Page 27 of Broken Arranged Mate (Badlands Wolves #4)

Ash cries quietly the entire way home.

The landscape flies by on either side of us, the cacti and sand barely visible tonight. There’s almost no moon in sight, only the tiniest sliver in the sky.

That means the new moon is coming in a few days.

As I drive, my thoughts alternate between the woman in the seat beside me and the never-ending list of things I have to get done.

I think of the dark market—something of a farmer’s market for illegal substances and illicit trading. For decades, it’s taken place on Grayhide lands, and we’ve been working hard to break it up, identity the leaders, and make sure it either dissolves or moves out of our territory.

Above us, the stars dim to pinpricks, so my headlights cut through the dark in stark contrast with the inky black.

We’re the only car on the road tonight, and I sweep my gaze back and forth, keeping a watchful eye out for the highway bandits Dorian said have been camping out in the sparser areas between our lands.

Yet another thing that we have to deal with.

Ash makes a little noise, shifting in her seat, and my eyes flicker to her of their own volition, heart squeezing in response to the pain she feels.

I have no idea what to do about this situation—so far, in my life, I’ve lost nobody important. Of course, there’s the huge trauma with my father, but I was happy to see him go.

I have no idea what it’s like to lose somebody I wanted to keep.

And for it to happen so suddenly, for Beth to know it was coming and not tell Ash—it breaks my heart for her.

Beth is gone, and there’s nothing I can do about that.

I’d told her she could stay behind to grieve, that nobody would think anything of that, but she’d just shaken her head, pushed out the front door.

Now, the t transitions under my truck’s tires, the suspension shifting as we move from solid land to the more yielding and shifting terrain of the desert.

Each time I try to speak, I find the words stick in my throat. Ash already wants nothing to do with me. Aside from the soup dinner we shared, we haven’t spent more than five minutes in a room together since I left her during her heat.

I regret it.

But, at the same time, I don’t.

It’s my duty to care for this pack, and I can’t do that if I’m tied up in a love affair. My father was a superfluous man, constantly following his emotions—like greed, lust, and obsession—and it was the worst possible thing for our people.

I cannot—and will not —be like him.

The temperature drops the closer we get to our house, and the tires occasionally slip in looser patches of sand.

When I pull up outside the house and cut the engine, we sit there in the near-silence together, listening to the truck click and adjust. Then, after a few minutes, she lets out a loud, shuddering sigh, and I slip out of the driver’s seat, rounding to her side.

But she doesn’t let me open the door for her—she’s already jumping out by the time I arrive, pushing past me and up the walk. There’s something about her, the way she walks right now, almost like she’s drunk with grief.

We’re standing on the porch when Ash trips, and I reach out to grab her, just like I did earlier, when she was getting out of the car. The physical contact is excruciating, but it’s not like I’m going to let her hit the ground.

Pausing, we stand on the porch together, her biceps warm under my touch, her breathing shallow, her face still damp from tears.

Then, I make a huge mistake, let my feelings come to the surface, and say, “Ash—I am so sorry.”

It’s as if me speaking brings her back to life, reminds her who I am, and she jerks away from my touch. I see the moment it registers in her mind that there’s contact between us, the disgust that flickers over her features.

Seeming to shove her grief down, she runs her fingers through her hair, tucks it behind her ears, then turns and pushes through the front door.

I stand there for a moment, digesting, shocked by how suddenly she went from letting me hold her to running away. Around me, the insects chirp, and somewhere far above, a desert owl lets out a desolate hoot.

I’m standing alone on the porch, and my wife is inside the house, likely already back to her room, where she’ll deadbolt the lock and hide away until I leave again.

So, after tonight, she’s back to ignoring me.

It shouldn’t hurt—it shouldn’t matter . This is what’s best for both of us. And whether Ash agrees with it or not, it’s my duty as the alpha leader to make those decisions.

