Page 44 of Fat Betrayed Mate
"The first few times, maybe. But then it's easy."
She nods thoughtfully, returning to her coloring. "I think I'd like that. Running wherever I want."
"Your mama will teach you when you're ready."
"Will you help?" The question is asked with innocent curiosity, but it hits me hard.
"That's up to your mama," I manage.
"She likes you," Maisie says with the confidence of a child who thinks she understands everything.
If only you knew,I think.
Before I can figure out how to respond to that, the office door opens, and Fiona walks in. She stops short when she sees us, her eyes taking in the scene—Maisie chattering happily while I lean over her shoulder to examine her color-coordinated supply list.
"Mama!" Maisie bounces up. "Thomas, let me help organize everything!"
Fiona's scent hits me immediately—anxiety sharp enough to make my teeth ache. Her smile for Maisie is genuine, but I catch the way her gaze darts between us.
"That's wonderful, Sweet Pea." She moves to collect Maisie's things. "Thank you for watching her, Thomas."
"It was no trouble. She's remarkably organized for her age."
"She gets that from me," Fiona says quickly, still not meeting my eyes. "We should go."
"Actually, Luna's still in meetings," I say. "Emergency elder session about the trials."
Fiona's face pales slightly. "How long?"
"Three hours now." I hesitate. "Maisie's welcome to stay until they're done."
"That's not necessary—"
"Can I, Mama?" Maisie looks between us, hopefully. "Thomas was gonna show me more stuff."
Fiona stares at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in her expression. "She's four."
"She's smart," I counter.
"Please, Mama?" Maisie tugs on Fiona's hand.
Fiona's internal struggle is visible. Finally, she sighs. "One hour. Then I'm picking you up."
"Thank you!" Maisie practically bounces.
Fiona nods curtly and heads for the door, pausing only to add, "Behave yourself, Sweet Pea."
When she's gone, Maisie settles back into her chair with a satisfied smile. "She worries too much."
"Mothers do that," I say, though Fiona's reaction seemed like more than normal concern. The spike of anxiety in her scent when she found us together—there's something deeper going on.
***
"How coordinated is this?" I ask hours later, studying the aerial photographs Nic has spread across his office table.
It's just the three of us—Nic, James, and me—the door firmly closed against interruption. My Alpha is stressed. James and I can both sense it. We came here without having to be called.
"Very," James answers grimly. "Synchronized attacks, professional equipment, inside knowledge of pack operations."
