Page 2 of Fat Betrayed Mate
She nods, taking deliberate breaths like I taught her. The amber in her eyes recedes, and the deer bounds away, unalarmed. Another small victory. Holding off her shift, the symptoms that keep appearing have become a full-time job for me over the past six months.
As we approach the main square, the whispers start. They always do. Six years away didn't change Silvercreek's love ofgossip. I was a subject of gossip my whole time here before I left—before, after Maisie’s father abandoned me, I fled in the night at twenty, running from both his memory and the other major threat to my child’s safety that lingered close back then. I recall high school, the constant bullying, and snickering, the sense that there was something deeply wrong with me; I despised my curves, my body, my looks, my voice, everything about myself. That sadistic fascination with me hadn’t vanished by the time I returned.
But today, not all the whispering is about me.
"Did you hear about the Council meeting last night?" A woman I vaguely recognize in a burgundy sweater leans toward her companion as we pass the bakery.
"Another lottery so soon? I thought they'd wait at least a year after the Alpha's match," her friend replies, voice dropping as she notices us.
My steps falter.
Maisie looks up at me with concern. "Mama? Are you okay?"
"Fine, Sweet Pea." I force a smile, but inside, my stomach twists.
The pack hasn't held two lotteries in the same year for decades.
We pass the path that leads down to the Hollow where, three months ago, I stood at the back of the crowd and watched as Luna Morgan's name was drawn for the Alpha's Mate Lottery. I remember the sick relief I felt—horrible guilt as Luna faced the pack's judgment, but overwhelming relief that it wasn't me. That Maisie and I might be stuck in Silvercreek, but at least we could remain in our quiet obscurity.
The school sits at the heart of the small town, a stone building with bright windows and a playground protected by a white picket fence. Ms. Hendricks, the kindergarten teacher, greets the children at the entrance. She gives me a polite but distant nod as we approach.
"Good morning, Maisie," she says with her usual warmth, bending down to beam at her. “Someone’s full of energy today!”
Maisie bounces on her toes. "I found a red leaf shaped like a star on our way here!"
"Wow, look at that! You can add it to our collection board, sweetheart.” Ms. Hendricks's gaze shifts to me, the skin around her eyes tightening slightly. "Luna Blackwood mentioned she'd be stopping by for story time after lunch. The children are quite excited."
I nod stiffly. Luna may be kind to us, but her visits to the school are a reminder of her elevated status—a position she gained through the very lottery that could now threaten my fragile peace.
"Maisie's been looking forward to it," I say, the words sticky in my throat.
I kneel to give Maisie a goodbye hug, inhaling her scent to carry with me. "Be good, remember—"
"I know, Mama. I can keep secrets really good." She whispers the last part so quietly only I could possibly catch it.
My heart clenches. So much responsibility for such small shoulders. Maisie inherited her father’s strong bloodline, his powerful shift—something that should be a blessing but feels like a curse when it threatens to expose our secrets.
"That's right, baby. I'll pick you up at three." I kiss her cheek, and she scampers toward the building without looking back.
Independence. Another trait she inherited from her father.
With Maisie safely delivered to school, I head toward the market. The monthly stipend the pack provides barely covers our necessities, but I've stretched every dollar since Maisie was born. Five years of single motherhood has made me an expert in survival economies.
The market square buzzes with morning activity. Vendors arrange produce in neat pyramids, and pack members greet each other with an easy familiarity that I'll never share. I keep my head down, following my usual routine—bread from Mrs. Finley (day-old for half price), apples from the orchard stand (the bruised ones they sell at a discount), and if there's enough left, maybe a piece of cheese for Maisie's lunch tomorrow.
I'm examining a basket of marked-down vegetables when it hits me—a scent so achingly familiar it stops my heart. Pine and leather, wood smoke, and mountain air.
Thomas.
My body reacts before my mind can intervene—pulse racing, skin heating, a liquid warmth pooling low in my belly. Six years of hatred can't undo the way my body remembers his touch.
I don't turn around. I can't. But I know exactly where he is—three stalls down, probably picking up his weekly order of meat for his cabin in the northern woods. The one where we spent that summer together. The one where he broke my heart and altered the course of my life forever.
The memory rises unbidden—Thomas's cabin, late August, six years ago.
Tangled in his sheets, my bare skin against his, his lips tracing a path down my neck, my shoulder, lower...
"You're perfect," he whispers against my hip bone, his hands gentle as they spread my thighs. "Every inch of you, Fi. Perfect."
