Page 4 of Fat Betrayed Mate
But then, what were the odds of me getting pregnant that summer? Of him leaving without a word just days after we'd made love beneath the stars, cutting off contact, becoming suddenly cold and distant until I fled this wretched, friendless place? Of the pack Alpha instituting a mandatory return for all members, forcing me back to the one place I swore I'd never see again?
The universe has been playing a cruel joke on me for years. Why would it stop now?
I smooth the crumpled letter, folding it precisely before tucking it into the small locked box where I keep Maisie's real birth certificate. The one that lists her birth date as five years ago, not four. The one with the father's name left deliberately blank, though the truth is written in her amber eyes, in the shape of her jaw, in the sharp intellect in her eyes even at such a young age.
Through the window, I watch the sun slant through the pines. In a few short hours, I'll need to pick up Maisie, make dinner, read her stories, tuck her in—maintain the normalroutine she depends on. But for now, I allow myself this moment of pure panic, of rage so potent it burns my throat.
Six years ago, Thomas Ennes looked me in the eye and told me what we had meant nothing to him. That I was a summer distraction, nothing more. He walked away without a backward glance, leaving me to discover my pregnancy alone, to bear his child without support, to build a life from the shattered pieces of the future he'd promised. I couldn’t bear to tell him about the child growing inside me—and he still doesn’t know she’s his. If I have my way, he never will. He has no right to her, not after he abandoned me.
But now fate—or the meddling Elders—wants to throw us together again.
"No," I whisper to the empty kitchen. "Not this time."
I've spent six years becoming someone stronger than the girl who cried herself to sleep over Thomas Ennes. I've built armor around my heart, piece by painful piece. I've created a life for my daughter—ourdaughter—without him.
If my name is drawn at the Lottery, I'll find a way out. I'll run if I have to. I've done it before. Because one thing is certain: I won't let Thomas Ennes break my heart twice.
And I won't let him discover the daughter he never cared enough to know existed.
The predatory moon rises outside my window, a silent witness to my resolution. Silvercreek may have reclaimed my body, but it will never again claim my heart or my child's future. That, at least, remains mine to protect—even from her father.
Chapter 2 - Thomas
The council chamber feels like a cage this afternoon.
I shift in my chair for the third time in as many minutes, the carved wood pressing uncomfortably against my spine. Through the tall windows, I can see the market square below, vendors still packing up their morning wares. My wolf stirs restlessly beneath my skin, hackles raised since that glimpse of dark hair and careful avoidance three hours ago.
After six years, her scent still cuts through me like a blade. I’ve run into her only a few times since her return months ago, when Nic’s lottery forced her to return and bring a child with her—a tiny four-year-old whose name I’ve gathered is Maisie. A child I can’t even look at without feeling sick, imagining Fiona with another man, some faceless stranger holding her, having her.
I’m a mess. I’m supposed to be focusing, but I can’t.
"Thomas, perhaps you'd share your thoughts on the modified trial structure?"
Victoria Blackwood's voice snaps through my distraction like a whip. The Head Elder's silver eyes pin me to my seat, and I realize with a sick drop in my stomach that I haven't heard a word of the last ten minutes' discussion.
"I... apologize, Elder Victoria. Could you repeat the proposal?"
Nic shifts beside me, providing smooth cover. "We were discussing the synchronized tracking trial. The paired scent-work through the northern ravines. It’s low-risk, but we wanted to hear your thoughts."
Victoria's mouth thins, but she continues. "As I was saying, the first trial will focus on synchronized tracking. Partners must work together to follow a scent trail through challenging terrain. The goal is cooperation, not competition."
"Better than the last set of trials," James mutters from across the table, earning a little snort from Luna.
Luna Morgan—Luna Blackwood, now—sits at Nic’s side, playing with his fingers, looking as relaxed as I’ve ever seen her. She and Nic have been doing well since the Cheslem Pack’s final defeat months ago, since they finished cementing their mate bond and slipped into an easy domesticity that, as far as you can tell, is without any of the problems they once reckoned with as a pair. She’s been sitting in on some meetings, particularly those concerning the continuation of the Lotteries.
She has strong feelings about them, and no wonder—after all, she endured in hers, anyone would want to prevent the next chosen female from going through such a physical and emotional wringer. No one here can begrudge her that.
Nic leans forward, hand still in Luna’s, their easy closeness obvious. "The survival exercise for the second trial will challenge different skills. Fear response, faith in one's partner. But there will be fail-safes, ways to get you—and her—out, if you need them. We don’t want to traumatize your future mate.”
Luna laughs, a musical sound of genuine warmth.
“We wouldn’t want that,” she teases, and Nic only looks a little guilty, squeezing her hand.
My jaw clenches at the memory of Luna's trials, how close we came to tragedy. But at least she and Nic found their way to each other. Some of us aren't destined for happy endings.
"And the third trial?" another Elder asks, his perpetual frown deepening. "This 'truth-sharing ceremony' seems... soft."
"Connection requires honesty," Victoria replies. "The ceremony will reveal compatibility better than any physical challenge. Mates must be able to trust each other with their deepest truths."
