Page 37 of Broken Arranged Mate (Badlands Wolves #4)

“So mushy,” I complain, as he pulls his hand out from mine, then points at me.

“I liked you better when you wanted me to be mushy,” he grouses.

And he was—for the first few months after that night, he was endlessly soft with me.

I thought that it would wear off, the constant doting, but he meant what he said about making up for that day.

And other than teasing me or pouting when I complain about the princess treatment, he’s been absolutely perfect.

In fact, everything has been so perfect that I’m constantly expecting something bad to happen. After months and months of stability, I finally hear the rumbling of something going wrong.

The porch creaks ominously, and Oren’s hand clamps around my wrist as he leaps to his feet, yanking me toward him and shouting, “Ash!”

We tumble backward just as the porch collapses, the wood splintering with a deafening crack and sliding away from us, leaving us exposed like we’re at the edge of a cliff.

Oren’s body shields mine as we hit the ground, dust and debris showering over us, a sickly-sweet smell hovering in the air and falling around us like a blanket.

For a moment, we lie there, his heart hammering against my back, his arms wrapped protectively around me. When the rumbling finally stops, and it seems like our house isn’t going to fall directly into the earth, he loosens his grip on me.

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough with concern as he helps me sit up, one hand on the center of my back.

I nod, brushing dirt and little wood splinters from my clothes. "What was that? An earthquake? Are there earthquakes in the desert?”

Glancing up, I look to see if he’s going to answer me, but Oren’s attention is fixed on something behind me, his eyes wide with shock. I turn, looking over my shoulder to follow his gaze.

Where our modest rock yard once stood is now a massive sinkhole.

It’s at least twenty feet across, spanning fence to fence, the jagged edges revealing layers of soil and stone.

The hole itself is astounding, but it’s what’s sparkling in the setting sun, just inside, that steals my breath away.

"Oh, Gods," I whisper, hand slipping into Oren’s as we walk closer to it, cautious but curious, peering over the edge.

The depths seem to go on forever, a straight drop down like looking into a well, no bottom in sight, just the inky black promise of a deeper drop. In the setting sun, the hole glitters .

Even in this low light, the sparkling is so intense it’s nearly blinding, and without speaking, I know that we’re both thinking the same thing—this is Amanzite, the walls of the cave studded with the gems in various stages of formation.

Every shifter kid learns about Amanzite in school, and my mind manages to resurface that information with startling clarity.

It takes years for the gems to form, going through a crystalline stage, then compacting down, taking energy from the earth, which allows it to later hold magic.

The closest crystals near the surface are small—thumbnail-sized formations jutting from the rock in clusters, their deep black hue pulsing with an inner light that seems to respond to our presence. They’re pure and untouched, not the polished gems we’re used to seeing in rings and pendants.

As it descends, the walls close in a gradual slope, revealing larger crystal formations the further down they go. Ten feet down, dinner-plate-sized sheets of Amanzite spread across the rock like frozen waterfalls.

“Holy fuck ,” Oren finally manages, the sentence more breath than words, or even thoughts. He squeezes my hand, and I squeeze his back, feeling like we’re tethering each other to the ground.

My mind flashes with images from history and science textbooks, the first discovery of the gem, the struggle to have enough of it.

Looking down into the hole, I know something with a certainty that would have gotten me a perfect score on one of those tests.

This isn’t just a deposit—it’s an entire underground ecosystem of Amanzite, pristine and powerful in a way I’ve never seen in any picture before. When we find it, it’s usually in little pockets, just enough for the next stretch of looking.

“That dip,” I breathe, remembering my first day here, how I’d pointed it out to Oren. “I knew something wasn’t right with that corner of the yard.”

Oren kneels at the edge, reaching down to touch the nearest crystal formation. His fingers come away with a thick, gray dust.

“It’s all through the rock,” he says, voice hushed with awe. “It’s an entire vein.”

I sink to my knees beside him, trying to process what we’re seeing. “This could be enough to supply the entire pack for decades. Maybe centuries.”

“Both packs,” he amends, and when I look over at him, he’s smiling down at the crater.

The implications hit me all at once. No more rationing. No more shortages. No more Grayhides or Ambersky having to make do with synthetic versions that might be compromised.

I lean into him, our shoulders pressing together as we stare into the glittering depths of our accidental discovery. A solution that was literally beneath our feet all along—sitting in the corner of this yard throughout it all.

“We should probably tell someone about this,” I murmur against his shoulder.

“In a minute,” he replies, his arm sliding around my waist, making no move to get up any time soon. It can wait until later. It can wait until tomorrow, even.

I realize, with a start, that I’m no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop. That I’m content to be here with him, with our futures stretching out ahead of us.

Together, we sit at the edge of abundance, watching as the setting sun catches each crystal, turning our backyard into a sea of light.

*****

THE END