Page 9 of Wolf’s Fated Bride

Maren and I exchange knowing looks and hurry after her. Our father tries to appear unaffected by her intrusion but fails. He growls, hoping that might chase her away.

Sören breaks the uncomfortable silence. “Now that we’ve all gathered here, let’s get this over with.”

Ash grunts.

Maybe that’s approval.

My mother moves closer to the scroll, but my father holds her back. My mother’s been drinking enough to lose her balance. She starts to topple, but I catch her under the armpit and hold her up so she doesn’t make a fool of herself and fall in front of all these people.

My dad should pay attention to her state of mind, but my mother shouldn’t drink so much during such an important event. Tonight isn’t the time to make mistakes. Mother makes us look bad. Maren isn’t helping our image by swigging from a bottle of wine before joining us at the table in the center.

I watch Ash’s face for clues as to how he feels about our alcohol consumption and catch him staring at me for no reason. Heat crawls up my cheeks.

Why is he staring at me? I can’t help my mother or my sister. If that’s what he wants from me right now, I’m doing my best. I can help him out by speaking with Maren later, but not now. Nope. She can drink all she likes. As can my mother.

The Peacebroker sets up ink and four pens, each engraved with elements and each dripping with designated colors when he tests them by writing on the sleeve of his white uniform. Strange, but what do I know of alchemy?

“I will sign first,” he says in a confident, authoritative voice. “Fireborn will sign last.”

The Fireborn Alpha rolls his eyes. It’s so childish that I snicker. This earns me a glare from my brother. Sören, ever the killjoy.

The Peacebroker signs in green ink. He picks up the pen dripping silver-gray ink and holds it out to the Skyrender Alpha, who signs his name using an old werewolf alphabet.

My brother and sister know how to write in this alphabet. My brother, as an alpha who will marry and produce an heir, and Maren, as a female omega who will marry and produce an heir to another pack, have had to take an extra course in school that has prepared them for signing treaties in the awkward lettering of the dead werewolf language. Among other things.

The rest of us aren’t taught that language at all. It’s not necessary. The language that humans use is now universal.

Maren’s hand shakes. As she bends over the paper, I think she’s crying. I slide my hand into hers and dig my fingernails into her skin until she signs with a blue pen and turns to me, her mascara melting off her eyelashes.

“Maren,” I hiss and squeeze her hand harder. It draws blood, and the moment Maren smells it, she blinks as if pulled out of a stupor. Which is precisely why I did it. Wolves respond to blood, and it calls to our tougher, more primal side.

Maren wipes her cheeks and looks up at Ash. “I mean no offense.”

“None taken,” Ash says, picking up the pen that drips red ink. Between his fingers, the pen melts.

Ash sets the melted pen aside. “You have another pen?”

The Peacebroker produces another red pen. Oh, so he anticipated this. We sure didn’t. My brother hovers over Ash like a hawk in case water will be needed to put out the fire before it fries everyone at this gathering.

Ash goes to sign and melts the pen again.

Annoyed, he flicks the object away. “Another?”

“Are you doing this on purpose?” the Peacebroker asks.

“Melting pens? Certainly not. Your pens are plastic, and fire melts plastic easily.”

“We were under the impression your element was under control,” the Peacebroker responds.

“This is controlled. Do you have another pen or not?”

“I don’t.”

Ash picks up the gray pen, but the Peacebroker places his hand on Ash’s forearm as if to stop him. He hisses and snatches his hand away. The smell of burned skin makes me rub my nose.

“Were you one of those kids who touched a pan right out of the oven, then screamed about how it burns?” Ash asks.

“I’ll write you up for this.”