Page 2 of Broken Arranged Mate
Especially notthispack. I’ll spend the rest of my life working on it, and I’ll likely die without fully repairing the damage my father has done.
“Grayhide is a friend of mine,” I say. “Given the history between our families, I hope his blessing has helped us start to heal many of the rifts between shifters in this pack.”
Nearly nine months ago, in that ballroom, Aidan Grayhide killed my father, but he had already been renounced of his alpha leadership. Then, I killed Mhairi Argent.
The line of succession was unclear, and when I mistakenly announced that I was yielding it to Aidan, it caused chaos. It’s taken months—and the formal ceremony—to soothe the most outspoken of shifters, though I suspect there’s still an undercurrent of discomfort with the situation.
Just another thing on my list of problems to fix.
The interview goes on. She asks me about my plans for the future, how I’m enjoying the position—enjoying is definitely not the right word—then begins to touch on our allies.
“Am I correct to believe that we are maintaining an allyship with the Ambersky pack?”
“That’s right.” I don’t even think before answering. “Dorian Fields, alpha leader of the Ambersky pack, took me in when it became clear to me that Jerrod Blacklock would murder me in my sleep to keep me from challenging him. The Ambersky pack has been nothing but gracious to us, and I believe partnering with them is best for our long-term ability to thrive.”
“Can we expect to see a rise in the Amanzite supply from this alliance?” Grace asks, and I try to hide the way that question makes me stiffen.
The casters at Ambersky have learned how to create Amanzite—a precious gem essential for shifting through magic. But it was that synthetic Amanzite that allowed Mhairi Argent to incapacitate those in the ballroom during the party.
There are weaknesses to it. And though they’re working on fixing them, I can’t ignore the feeling in my gut that insists natural Amanzite is the only safe route for this pack.
“To clarify,” Grace says, clearing her throat again. “Many shifters are feeling the weight of the current rationing and wondering if the complications in leadership have anything to do with the shortage.”
“There is no shortage,” I lie, hoping she doesn’t see right through me. The last thing I need right now is for shifters to start panicking.
I raise my left hand absently, twisting my own Amanzite ring around my finger. My mother’s gift to me, a ring that was once her grandfather’s. There’s something comforting about it coming from her side of the family, not my father’s.
It’s Amanzite that allows me to shift without pain, communicate with other wolves, and seamlessly transition back into a human with clothes still intact. It’s not only essential for protection; it’s a signal of the pack’s prosperity, a cultural element as important as the food we eat and the festivals we celebrate.
“I see,” Grace says, and while it seems she wants to press, she doesn’t. “Can you give me any information about when the rationing may lift?”
“Soon,” I say, then wish I hadn’t. I have no way to make that happen. Rather than continue talking about the Amanzite, I change course, returning to the topic of the Ambersky. “Our allyship may not affect our supply of Amanzite, but itwillimprove trade on other goods, and eventually allow us to open the borders between the two packs.”
Though right now, the borders are a dangerous place to be, with rogue shifters disobeying alpha orders and engaging with one another. At the end of each, it’s always impossible to determine where the fight actually started, though I suspect it typically comes from the Grayhide side.
“Are you planning to meet with them again soon?” Grace asks, drawing me out of my thoughts. I glance down at her notebook, wondering how the tone of this interview is going to position me.
“Yes. At the end of the week.”
As always, without meaning to, the thought of going to the Ambersky pack immediately brings one person to mind—one shifter, one wolf, one set of deep blue eyes, staring back at me with an intensity that cuts straight to the soul.
“I’d love to hear more about how that meeting goes.” She pauses, looks up from her notes. “If you’re open to meeting again.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” Landon says from the doorway. “But your next meeting is coming up soon, sir.”
I grind my teeth—how many times have I told him not to call mesir?
“Thank you,” I say to him, then to Grace, “Anything else?”
“Yes,” she says, pen poised over the paper, “just one closing question. Many of the shifters in this pack are struggling. If you could look them in the eyes and tell them just one thing, what would it be?”
My heart stutters for the first time during this interview. I detest anxiety—a useless emotion that disrupts ability—so I shove it away and look her in the eye, just like she’s suggested I do for the people of this pack.
“I would say that while I will give everything I have to improving conditions in this pack, our strength doesn’t only lie in our leader. It lies in ourselves, our community, and our ability to get along and take care of one another. You all look out for one another, and I will look out for you.”
Chapter 2 - Ash
Gramps was never a whistle-while-you-work kind of guy, but I whistle anyway, the sound of it drowned out by my power drill.