Except when I step over the threshold, I find Ash standing there, waiting for me, her arms crossed, anger flickering behind those large blue eyes.

The streaks of silver in her hair catch the light from the porch, and her feet are planted in a widened stance, almost like she’s getting ready to fight me.

“So, you can offer me some half-assed condolences for my loss, but not even apologize for what you did to me?”

Her words are biting, cutting right into me, and I realize that I never should have thought I’d get away with avoiding her. Ash Fields is not the kind of woman who will let things go.

I stare at her, swallowing, unable to stop my eyes from drinking her in. Her lips are pressed together, her cheeks flushed, her chest rising and falling steadily under the loose, tattered pajama shirt she didn’t even have a chance to change out of.

With wild hair and wide eyes, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

“Ash—” I start, but she is, apparently, not done with me, because she steps forward, jabbing her fingers into my chest hard enough that on any other man, it might hurt.

But it only manages to send a shock of arousal through me, tinged with the edge of her rage. Almost like my body is happy enough for her to feel anything about me.

“No.” She pauses, shakes her head, and I see the fury actually vibrating her body. “ No , Oren, you don’t just get to—”

Ash cuts herself off, turning and dropping her head into her hands, letting out a tiny, mangled scream.

I hesitate, then move forward, gently resting my hand on her shoulder.

I can tell, even without asking, that her grief over Beth is twisting her up inside right now.

That makes it harder for her to talk, to think—that it might be better for both of us to just go to bed.

But the moment I think it, she turns on me, scowling.

“If I had been there, checking on her,” she chokes, the words half anger and half devastation, “I would have had more time with her.”

They hang in the air for a moment, and I find the meaning there, the real implication—if we hadn’t gotten married, if we hadn’t been focusing on the wedding, Ash might have noticed that Beth was declining.

I know it’s my fault that I led her on—that I let her think there could ever be anything more than a simple, straightforward political marriage between us—but she agreed to it. She went through with it.

Ash said she wanted to do something for her pack. It’s not my fault that the first time that sacrifice makes itself known, becomes real, she realizes it’s more than she wanted to give.

“You agreed to this,” I growl, trying to bite back my words, but being unable to. “Or have you forgotten that you wanted to be an Ambersky martyr?”

“Oh, fuck you , Oren. You’d never understand this, because you’re the fucking chosen one , but not all of us get to go out there and chase after our destinies. Some of us are born into roles that force us to always, always be following someone else. You have no idea what it’s like to be me.”

“Maybe not.” I wish I could stop the words from coming out of me, but they’re flowing, spurred on by the anger, by the days and nights of not touching her, by the look on her face right now that confirms all my worst thoughts.

“But I do know that you agreed to this marriage, Ash. You stood across from me in front of everyone and agreed to this union. So if you hate the situation you’re in, you have to admit that you played a part in creating it. ”

When her face flips from grieving to furious, it genuinely sends a chill down the length of my back. Just as quickly, it changes back, the anger receding, something only bitter and vague left behind, the hollow shell of an emotion.

Ash laughs, tears in her eyes, “I said I do , Oren, but it’s not my fault I didn’t know I was marrying a monster .”

With that, she turns and makes her way up the stairs, not looking back at me once. My heart thuds in my chest, my ears roaring with blood as her words land, and land, and land again, sinking all the way into the core of me.

It’s not my fault, I didn’t know I was marrying a monster .

A monster.

Staggering backward, I hit the table and slide into one of the chairs, my breath coming hard and fast, my hands shaking, fingers trembling with the strength of the adrenaline and blood pumping through my veins.

A monster .

After all this, after everything. Running away and living for a year in a place that wasn’t my home. The training and the sacrifice, and trying to bring my mother back to life. The death of my father and the killing of Mhairi Argent.

After more than twenty years of trying, I’ve failed.

My only goal in life has been to be nothing like my father, and yet, somehow, I’ve managed to do just that.

Ash Fields married a monster.

Ash Fields married me .