Page 59 of Fat Forced Mate

Her name tears from my throat as she disappears through the doors, somehow the most horrifying sight of this awful night yet. For a heartbeat, I'm frozen, caught between disbelief and rage that she would throw herself into danger so recklessly.

Then blind panic takes over.

"Nic!" James appears at my side, blood streaking his face from a cut above his eye. "The western perimeter is holding, but we've got breaches to the east and—"

"Take command here," I cut him off, already moving toward the doors. "Get everyone into the safe rooms. Full lockdown protocol."

"But—"

"That's an order." I don't wait for his acknowledgment, pushing through the crush of bodies toward the exit Luna just fled through.

Outside, chaos reigns. The night air tastes of smoke and blood. Three Cheslem wolves circle a young pack member near the training grounds, their movements unnaturally jerky, eyes gleaming crimson in the darkness. Without breaking stride, I shift.

The change comes faster than ever, fueled by urgency. One moment, I'm running on two legs, the next, my wolf surges forward on four, muscle and sinew reconfiguring in a blur of pain I barely register. I launch myself at the nearest Cheslem attacker, catching it mid-lunge. My jaws close around its throat before it realizes I'm there.

The taste of corruption floods my mouth as my teeth puncture flesh—like battery acid and rotting meat. I jerk my head savagely, tearing its throat open, and pivot toward the next without pausing. These aren't normal wolves, and this isn't a normal fight. No posturing, no dominance displays—just kill or be killed.

The second wolf is more prepared, meeting my charge with bared fangs. We clash in a fury of teeth and claws, rolling across blood-slick grass. It's unnaturally strong, but I'm driven by something stronger than muscle.

Luna. She's out there somewhere, alone, heading toward the most dangerous part of our territory.

Stupid. Stupid, reckless, terrifying, brave. Brash, I called her not long ago. The greatest understatement of my life.

I tear into my opponent with single-minded focus, ignoring the deep gash its claws open along my flank. The third wolf circles, looking for an opening, but the young pack member I saved joins the fight, buying me the seconds I need to finish the kill.

With a final, crushing bite, I end the second attacker. The third hesitates, then flees into the darkness. I have no time to pursue it.

Find Luna. Find Luna. Find Luna.

My wolf chants the imperative, drowning out all other thoughts. I nose the air, catching her scent trail east—toward the boundary where her parents died, where feral and corrupted enemy wolves are pouring in. Toward the ward marker.

I sprint through the chaos of battle, every sense stretched to its limit. Her scent grows stronger as I enter the forest,overlaid with fear, determination, and that strange, vital undertone that's been puzzling me for weeks.

Another Cheslem wolf crashes through the underbrush ahead, intercepting me. Bigger than the others, its form rippling with corruption that distorts the very air around it. No time for this. No patience.

I don't wait for it to attack. I charge, feinting left before slashing right, tearing at its hamstring. It howls, a sound that seems to come from multiple throats at once, and twists with impossible flexibility to snap at my shoulder. I feel teeth graze fur, then skin, then muscle.

Pain flares white-hot, but I use it, channeling it into savage intensity. This thing stands between me and Luna. It won't for long.

The fight is brutal, efficient. No wasted movement, no hesitation. Just the desperate need to get past, to reach her. When it finally falls, I'm bleeding from three new wounds, but I don't slow.

Luna's scent grows stronger, fresher. So does the stench of corruption. Something big waits ahead—something wrong in a way the others weren't. Alpha. The realization hits with certainty. The Cheslem Alpha is near.

Near Luna.

I push harder, muscles burning with exertion, blood matting my fur. The trees begin to thin as I approach the eastern boundary. The split oak comes into view, illuminated by an unnatural silvery glow that must be Luna's magic.

Then I see her.

Time slows to a crawl. Luna lies pinned to the ground beneath the largest wolf I've ever encountered—a monstrousthing with midnight fur and eyes like pools of blood. Its massive paw presses on her chest, claws dimpling the fabric of her shirt. Its jaws hover inches from her throat, saliva dripping onto her skin. Her head lolls to the side as she gasps, lips white, faint either from lack of oxygen or shock or some wound I cannot see.

Something in me breaks.

All rational thought and all human control vanishes, burned away by a protective rage, so consuming it feels like another entity is taking over. My wolf surges forward with a roar that shakes the very air, drawing the Cheslem Alpha's attention a split second before I crash into its side.

The impact sends us both tumbling away from Luna. I'm big for a shifter—Alpha size, built for dominance and combat—but this thing outweighs me by at least fifty pounds. It recovers quickly, whirling to face me with a snarl that reveals yellowed fangs.

We circle each other once, twice, assessing. Its movements are wrong, joints bending at impossible angles, spine undulating in ways that defy anatomy. Corruption has changed it, made it something other than wolf.Thisis the magic my people really fear, I register faintly, the truth of it terrifyingly simple. All along, they’ve—we’ve—ostracised Luna, when this sort of creature existed just beyond our borders. As if the two were even comparable.

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