Page 1 of Delivered to My Beasts (Mail-Order Matings #22)

Imogen

My mating was set. Not because Fate stepped in to give me someone special selected just for me. Not because I fell in love. Not even because I’d found a companion to do life with. No…my father sold me to the alpha who was taking his place, in exchange for not killing him.

Or so he told me.

And what kind of a female would not do whatever it took to prevent her father from being murdered?

Not this kind.

If that had been the whole story—the true tale—I would have mated Mateo and done my best to make a life with him, but on the day I was in town to shop for my wedding dress, I overheard a conversation that changed everything.

For two reasons.

As I stood in the dressing room, trying to figure out how the dress actually worked and why I should care how I looked in it, the shop owner and another customer were gossiping about the male who was supposed to be mating me.

“Can you believe he’s accepting that mousy female?” the customer crowed. “He could do so much better.”

“You know it’s only because he doesn’t want any trouble with the pack. Mateo is not popular with the older females and males, but she is, and so he paid her father to make her mate him.”

Paid? I was not close to my father, but I’d been told he faced a challenge in the old style—to the death.

Horrified, I let the dress slide to the floor and sank to sit on the bench.

The conversation went on with another voice, I wasn’t sure whose, joining in to make a joke about how Mateo would be “sniffing around” the other females as soon as the mating was complete.

That should have made me unhappy or upset, the thought that my mate would “cheat” on me, but since my preference until five minutes before would have been that he leave me in peace after the mating, my reaction was not negative at all.

I’d heard much worse things about him, but the beta who said them was not the most trustworthy and he’d once hit on me himself.

Rather, learning that my father had effectively sold me to avoid what…inconvenience?

I stomped on the dress, my sneakers leaving scuffs and tears in the shimmering white fabric before putting on the torn jeans and T-shirt I’d worn into the store.

Anger radiating into every one of my cells, fingers and toes tingling with adrenalin, I jerked the curtain aside and emerged into the shop.

“Imogen?” The owner fluttered over to me. “Where is the dress? Didn’t you like it? Mateo picked that one out for you special.”

“Then send him the bill. I don’t care what you do with the dress.” I brushed past her, hearing her gasp behind me.

“What did you do?”

“What this mating deserves. Maybe you should remember there is a curtain between you and the person in the dressing room, and it is not soundproof. If you want Mateo, why wait for the ceremony? Go sniff around him today.”

I sailed out of the store, so many emotions warring within me I felt like I might explode.

But I waited until I was out of sight of the bridal shop to slow my steps and assess my revised situation.

An hour ago, I’d entered the store resigned to my fate, ready to put that damned meringue of a dress on and wear it to mate Mateo.

Shifter matings did not traditionally involve white dresses like this, and even if they had, I’d never have selected this one.

It looked like someone took a 1980s dress with the puffed sleeves and huge fluffy skirt and made it twice as marshmallow-like as the original versions.

If Mateo had set out to humiliate me even before he began “sniffing around” on day two of our mated life together, he couldn’t have picked a better dress.

Shame what happened to it. I had stopped short of saying the wedding was off because I had no plan.

But I did need some space to think, and the pack lands were not the right spot for that.

With the wedding/mating coming soon, everyone was in a dither, all sorts of activities going on, and everyone wanted to include me in them.

I couldn’t say I’d been enthusiastic about participating, but as the future luna, I did feel obligated to do so.

The little park just off Main Street came in sight, and I turned my steps in that direction.

When we were pups, my mother often brought my sister and me here to play on the swings when she came into town on errands.

She’d sit on a bench and watch us, smiling and laughing.

Missing my mother, with her wisdom and kindness, I headed for that bench.

Sitting there, on the right side where she usually did, I tried to summon the feeling of warmth I always got when I looked over from the swing or slide to see her there.

Other moms, if they were there, would be gossiping or scrolling on their phones, but not our mom.

Until the very last moment of her life, she was there for us.

It was one of the reasons I was going along with the mating—assuming she’d want me to take care of my father.

My sister had run away at sixteen, and who knew where she was now. But even though the old man was grouchy and demanding, Mom had cared about him, and now he had nobody else.

So, I tried to pick up the slack when nobody else was there.

I was ready to give up my life.

But what would she say now? Sitting here, with the view of the swings, I tried to imagine how she’d felt. Looking at my sister and me, listening to our giggles. Always ready to hold out her arms when we ran over to show her a rock or a bug or a scraped knee.

She wanted the best for us. My sister hadn’t lasted a month after Mom was gone.

She was too young to be on her own, but she’d made the decision for herself.

And I’d stayed. Cooked and cleaned, helped out with pack duties, given up what little personal life I had.

Done what I thought Mom would have wanted.

But sitting here in her spot, armed with the conversation I’d overheard, the clouds that had covered my eyes since she passed.

Mom never would have wanted me to be forced into a mating that would lead to nothing but sadness.

She would never have allowed my father, no matter how it might affect him, to do something to harm his daughters.

I had to leave, but I had nowhere to go.

I’d tried to save up, but I rarely got my hands on any money, so I didn’t have enough yet. And time was running out.

While I sat there, a couple of young women passed, chatting away about some sort of an app where you could hook up with other shifters. “I hear the Beasts are on it,” one giggled. “Can you imagine anyone wanting to be alone with three fierce bears?”

The other girl shivered. “I don’t know if I’d be brave enough to do it, but I don’t mind imagining it.”

The Beasts. Getting out my phone, I downloaded the app they’d mentioned. Mail-Order Matings. There were no people called Beasts, of course, but the pair had said enough about them for me to find their profiles. They were big and strong looking, fierce even.

The answer to my prayers?

Or something else?