Page 45 of Broken Rejected Mate

Sarina’s eyes get wide, and Veva laughs as I pull them both up, tugging them toward the games.

Chapter 25 - Veva

“To the left!” Emin shouts, waving his hand at Sarina, who giggles relentlessly as she tries to wrangle the cloud in the center of the ring. A caster moves the cloud, having it cleverly evade her rope when she throws it.

It’s a gorgeous day—one of those shining memories you reach for when remembering a season, everything shining in a perfect, golden glow. I know that when I think of this summer—of coming back to the Ambersky pack—this moment will surface in my mind like a movie reel.

Sarina, laughing, her eyes bright as they swing to Emin. The two of them so similar. The pack around us, milling about, feeling less and less like the enemies of my childhood and more like fellow citizens. Shifters from the same pack, wolves traveling together in the same direction.

They mill past, holding cotton-candy clouds, sipping their magicked drinks, talking about the talent competition, the new games, the parade happening at dusk, the magical fireworks that will shoot into the sky later, illuminating the space above the clouds then drifting down, tinging them with different colors for days after the festival.

I’m so absorbed in the fun, and in my thoughts, that I don’t even hear the approach of footsteps to my left.

“Care if I join you?”

My mother’s voice is gentle, probing, and above all, nervous. I turn to her, eyes skipping from the drink in her hand to the small smile on her face.

Of course, she looks older than I remember. I’m just not sure if my memory of her is from when I was a kid—when shecouldn’t have been more than twenty—or if it’s accurate to the time I left.

When I left, my mother was wan, dark bags under her eyes, a yellow to her teeth I didn’t think she’d ever be able to remove. Her middle had bloated from the alcohol and drug use, her eyes taking on a desperate quality

But now her cheeks look full, her eyes bright and focused, little clouds on her headband, bouncing over her hair, matching the clouds on her baby-blue dress.

It hits me that my momusedto be like this, making us matching outfits for the festival, laughing with me and insisting we played every single game. After my father died, so did that part of her.

Or, at least, that’s what I thought.

“Just lemonade,” she says, jostling her cup, and I shake my head, feeling my cheeks warm.

“Sorry, I wasn’t—” I touch the tips of my fingers to my head, gesture at her little clouds. “I was admiring your outfit.”

Her smile softens, and she tips her head down, “Do you remember, we used to—?”

“Opal!” Sarina is looking at us, waving us over, cutting right through the conversation. My mother turns, looks at Sarina like she’s a celebrity.

“Sarina, so nice to see you!”

“Come and try this,” Sarina says, and I’ve never seen her this open, this sociable before. Maybe it’s the festival. Maybe it’s Emin at her side, laughing and coaching her through a game that’s impossible to win.

Opal gives me a knowing look. “Well, alright.”

As she steps up next to my daughter, taking the rope from her, I feel my hands start to shake. Clearly my mother is a different person, but I can’t shake the feeling that I need to watch. Make sure she never gets close enough to hurt Sarina the way she hurt me.

“Your mother seems to be doing well,” Emin says, coming to my side and brushing the back of his knuckles over my side. He’s been doing that all day—little touches that send my heart into a fit.

“She does seem to be,” I say, carefully, keeping my voice low. Sarina lets out a piercing giggle and throws her head back, voice carrying as she saysNo, Opal, try…

Without another word, Emin just laces his fingers through mine again, squeezes, and drops them. I shouldn’t, but I drop my head to his shoulder, breathe in, and lift it before Sarina can look over.

When I meet his eyes again, they’re shining with something I’m too afraid to name, so I just look away.

And when I do, I see Sarina with her hand open under the lip of the ring, twisting her fingers. In the ring, the cloud that’s been bouncing around, avoiding the rope since Emin first paid to play, goes completely still. Opal, in the middle of throwing the lasso, still launches it, and it slaps onto the cloud, flattening it so it poofs into nothing.

Everyone around cheers, calling and whistling, and Opal’s cheeks glow red.

You’re not supposed to catch the cloud—all the adults know it.

“How did you…?” the caster asks, eyebrows shooting up. He opens and closes his fingers, stares down at them helplessly. “How did you?”

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