Page 25 of Fat Betrayed Mate
"Sure," I manage, though the idea of being responsible for the very borders Edward might use to enter our territory makes my stomach churn.
The meeting continues for another hour, covering protocols for protecting vulnerable pack members, evacuation procedures, and communication with allied territories. Throughit all, I contribute minimally, my mind spinning with implications and fears.
When Nic finally dismisses the council, I'm among the first to stand, desperate to escape before anyone can corner me with questions about my distraction.
"Thomas—hey, Tom, wait up!" James catches my arm as I reach the door. "You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."
"Just tired," I lie, shrugging off his grip. "Long patrols lately. I’ve got a lot on my mind."
It kills me to lie to him, to my closest friends. But I’ve held the secret of Edward’s threat close for years.
His expression suggests he doesn't believe me, but he doesn't push. "If you need to talk..."
"I'm fine," I insist, forcing a smile that feels like broken glass. "See you tomorrow for the training session."
I escape into the cool evening air, my skin feeling too tight for my body. Edward Wright. Leading an anti-shifter campaign. Operating in territories that border our own. The timing can't be coincidental—not when Fiona returned to Silvercreek just months ago, not when the lottery has bound us together in the most public way possible.
He knows she's here. I'm certain of it. And that means everything I've feared for six years is about to come to pass.
Now, only one question remains: does she know?
And does she still not know that he was the one who killed her mother?
***
The training grounds behind the Pack Building are nearly empty when I arrive the next morning, most pack members still finishing breakfast or attending to daily tasks. Fiona is already here, stretching against the wooden fence that borders the sparring area. She's dressed in fitted athletic wear that emphasizes the full curves I remember all too well, her dark hair pulled back in a practical ponytail that exposes the elegant line of her neck.
She looks up as I approach, her expression carefully neutral. "Morning."
"Morning." I set down my gear bag, hyperaware of every movement she makes. "Ready for this?"
"As ready as I'll ever be." She straightens, rolling her shoulders to loosen them. "What exactly does this trial entail?"
I pull out the instruction sheet Victoria gave me yesterday, grateful for something concrete to focus on. "It’s not combat-based, but it involves survival, so physical strength will be important. It’s focused on testing our ability to coordinate under pressure, protect each other, and work as a team when things might get physical."
Her expression tightens almost imperceptibly. "Physical."
"Sparring, defensive maneuvers, that sort of thing." I fold the paper, tucking it into my pocket. "Nothing too intense. Just enough to see how we move together."
"Okay," Fiona takes a step back, creating distance between us. "Should we get started then?"
Before I can answer, Amelia—the youngest (and, by my measure, friendliest) elder of the council, a shifter in her forties assigned by Victoria to assist with our preparations—appearsfrom the direction of the pack house, clipboard in hand and a knowing glint in her eyes.
"Good morning, you two. Ready to begin?"
"Yes, ma'am," Fiona says, her posture straightening into something almost military in its precision.
Amelia consults her notes. "The second trial tests partnership under stress. You'll work through a series of combat scenarios designed to evaluate trust, coordination, and mutual protection." She looks up, her gaze moving between us. "The key is learning to anticipate your partner's movements, to function as a unit rather than two separate individuals."
Easier said than done, given our history. But I nod along with Fiona, both of us projecting confidence we don't feel.
"We'll start with basic defensive drills," Amelia continues. "Thomas, you'll play the aggressor initially. Fiona, your job is to evade and counter while protecting this." She hands Fiona a red flag that's meant to represent a vulnerable pack member. "Switch roles every ten minutes."
The first few rounds are awkward, as both of us overthink every movement and maintain careful distance. Fiona moves well—better than I expected after years away from regular training—but she's holding back, not trusting me enough to commit fully to the exercises.
"Closer," Amelia calls from the sidelines. "You're partners, not strangers. Trust each other."
Fiona shoots me a look that suggests trust is the last thing on her mind, but she steps closer, allowing me to guide her through a defensive sequence that requires our bodies to move in sync.
