Page 70 of Fat Betrayed Mate
"Not happening." I remain where I am, calculating distances, angles, and opportunities. Six feet to Edward. Three seconds to close the gap, maybe two. Can I reach him before he pulls the trigger?
"You've ruined everything." Edward's voice remains eerily calm despite the rage in his eyes. "The demonstration, the broadcast. Do you understand what was at stake here?"
Behind me, Maisie whimpers as another wave of transformation ripples through her. I can smell her fear, her pain, her confusion—scents that drive my protective instincts to near-madness.
"Your hatred?" I suggest, keeping him talking while I search for an opening. "Your obsession?"
His lip curls. "Necessary control of a threat. These creatures—" he gestures toward Maisie with a jerk of his chin, "—cannot be allowed to live among us. They're animals. Dangerous animals masquerading as people."
"She's a child," Fiona says, her voice steady despite the weapon aimed at her. "Your granddaughter."
"That thing is not my blood." Edward's mask slips, revealing the disgust beneath. "Just like your mother was never truly human. I tried to save you, Fiona. I tried to burn the animal out of you. But you chose this. You chose to perpetuate the disease."
Through the doorway behind him, I glimpse the broadcast equipment set up in the hallway—cameras, lights, a makeshift backdrop. He planned to film this. To use Maisie's painful first shift as propaganda for his crusade.
"You're sick," I say, meaning it literally. No sane person could do this to their own family.
"I'm the only one seeing clearly." Edward's finger tightens on the trigger. "Your kind has infected humanity long enough. Starting with my wife."
Fiona makes a slight sound behind me.
"You couldn't stand that she was stronger than you," she says, understanding dawning in her voice. "That she was special in ways you could never be."
Something flashes across Edward's face—a twisted mixture of rage and what might be pain. "She was corrupted. I tried to save her. To purify her."
"By poisoning her." Fiona's voice cracks. "By killing her slowly while pretending to love her. Peoplelovedher, Dad. That’s what destroyed you, wasn’t it? People loved her, but they’d never love you.”
"Love?" Edward laughs, a hollow sound. "She didn't deserve love. She deserved cleansing. Just like that—" his eyes fix on Maisie, "—abomination behind you."
Maisie cries out again, another surge of her shift bringing more fur rippling across her skin. Edward's attention flickers toward her, disgust contorting his features.
It's all the opening I need.
I lunge forward, covering the distance between us in two powerful strides. My hand closes around the rifle barrel, forcing it upward as it discharges. The shot deafens in the confined space, plaster raining from the ceiling where the bullet embeds itself.
Edward's training shows in his reaction speed, but he's still human facing a shifter's strength. I wrench the rifle from his grasp, tossing it aside as we grapple. His elbow catches my jaw, a glancing blow that barely registers through the adrenaline.
"Thomas!" Fiona's warning comes as Edward produces a hunting knife from his belt, the blade slashing toward my throat.
I dodge backward, the knife cutting the air where I stood a heartbeat before. Edward presses forward, surprisingly agile for his age, the blade weaving patterns designed to keep me defensive.
"You're an animal," he spits, feinting left before slashing right. "Rutting with my daughter. You’re nothing more than adog—”
The words are calculated to enrage, to make me sloppy. And they almost work. My wolf claws beneath my skin, demanding blood for this insult to my mate, my child. But Maisie's frightened cries anchor me to control.
I catch Edward's wrist on his next thrust, applying pressure to the tendons until the knife clatters to the floor. His other fist connects with my ribs, a solid blow that might have damaged a human opponent. I barely feel it.
One quick movement puts Edward on the ground, my knee in the center of his chest, my hand at his throat. His eyes widen as he feels the press of claws—not fully shifted, but enough to draw pinpricks of blood where they touch his skin.
"Do it," he rasps, hatred burning in eyes so similar to Fiona's. "Prove what you are. Show your daughter what a monster her father is."
My wolf howls for his blood, for retribution, for the years he stole from us. One quick slice. Justice for Fiona's mother. For Maisie's lost childhood. For the fear and pain he's caused.
"Daddy?"
The word—so small, so frightened—cuts through my rage like nothing else could. I look back to see Maisie watching me,her transformation momentarily paused, her tear-streaked face a mixture of confusion and terror.
Not at her grandfather. At me. At what I might become if I cross this line.
