Page 5 of Fat Betrayed Mate
I force my expression neutral, but my wolf snarls at the irony. Trust. Truth. As if I haven't been choking on lies for six years.
"The eligible female list is shorter this time," Elder Patricia notes, shuffling her papers. "Twenty-three names, all between twenty and thirty as required."
Twenty-three names. I don't need to ask if Fiona's is among them. At twenty-six, she falls squarely in the range. My hands clench beneath the table.
"Young Melissa has expressed particular interest," Patricia continues. "She asked about the lottery requirements yesterday."
Melissa Blackwood—Nic’s younger sister, currently unmated. I’ve never had anything against her, but the idea of becoming her mate makes me feel faintly unwell. We share strong bloodlines, prestige in the pack. But I would never want her,can’twant her.
There’s only one woman I want, and she’s the one I can’t have.
I run through the other women I know will be eligible in my mind. Some of Melissa’s gaggle of unmated friends. Some women in their mid-twenties like me, who I vaguely remember from school, none particularly involved with the council or the pack’s inner circle. Ruby Mulligan, the woman Fiona was talkingto at the market, their heads bent together like conspirators. My enhanced hearing had caught fragments—"careful" and "concerned" and Fiona's brittle response:"It doesn't concern me."
Nic's voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts. "Thomas will participate fully in all three trials with his chosen mate, then. We’re all in agreement. Unless you have something to say, Thomas.”
He turns his sharp, not-unkind eyes toward me, lances me with a piercing stare, the stare that’s always seen through all of us.
"Wouldn't dream of it," I say, though the words taste like ash and old regret.
"We need strong pairings," Elder Marcus interjects, his voice gruff with age. "The pack needs cubs. We've had too few births in recent years. A successful mating between our highest-ranking unmated wolf and a strong female would set an example."
Cubs. The word hits like a physical blow. Against my will, my mind supplies the image from this morning—the small dark-haired child at the school gates, clinging to Fiona's hand. Four years old, the gossips say. Born to a father who abandoned them.
The timeline cuts deep. She moved on quickly after I left. Found someone else within a year or so, built the life we'd whispered about in the darkness.
The thought shouldn't gut me like this. I gave up any right to jealousy when I walked away.
"The Lottery will be held in two weeks," Victoria announces. "Full moon, as tradition dictates, in the Hollow.Thomas, I trust you'll be... present for the remainder of our planning?"
Heat crawls up my neck. "Of course, Elder."
The rest of the meeting passes in a blur of logistics and security protocols. I force myself to focus, to be the right-hand that Nic depends on. But my wolf paces and prowls, making my skin feel too tight.
When Victoria finally dismisses us, I'm first to my feet. But—
"Thomas. My office." Nic's tone brooks no argument.
I follow him down the corridor, Luna's knowing look burning between my shoulder blades. Nic's office still smells faintly like his father's pipe tobacco, though it's been years since the old Alpha's death. He doesn't speak until the door clicks shut behind us, rounding his desk, silhouetted against the sun through the windows.
"You going to tell me what's got you wound tighter than a spring trap?" He doesn't look up from the patrol schedules spread across his desk.
"Nothing. Just thinking about border security."
"Bullshit." His eyes flash gold for a moment. He doesn’t appreciate lies. "I've known you since we were, like, ten, Thomas. You only get that look when—"
"Drop it." The words come out sharper than intended, my wolf pushing against my control. “Please. Drop it.”
Nic sets down his pen with deliberate calm, studying me with those uncanny eyes that see too much. We've been friends since childhood, through his father's death, through my parents' passing, through every challenge the pack has faced. He knows my tells better than anyone.
"It’s because Fiona’s back,” he deduces cleanly, as if it’s a new conclusion, as if he didn’t surely know long before this moment.
My silence is answer enough. The muscle in my jaw aches from clenching.
"The lottery isn't personal, you know that. The pack needs—"
I stand abruptly, the chair scraping against hardwood. "Unless you can get her taken off the roster, there’s nothing you can do that’ll make this better, Nic. I owe you enough respect to tell you that.”
Nic's expression softens, and somehow, that's worse than his anger would have been. "Thomas—"
