Page 47 of Fat Betrayed Mate
The memories surface uninvited—my father's voice dripping with disdain as he told my mother she was 'unnatural,' his constant reminders that we were freaks tolerated only because of his generosity. The way he'd isolate her from the pack, making excuses for why she couldn't attend gatherings, slowly cutting her off from everyone who might support her. The way I was never allowed to socialize with the other pack kids, never allowed to visit their houses or invite them to ours, living miles beyond the territory boundary on his estate, an isolation that eventually led to me becoming the outcast I grew up into as a teenager.
"He made her small," I say quietly. "Made her believe she was lucky he put up with what she was. And after she died..." I trail off, not ready to share how that same cruelty had turned on me.
"I'm sorry," Luna says, and there's genuine compassion in her voice. "That must have been devastating. Losing her and then… dealing with his grief on top of your own."
"Grief." I almost choke on the word, a sardonic laugh bubbling up inside me. "That's not what I'd call it."
My father hadn't grieved my mother's death—he'd been relieved. Relieved to finally be free of the woman who'd embarrassed him, relieved to be free to try to mold me into something more acceptable.
Until I'd proven just asunnaturalas she was.
"Is that why you left?" Luna asks. "Because of him?”
"Partly." I can't tell her about Thomas, about the pregnancy, about the desperate flight that followed. "Things became... unbearable. I had to go."
"And now you're worried he might come looking for you?"
The question hits closer to home than Luna realizes. I've been waiting six years for Edward to track us down, for his obsessive need for control to drive him to reclaim his ‘wayward daughter.’ The hunter activity, the escalating violence—it all has his fingerprints on it.
"Something like that," I murmur.
Luna reaches across the table to squeeze my hand. "You're safe here, Fiona. Whatever happened before, you and Maisie are pack. We protect our own. I learned that myself not long ago."
I want to believe her. God, how I want to believe that Silvercreek can be the sanctuary we've been searching for. But I've learned not to trust in protection that can be withdrawn the moment I become inconvenient.
"Thank you," I say, because Luna means well, even if she doesn't understand the scope of what we're facing.
The cottage feels too quiet when I return, Maisie's soft breathing from her bedroom the only sound. I check on her—still feverish, her small face flushed with the heat of ever-approaching manifestation—before retreating to my own room.
The floorboard under my dresser creaks as I pry it up, revealing the waterproof container I've hidden there since we arrived. My hands shake slightly as I lift the lid, cataloging the contents I know by heart.
Maisie's original birth certificate, listing Thomas Ennes as father and her real birth date. Medical records from my pregnancy. Her pediatric files showing the early markers of shifter genetics. Everything that proves she's not the four-year-old I've claimed her to be, and not the product of some random relationship I've led everyone to believe.
The papers are all there, but something's wrong.
The birth certificate is folded differently than I left it. The medical records are stacked in the wrong order. Someone has been through these documents, examining them carefully before replacing them.
My blood turns to ice.
Someone knows.
I'm still staring at the evidence of intrusion when a knock at the front door makes me jump. I shove the papers back into their container, my heart hammering as I replace the floorboard and hurry to answer the door.
Thomas stands on my porch, his expression grim as he holds up a radio.
"Security update," he says without preamble. "Mind if I come in?"
I step aside, hyperaware of the hidden documents just twenty feet away, of the way my scent probably reeks of panic and fear.
"What's the situation?" I ask, trying to sound normal.
"Hunter movement on the eastern border. Three vehicles, armed occupants." Thomas clips the radio to his belt, his eyes scanning my face with concern. "Nic wants all families on high alert until further notice."
"Understood." The word comes out clipped, professional, but I can't seem to relax my shoulders or unclench my fists.
"Fiona." Thomas steps closer, his voice gentle. "Are you alright? You seem—"
"I'm fine," I interrupt, then immediately realize how unconvincing that sounds. "Just tired. Worried about Maisie."
