Page 5 of Broken Rejected Mate

“Thatisgood news,” Dorian says, sounding surprised, almost as though he’d forgotten that it’s possible for things to go our way, every once in a while. Then, he stifles a yawn so discreetly, nobody else would notice it. “Send me the details, and I’ll prep to leave—”

“Dorian,” I set my hand down on the table in front of him, catching his eye.

I don’t talk much in these meetings, but this is finally my opportunity to say something.

There’s no way in hell he should go tonight. First, because the dark market is in Grayhide territory, and dangerous enough as it is. And second, because he’s clearly exhausted. He won’t be on his game. Clearing my throat, I say, “You know I’ve been wanting to go on a mission. More active role. Maybe you could let me take this one?”

He holds my gaze for a moment, the tired quirk of his brow saying he knows exactly what I’m doing. Then, his expression softens, telling me that he appreciates the out.

“You know what? Since you’re begging for it,” Dorian laughs, waving his hand. “Leta, please send the information tobothof us. Emin, I’ll debrief you on what I experienced last time I was there.”

“Sounds good,” I say; then, to be cheeky, I add Aidan’s, “boss.”

Dorian rolls his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

Then, turning his attention to the rest of the room, he asks, “Is there anything else?”

Claire clears her throat uncomfortably, her face turning the lightest shade of green as she says, “Actually, yes. There is something.”

Dorian blinks, refocuses on her. I wonder if he was already shifting his mind to back home, thinking about the babies waiting for him there. With the air of a man who’s thinkingI need to get back to my wife, Dorian crosses his arms, leans back, and raises an eyebrow at her.

“And what would that be?”

She frowns, grimaces, then with a great deal of effort, heaves a hulking garbage bag up onto the table. It rocks it for a second, and the wetsplunksound would be enough to turn anyone’s stomach.

The entire table is riveted as she steels herself, reaches for the top of the bag, and peels it down to reveal the pale, slightly rotted head of Aidan Grayhide.

My father sucks in a quick breath of air through his teeth, disgust visible in his expression.

“Holy shit,” Dorian breaths, glancing toward the door Aidan just walked through less than an hour before. “Thatis realistic.”

“Smells dead, too,” I say, frowning and pinching my nose so the words come out muffled and nasally.

But nobody laughs. Instead, Leta Knight turns to the side, only just barely grabbing a small trash can in time to vomit inside.

Chapter 3 - Veva

The dark market takes place on the new moon, every month, without fail. You might think the organizers of an event would wait for the full moon—for that bright, shining light to help people make their way easily through the crowd, to weave through the stalls.

But it’s not that kind of market. If it was, it would be held during the day.

Any other pack would come and shut the whole thing down, not wanting to draw in the types of people—the types ofsupernaturals—who come around.

The Grayhides are another story. After coming under the leadership of the Blacklock family, anything goes. It’s part of the reason why I was able to find refuge in the camp on the outskirts of Badlands—and also part of the reason why the turnover in this area is startlingly high.

Every night, we see shifters—mostly omegas—leaving as quickly and quietly as they can. Willow told me about the entire affair, the pack’s fall from grace. It started with a Blacklock killing the entire Grayhide family, even women and children, to get power. Then, his son—Jerrod Blacklock—killed him, carrying on the family tradition.

Sarina grips my sleeve tightly, though she’s been to more than one of these dark markets.

It’s one thing to leave her in our shed unsupervised while I have coffee with Willow; it’s another to come to the market and leave her at camp alone at night. It feels counterintuitive, but I’m certain she’s safer with me at the dark market than alone at home.

While I don’t pay for a stall here, there is a section I occupy—far west, nearly on the outskirts of the market. That’s where my customers will look for me.

Sarina and I move through the crowd, heads down, to get to that spot. Though Sarina doesn’t, necessarily, need to put her head down—I’ve casted over her extensively. Enough that to any other person at this market, I’m walking through the space alone.

Neither of us speak as we make our way past pixies and fairies, travelers high from the dust, already stumbling about. Some of the patrons at this market come for minutes, get the thing they need, leave. Others wander about, looking for every species’ method of intoxication, getting more and more inebriated through the night. Each is dangerous in his own way.

“I believe you have something for me.”

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