Page 35 of Fat Betrayed Mate
"Kids are resilient," I offer, though the words feel inadequate.
"Are they?" Fiona turns to face me properly for the first time, moonlight highlighting the exhaustion in her features. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like the world's getting more dangerous every day."
There's something in her voice—fear wrapped in anger, vulnerability disguised as strength. I want to tell her she's right to be scared, that the danger is more personal than she knows, that her father is out there right now planning God knows what. Instead, I settle for safer ground.
"The security measures are solid," I say. "Nic knows what he's doing."
"Right. Security measures." She laughs, but there's no humor in it. “For some of us, this pack has never felt very secure, Thomas.”
"This is different," I say, though I'm not sure I believe it myself.
"Is it?" She takes a step closer, close enough that I can smell her scent—lavender and something warmer, more complex. "Because it feels like history repeating itself. I can’t help feeling like I’m going to be left behind here either way.”
"Fiona—"
"I'm not naive, Thomas. I know you don’t want this partnership." Her voice drops to barely above a whisper. "I know there are people out there who think the only good shifter is adead shifter, too. I’m not safe out there. I’m not safe here, either. It’s starting to feel like nowhere is.”
My chest tightens at the pain in her voice.
"I won't let anything happen to you," I say before I can stop myself.
"You?" The word comes out sharp, cutting. "You don't get to make promises about my safety. Not anymore."
The rebuke stings because it's justified. I gave up the right to protect her when I walked away six years ago. But that doesn't change the fierce need I feel to keep her safe, to stand between her and every threat the world might throw at her.
"I know I don't have the right," I admit. "But that doesn't change how I feel."
She stares at me for a long moment, something shifting in her expression. For a heartbeat, I think she might soften, might let me past the walls she's built around herself.
Then she steps back, breaking the spell.
"Feelings don't stop bullets," she says flatly. "And they sure as hell don't stop fanatics with a cause."
"No," I agree. "But they might stop someone from making the same mistakes twice."
The words hang between us, heavy with implication. Fiona's eyes widen slightly, as if she's hearing something she didn't expect.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
I want to tell her everything—about Edward's threats, about the impossible choice I made, about the years I've spent regretting every word I said to push her away. But the truth is aluxury I can't afford, not when her father is actively working to destroy everything she's built here.
"It means I'm not going anywhere," I say instead. "Whatever's coming, whatever those people are planning, I'll be here."
"For the pack," she says, but it sounds like a question.
"For you." The admission slips out before I can catch it. "For both of you."
Fiona's breath catches, and for a moment, the careful distance between us feels charged with possibility. The moonlight turns her hair silver, highlights the curve of her lips, makes her look like something from a dream I've been having for six years.
"Thomas..." she starts, then stops, shaking her head.
"I'm not asking you to do anything," I say quietly. "I'm just telling you where I stand."
"And where's that exactly?"
"Between you and anything that wants to hurt you."
The silence stretches, filled with the gentle lapping of water against the shore and the distant call of night birds. Fiona's expression is unreadable in the moonlight, a mix of longing and fear that makes my chest ache.
