than I actually was.

I rip out the kitchen cabinets, remake them completely, painting them a deep, dark navy, which sucks all the light from the room.

When I’m in the living room, I replace the trim around the fireplace and fix some of the chipped stones, taking down the mirror so the room looks as small as it makes me feel.

At night, I sleep in my room, and Oren sleeps in his. His warmth toward me has been suddenly and completely dampened, and every time I start to think about it, I have to push the thoughts away by starting a new project.

What—he just wanted to have me again, then realized it wasn’t like he remembered? He was only doing his duty? I did something, but he’s not willing to tell me what it was.

I rip out the vinyl flooring in the bathroom and replace it with real tile, which I grout myself, all the tension and focus in my body funneled into the long, straight lines.

Oren comes and goes during the day, but I don’t. Where would I go? It’s not like I can travel across the territory myself. According to him, it’s not safe.

So, instead, I work on the house until I’m sore and exhausted, too tired to think about the fact that Oren is just down the hallway from me, that his body is only a stone’s throw from mine.

And every night, it’s seemingly very easy for him to avoid me, to keep from coming to my room.

I tricked myself into thinking he was someone he’s not. And I won’t make that mistake again.

***

My resolve not to talk to Oren breaks three days later, when I get a call from Kira in the middle of the night.

I roll over, hand grasping for the flashing screen on my dresser.

I know it’s Kira because it’s some pop song she was obsessed with last summer, and I used to be the kind of person who set a personalized ringtone for each person in my phone.

“Kira?” I croak into the speaker, and the first string of words she gets out are incomprehensible to me, wet and long, broken up by sobs.

My first thought is that something happened to her boys—and my second thought is that something happened to my brother . I dig my heels into the mattress, realizing with a startling clarity just how much I love him and how terrible my life would be to lose him this quickly.

But it’s not Dorian.

Oren answers on the fourth knock against his door, looking wide awake and wild-eyed, his gaze traveling up and down the length of me with such hunger that for the briefest, briefest moment, I forget why I came to him in the first place, and think that he might reach for me and I might let him.

And then, in the next second, I remember. Everything comes rushing back, and my words come out choked, half-formed, only an approximation of language.

“It’s Beth.”

Oren must be able to understand me, because that hunger—if it was ever there—disappears immediately. He’s turning and pulling on real clothes, and the two of us are moving out the door together, making the drive to Ambersky for the first time since our marriage.

Before the wedding, I’d thought my first time back would be something of a victory lap. That I’d be able to tell my friends, my brother, that they had nothing to worry about. That all the warnings and assurances that I could change my mind weren’t needed.

I’d thought, foolishly, that this marriage would help me prove that Oren and I were mates after all.

And instead, I’m barreling through the dessert with my husband—in name only—to make it to one of my best friends before she’s lost to me forever.

When we reach Beth’s house, there are several cars outside, and I nearly fall to my knees when I burst from his truck, miscalculating the distance between me and the ground.

But somehow, Oren is there, catching me and righting me, helping me make it the rest of the way to the house. I should push him away—even his touch on my shoulder is making it difficult for me to stay angry at him—but I simply can’t.

I’m sick, the nausea roiling inside me, hot and sticky, climbing up my windpipe and pushing against the bottom of my throat with a blinding, dreadful, oxygen-stealing force.

My brain is a small world, and the rail tracks loop again and again inside it, repeating the phrase again and again: Beth is going to die.

Together, Oren and I burst through the door, and the first person I see is my brother, standing just inside Beth’s crowded front hallway. Books and plants rise on either side of us, and in a rush of memories, I see my entire history with Beth.

She was a friend of our grandfather’s, and a listening ear when I grew angry with my position in the world.

Beth was there for Kira when she came back to Ambersky and again for Veva when she was unsure about her gift.

Beth has always used her ability to help others and her place in the community to create a space for those who might otherwise feel left out.

Just like me.

Maybe all the other women in Beth’s group have abilities, and maybe I don’t, but Beth never made me feel like I didn’t belong. And, according to Kira, she’s not going to make it through the night.

