Page 72 of Fat Betrayed Mate
Within minutes, where my daughter had been, a wolf pup now lies curled in Fiona's lap—tiny, perfect, unmistakably mine. The distinctive white spotting on her muzzle mirrors the pattern I've carried since my own first shift. Her amber eyes, huge in her small wolf face, blink up at us in confusion and wonder.
"She's beautiful," Fiona whispers, running gentle fingers through Maisie's fur.
Pride and fierce love overwhelm me. I lean down, touching my forehead to my daughter's, breathing in her scent—pine and sunshine and the unique signature that marks her as a pack, as family, as mine.
Maisie's head dips up, bumping the underside of my chin. A wolf cub's gesture of recognition. Of trust.
Outside, I can hear the sounds of the pack securing the area, of captives being loaded into vehicles, of victory calls being sent back to Silvercreek. But inside this room, time stands suspended around the miracle of our reunited family.
"We should get her home," I say eventually, though I'm reluctant to break this moment. "Shifting takes a lot of energy. She'll need food, rest."
Fiona nods, gathering our wolf-cub daughter more securely in her arms. Maisie snuggles against her mother's chest, clearly exhausted by her transformation, but her eyes remain fixed on me as if afraid I might disappear.
"I'm not going anywhere," I promise her, stroking one finger down her spotted muzzle. "Never again."
Nic appears in the doorway, assessing the situation with one quick glance. "The vehicles are ready whenever you are," he says quietly. "We've got Wright secured. James and two others will transport him directly to the Council holding facility."
"Thank you," I say, the words inadequate for what the pack has done for us today.
Nic's gaze softens as it falls on Maisie's wolf form. "She has your markings."
"She does." Pride evident in my voice. "She’s my daughter."
The words still feel new, miraculous on my tongue. My daughter. Six years too late, but finally, undeniably, mine to protect and love.
I help Fiona to her feet, keeping one hand on Maisie's small furry back to reassure her. Together, we move toward the door, toward the pack waiting outside, toward the home and future that Edward Wright nearly stole from us.
"Ready?" I ask Fiona, searching her face for any hesitation, any lingering doubt.
She looks up at me, then down at our daughter cradled in her arms. The wolf cub blinks sleepily, her ordeal catching up with her now that danger has passed.
"We've been ready for six years," Fiona says, leaning into my side. "We just didn't know it."
Together, the three of us step out of the room where hatred nearly destroyed us, and into the light where our pack—our family—awaits.
Chapter 18 - Fiona
Maisie's tiny wolf form trembles against my chest as our convoy winds through the forest toward Silvercreek. Her eyes—amber like her father's—drift closed, then snap open again, fighting exhaustion. I stroke her soft brown fur, marveling at the distinctive white markings on her muzzle that mirror Thomas's so perfectly.
"You’re okay," I whisper, more to reassure myself than anyone else. "You’re going to be okay."
Beside me, Thomas drives with tense focus, his hands gripping the steering wheel too tightly. Every few minutes, his gaze flickers to Maisie, a complex mixture of wonder, grief, and fierce protectiveness crossing his features. He reaches over periodically to touch her small head, as if confirming she's real, that he hasn't imagined finding his daughter after six years of not knowing she existed.
"Dr. Knowles will be waiting at the compound," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "Best healer in three territories. She's helped dozens of kids through their first shifts."
I nod, unable to form words around the knot in my throat. The terror of the past hours—Edward's gun, the silver restraints, Maisie caged and frightened—crashes against the fragile relief of this moment. We're alive. We're together. After six years of running, lying, and looking over my shoulder, my daughter is safe in my arms, with her father beside us.
It doesn't feel real yet.
Pack vehicles surround us, an honor guard ensuring our safe return. Through the window, I catch glimpses of Silvercreek emerging from emergency protocols—families returning fromevacuation points, guards standing down from high alert, a community breathing again.
Near the main compound entrance, I spot Ruby directing a group of returning families, clipboard in hand. James stands at her side, his head bent close to hers as they consult about something. The ease with which they move together catches my attention briefly before we pull up to the healing center.
Dr. Helena Knowles meets us at the door, her gray-streaked hair pulled back in a practical braid, her expression shifting from professional concern to soft compassion as she takes in Maisie's wolf form.
"Bring her inside," she says, leading us through the herb-scented warmth of the healing center to a private room with a large examination table. "How long has she been shifted?"
"About an hour," Thomas answers, hovering close as I place Maisie on the padded surface. She whimpers, claws scrabbling against the material as she tries to return to my arms.
