Page 12 of Fat Betrayed Mate
A pretty way of saying they'd track us down and drag us back—or worse.
Sleep eludes me for hours, my thoughts circling like trapped birds. When dawn finally breaks, I've made a decision. I need to speak with Victoria. There must be some loophole, some way out of this nightmare.
I wait until Maisie is safely at school before making my way to Victoria Blackwood's cottage on the eastern edge of packland. The oldest living Elder, Victoria, has always stood slightly apart from pack politics. If anyone might bend the rules, it would be her.
Wishful thinking, I know. But I have no other options.
Her cottage appears from between the trees like something from a fairy tale—stone walls covered in climbing vines, smoke curling from the chimney despite the mild morning. I hesitate at the gate, suddenly unsure.
"I've been expecting you," Victoria calls from the open doorway. "Come in, Fiona. The tea is already steeping."
I follow her inside, ducking beneath the low doorframe. The interior is warm and fragrant, with herbs hanging from the ceiling beams and bubbling pots on the old wood stove. Victoria gestures to a worn armchair near the fire.
"Sit. You look like you haven't slept."
I sink into the chair, watching as she pours tea into mismatched cups. Her movements are deliberate, unhurried, as if we have all the time in the world. Finally, she hands me a steaming cup and settles into the chair opposite mine.
"You want a way out of the lottery," she says without preamble.
I wrap my fingers around the warm cup. "Is it that obvious?"
A smile touches her lined face. "You practically ran from the Hollow last night. And your history with Thomas is hardly a secret, not to those of us who remember how he was after you left."
"Then you understand why this is impossible." I lean forward, desperate for her to see. "There must be some way to invalidate the drawing, to—"
"There isn't." Her voice is gentle but firm. "The lottery is binding. It has been for generations."
"But this is the twenty-first century," I argue. "Surely there's some provision for... for extenuating circumstances."
Victoria sips her tea, studying me over the rim of her cup. "What circumstances would those be, Fiona?"
My throat closes. I can't tell her the truth—that Thomas is Maisie's father, that I've lied about her age, that I'm terrified of what will happen if he discovers his own daughter.
Instead, I say, "He broke my heart. Isn't that enough?"
"Hearts heal," she says simply. "The pack endures."
"So I'm just supposed to—what? Pretend the past never happened? Play along with these trials like there's any chance I'd willingly tie myself to that man?"
"The trials aren't what they once were," Victoria says. "Nic and Luna have seen to that. No more brutal physical challenges. No public humiliation." She sets down her cup. "The trials now focus on compatibility, on communication. On building a foundation that might support a mating bond."
"And if I refuse?"
Her expression grows serious. "Then you would be declared rogue. You and your daughter both. No pack would shelter you. No territory would be safe."
The threat hangs in the air between us. Rogues don't survive long in the human world. Without pack protection, they're vulnerable to hunters, to exposure, to the thousand small dangers that lurk in the spaces between territories.
"So, I have no choice," I say, bitterness flooding my mouth.
Victoria leans forward, her silver eyes intent on mine.
"There is always a choice, Fiona. But choices have consequences." She pauses, then adds softly, "Perhaps there's a reason the ancestors brought you and Thomas together again."
I laugh, the sound harsh in the quiet cottage. "The ancestors have a cruel sense of humor, then."
"Or perhaps they see what we cannot." Victoria stands, moving to the window. "The wheel turns, Fiona. What was broken can be mended. What was lost can be found. It happened to Luna and Dominic."
"Some things don't deserve to be found," I mutter, setting down my untouched tea.
