Page 54 of Fat Betrayed Mate
The smoke shifts, carrying the scent of rain and earth—my own scent, but tinged with old pain.
"I learned that the people who claim to love you will hurt you if it serves their purposes. That trust is a luxury you can't afford when survival depends on staying invisible." I meet Thomas's eyes across the fire.
"Truth is witnessed," Victoria says, and I realize my cheeks are wet. "The trial is complete. You have shared your foundational truths with honesty and courage. The spirits are satisfied."
She extinguishes the herbs with a gesture, and suddenly, we're just… people standing in a moonlit clearing. The weight of ceremony lifts, but the intimacy of shared vulnerability remains.
"Congratulations," Victoria says, though her tone suggests she's not entirely sure congratulations are appropriate. "Your Trials are complete. The mating ceremony will be held in two weeks, assuming current circumstances allow."
Just like that. It’s over. Somehow, it feels both anticlimactic and utterly terrifying.
After she leaves, Thomas and I walk back toward the compound in silence. The weight of our confessions hangs between us—not uncomfortable exactly, but significant.
"I'm sorry," he says finally. "About your father. About what he put you and your mother through."
"And I'm sorry about your loneliness." The words surprise me with their sincerity. "Six years is a long time to carry that.”
I was lonely too,I almost say.There was no one after you.
He shrugs. "Some choices don't leave room for anything else."
We reach the fork in the path where he'll turn toward his cabin, and I'll continue to mine. Neither of us moves to separate.
"Fiona," he says carefully. “I haven’t been honest with you.
“I know,” I confirm, exhausted. “Neither have I. We’ve both known it for a long time.”
He nods slowly. Then, hesitating: “Do you want to talk?”
I hold up a hand to stop him. "No, Thomas. I think we’ve talked enough.”
He nods, disappointment flickering across his features. "Fair enough."
I’m grateful for the choice, for the fact that he gave me that much.
“Thank you,” I mumble, exhausted. “Thank you, Thomas.”
It's more grace than I've offered him in six years, and we both know it. He looks like he wants to say something else, but settles for a simple, “Okay.”
The celebration the following evening is subdued, held in the pack house common room rather than the usual outdoorgathering. Too many security concerns for anything elaborate. I nurse a single glass of wine and deflect congratulations from pack members who seem unsure whether the occasion calls for celebration or condolences.
"Not exactly the party atmosphere you were hoping for?" Luna asks, appearing at my elbow.
"Honestly? I prefer it this way." The fewer people focusing on my upcoming mating ceremony, the better. "Less pressure."
"Still seems surreal, though. Three weeks ago, you barely spoke to Thomas. Now you're bound to him for life."
"The lottery doesn't care about our personal history," I say, which is true enough to pass for an explanation.
"Speaking of history," Luna continues, lowering her voice, "Nic mentioned Thomas seemed pretty affected by tonight's trial. Whatever you two shared out there must have been significant."
I think about the vulnerability in Thomas's voice as he described his lonely years, the way his scent carried grief like a physical weight. "It was honest. Sometimes that's significant enough."
"I'm glad. For both of you." Luna squeezes my arm. "You deserve happiness, Fiona. Even if it comes in ways you weren't expecting."
I escape to the porch after an hour of small talk and forced smiles. The night air carries the sounds of increased security—radio chatter, the distant hum of additional patrols. Normal celebration feels obscene when people are preparing for war.
"Mama!"