Though the panic in me insists I rush straight to Beth, I take two lumbering steps forward and throw myself into Dorian’s arms, stuffing the sob in my throat back down so it can’t rise up and strangle me.

“Ash.” Dorian’s voice is deep, with a note of surprise, which makes sense. He and I are not exactly the hugging kind of siblings—not touchy. We never hugged or play-fought. Gramps was like that, too—he shook my hand the day I graduated from high school.

After a childhood of little to no physical touch, it’s probably confusing for Dorian that I would fall into his arms right now.

“Sorry,” I croak, pushing away from him, but he catches me for a moment, studying me, and I feel it for the first time—my brother and I are no longer packmates. He seems to register it, too, likely in the fact that he’s no longer hypersensitive to my feelings, because he’s no longer my pack leader.

I swallow it down and force a smile. “Sorry,” I repeat, and then, before Dorian can say anything else, I add, “Where is she?”

“Through here,” Kira says, appearing with her arms wrapped around herself.

Her eyes are rimmed with red, her red-blonde hair wild and curly around her face.

I’ve seen this woman after birthing twins and triplets, and she’s never looked this haggard before.

It makes my stomach flip. “In her bedroom.”

I’ve only been into Beth’s bedroom a few times, and I note how Oren hangs back in the living room with Dorian, letting me go ahead. I’m still furious with him, but my body also longs for his, hands twitching at my sides and begging me to reach out for him, to create that connection of skin to skin.

If Oren took me in his arms right now, it might help to assuage the panic and fear.

Kira and I walk into the bedroom together, and the sight I see makes my throat tight.

Beth is in bed, the covers pulled up under her chin, and even from here, I can see how frail she is.

The last time I saw her, she was too thin—I know that.

But I was so busy with everything else—Oren, the wedding, all that visiting—that I wasn’t checking on her. I wasn’t paying attention to her.

The room is dark, still, and smells like patchouli and rose. A mug of tea steams on the nightstand beside her. Without a word, Kira turns and leaves, shutting the door behind her.

“Beth,” I breathe, practically falling to my knees at her bedside. I take her hand in mine, and she squeezes, her skin soft and thin, her fingers much bonier than I remember.

“Ash,” she says, and my name comes out like an exhalation, like this is what she’s been waiting for. She lets her eyes flutter shut, a gentle smile curling over her lips. “Oh, I’m so glad you could come, honey. But then, I knew it would work out like that, didn’t I?”

“What is going on , Beth?”

She opens her eyes, cutting them to me with what’s almost a mischievous grin. “Well, honestly, love, I’ve known about this for a while. I go around touching my own things constantly—with my gift, it was bound to happen that I would find out my death day.”

Another sob catches in my throat, and I tighten my hold on her hand. “I’m so… furious with you right now. How could you not tell me?”

She laughs, “Leave it to you to be honest, Ash. Well, you have your own life. And it’s important that you live it.”

“I’m sure you know my life isn’t exactly peachy right now.”

“The not-peachy times are the ones that make us, dear.”

I bite my tongue against the swell of tears in my eyes. “Beth, are you really…”

“It will be tonight,” Beth nods, clearing her throat and sitting up a bit, pushing that frizzy white hair away from her face and meeting my eyes. “I’ve been sick for a long time. I’ve come to terms with it. And now that you’re here, everything is settled.”

“Now that I’m here?”

“Yes,” she breathes, squeezing my hand and fixing her gaze on me again.

Without her glasses, her eyes are smaller, less other-worldly.

She’s not even gone yet, and I’m already starting to miss her.

“I love you like a daughter, Ash. A daughter I never had. Take this one piece of advice from me—if you would like to have your own children, don’t wait.

You can figure things out as you go, but if you wait like I did, you might end up having to adopt quite a few. ”

“I would be honored to live my life like you did,” I breathe.

She laughs again, stops to cough, then continues, “Look to the other women for guidance when you need it. Continue to be brave for me.”

“As much as I can, I will.”

For a long moment, I think that’s all she’s going to say. I think that she’s going to leave me, just like that. But then, she takes in another breath and speaks, a bit shakily.

“Tomorrow morning,” she rasps, holding my gaze, “you are going to wake up with my gift.”