Page 36 of Fat Betrayed Mate
"It's late," she says finally. "I should get back."
"I'll walk you home."
"That's not necessary."
"Maybe not," I agree. "But I'm going to do it anyway."
She doesn't argue, which I take as progress. We walk back through the pack lands in comfortable silence, the tensionbetween us still present but somehow easier to bear in the darkness.
Chapter 9 - Fiona
The morning air bites at my cheeks as I adjust the radio clipped to my jacket, its weight unfamiliar but necessary.
Three days since the pack meeting, volunteer patrols have become the new normal. Every able-bodied adult taking shifts, covering ground that used to require half the manpower. This is the first one I’ve volunteered for. Maisie is safe with the Blackwoods, I keep reminding myself. She’ll be safer there than anywhere else.
"Ready?" Thomas asks, shouldering his pack with practiced ease.
It doesn’t help my anxiety thathe’sthe one on patrol with me.
I nod, not trusting my voice to stay steady. We haven't been alone together since the lake, since his quiet promise to stand between me and anything that wants to hurt me. The memory of his words makes my chest tight with emotions I can't afford to examine.
"Northern quadrant," he says, consulting the map James handed us twenty minutes ago. "We'll sweep east along the ridge, then circle back through the valley."
"Fine." I fall into step beside him as we head toward the tree line, hyperaware of the space between us. Two feet. Close enough to catch his scent—pine and something warmer, more distinctly him. Far enough to maintain the illusion that I'm unaffected by his presence.
The forest is quieter than usual, even the birds seeming subdued by the tension that's settled over Silvercreek like a blanket. Our boots crunch through fallen leaves as we climbsteadily upward, following game trails that wind between towering pines.
"How's Maisie handling everything?" Thomas asks after we've been walking for twenty minutes.
The question catches me off guard. I glance at him sideways, noting the genuine concern in his expression. "She's fine. She’s tough."
"Must be hard, though. All the changes, the security measures."
"She's four." The lie comes automatically now, practiced. "She adapts."
"Still. Kids pick up on stress, even when we try to hide it."
I want to tell him that Maisie's been having nightmares again, that yesterday she asked if we might have to run away again. Instead, I focus on the path ahead, stepping carefully over a fallen log.
"She'll be fine," I repeat. "We both will."
The silence stretches until Thomas stops abruptly, his hand shooting out to catch my arm. I freeze, following his gaze to the disturbed earth near a cluster of birch trees.
"Fresh tracks," he murmurs, crouching to examine the prints. "Human. Size eleven boot, maybe twelve."
I kneel beside him, studying the impressions in the soft soil. "When?"
"Recent. This morning, maybe earlier." He stands, scanning the surrounding trees. "Trail heads deeper into our territory."
The wrongness of it hits me like a physical blow. Humans shouldn't be this far into pack lands, especially withoutpermission, and certainly not armed and skulking through the forest like predators. The scent hanging in the air is alien here—gun oil and cigarettes and something else that makes my wolf pace restlessly beneath my skin.
"We should radio the others," I say, reaching for my comm unit.
"Wait." Thomas catches my wrist gently. "Let's see where this leads first. Could be someone just got turned around."
But we both know that's not true. The tracks are too purposeful, too deep into territory that's clearly marked with warning signs and scent markers. This is deliberate trespass.
We follow the trail in tense silence, Thomas taking point while I watch our flanks. The tracks weave between trees with the confidence of someone who knows these woods, avoiding the main paths but staying on solid ground that won't slow them down.
