Page 29 of Broken Arranged Mate (Badlands Wolves #4)

I said I do, Oren, but it’s not my fault, I didn’t know I was marrying a monster.

Ash’s words play through my head again and again, looping on repeat. She married a monster. She said that I’m a monster.

And she’s right—even when I was trying to do the best thing, trying to do what’s right, I ended up hurting her in the process. It was moments of weakness that led to this marriage in the first place—pointing to her during that council meeting, allowing the whole thing to go any further than a joke.

All because I missed her and wanted to hold her again. All because the aching and longing I’d felt for years had compounded to a point of pain.

If I were a stronger man, I never would have let this happen. If I really felt about Ash the way that I think I do, I never would have put her in harm’s way, especially not for the benefit of my own pleasure.

Hurting people to benefit himself is exactly what my father did for the duration of his time as alpha leader. It’s what he saw modeled to him through my grandfather, and he never questioned that it was the right thing to do.

I’m exactly the same as him—thinking I’m doing the right thing, but actually ending up as the villain in everyone’s story.

But now, I actually am going to do the right thing—I’m going to call this off. Get an annulment, allow Ash to go back to her family and friends, her pack. It’s not her job to sacrifice so much for the Grayhides.

I turn on my heel to head to her room, knock on the door, and tell her that I’m going to start the process for an annulment, when my phone rings.

It’s the middle of the night, so my first thought is that there’s been an attack—something on the border. For the men to call me in the middle of the night, so soon after my marriage, it must be bad.

But it’s not a shifter from the border.

It’s my mother.

“Mom?”

“Oren,” she breathes, and there’s the distinct sound that she’s slumping backwards into a chair, like she’s relieved that I picked up. I immediately think about Raegan and what could have possibly happened.

“Is everything okay? Do you need me to come over there?”

“What?” she almost laughs, but her voice sounds sleepy. “No, no. I just had this…feeling about you, dear. Are you doing okay?”

I pause, blinking, thinking about all the times in my life it would have been nice to hear that from her. All the times my father put his hands on me, or put me through some ridiculous punishment, and my mother stayed silent.

There’s a part of me—the part that’s still a little boy, trapped in that huge mansion—that wants to rebel against her. Tell her that the time has come and gone for questions like that.

But the other part of me, the grown adult, knows that things just weren’t that easy. That she did what she could. And that part answers, “Of course, Mom. Are you doing okay?”

Another pause. “You say that, Oren, but I just…I told you I was having a feeling. That you’re—I don’t know. Did I wake you?”

“No,” I admit, clearing my throat and taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “I was up.”

“How are things going with Ash?”

I would never volunteer this information to her willingly. My mother and I have never been particularly close, but right now it feels like she already knows the answer to that question. So, I tell her the truth.

“Not great,” I admit, sighing and running a hand over my head. “I, uh—I think it was a mistake.”

“You think marrying her was a mistake?”

“Not her, specifically,” I say, though I do wish I had never drawn her into this. “I’m not cut out for marriage. As the alpha leader, there’s so much on my plate already, and having feelings for Ash…all it does is open us up to getting hurt.”

“Why would that open you up to getting hurt?”

“Because…I think I might be a lot more like my father than I ever wanted to be.”

My mom is quiet for long enough that I think she might have fallen asleep, which would be just as well. I’m embarrassed by sharing so much when we’ve never really been a talk-about-it kind of family.

“Do you know about why and how I married your father?” she asks, suddenly, which catches me off guard. For the first time in a while, her voice sounds crystal clear.

I think about it, running through all my knowledge of the history of this pack, and realize I’ve never asked or learned much about my parents’ marriage.

“No,” I say, clearing my throat. “Was it arranged?”

She laughs, “It was the most arranged marriage that ever existed. Back then, there was a rebel force in the pack that was gaining popularity, gaining speed. My father was the head of that group.”

“…he was ?”

“Yes.” There’s a note of sadness in her voice, but the kind that’s washed over from years of space.

“He was. And your grandfather—Jerrod’s father—went to him with a deal.

They would try to find unity, try to repair the pack.

A marriage between Jerrod and a woman from the rebel force would cement that, ease the violence between shifters. ”

She pauses for a moment, then goes on, “Obviously, Jerrod’s father was a liar.

The wedding took place, and for a short time, it seemed like things would be okay.

They were listening to our demands, and some things actually started to get better.

Then, the day you were born, Jerrod’s father had my entire family slaughtered. ”

I bite down on my tongue so hard it bleeds, and I have to suck a sharp, painful breath through my nose. “ What ?”

“That’s right,” she says, simply, and while it’s roiling through me, I realize she’s had decades to process it.

“He waited until I was in too deep with his son, then made sure the rebellion was no more. Your father and I had bonded, even if we weren’t mates—we had children together.

After my parents and siblings were dead, and my relationship with your father was numbing the urge to fight, the rest of the rebellion rolled over. ”

“That’s…I can’t believe I didn’t know any of that.” She must hear my silent question, the why are you telling me this now, because she goes on.

“Oren,” she says, “you are not just your father. You are also me . And I come from a long line of rebels—people who saw the good in the world, and wanted to make sure everyone got a piece.”

“I just—”

“I’m not finished,” she says, which makes me laugh.

When was the last time my mom sounded like this?

She laughs, too, then her voice softens, “Oren, men like your father never wonder if they’re good.

He never examined how his actions might hurt others—he just assumed that he knew best, and wrote everything else off as a lie.

The only thing that mattered to him was his ego, and never the well-being of the pack.

That’s not you—already the fact that you worry about your characters puts you in a whole different category. ”

I never thought this would come from my mom, and I never thought it would bring tears to my eyes. Looking up at the ceiling, I blink them back.

“Oren, you still there?”

“Yeah,” I croak, then clear my throat. “Thanks, Mom.”

“You took on a hard job, honey. And I know you might not want to take marriage advice from me,” she stops, laughs, then continues, “but just…try and talk to her, okay? Tell her the truth. If you feel it, say it. We go through life thinking we have to hide everything away, and all that does, at the end of the day, is make you feel alone.”

“I’m just worried that these… feelings might get in the way of my leadership.”

“Those feelings are exactly what can make you a good leader,” she counters. “The capacity to love. Think of that Ambersky alpha leader—Dorian. Do you think he’s less capable because of his love for his wife?”

I think of Dorian and Kira, the way they’re a team. How they complement one another. He draws strength from her to be a better leader.

When I get off the phone with my mom, I know what I have to do. She’s right—I’m trying to keep everything to myself, and for what?

I am not a monster, but I did a monstrous thing, leaving Ash alone like that. Being too afraid of the feelings to commit. Being too single-minded—thinking it had to be leadership or love, but that it couldn’t be both.

The truth is that I’m in love with Ash Fields, and I’m not going to waste another second not telling her that. Maybe it will take a while for her to forgive me—maybe she’ll never forgive me—but I have to try.

I walk down the hallway and toward her room, but her scent isn’t as strong as I’m used to. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I knock once before calling her name.

“Ash!” I let my forehead fall against the door, but I can’t hear anything inside. “Ash, can we talk?”

Another beat of silence follows. “Ash!” I try again, panic starting to rise up in my chest. “Are you okay?”

When she doesn’t answer again, I warn, “I’m going to break down this door if you don’t answer me. Just tell me you’re okay in there!”

Still nothing comes, and I draw back, slamming my shoulder into the door until it buckles under the force, and I stand in the wood shards, breathing hard.

My wife is nowhere to be seen.