Page 79 of Fat Betrayed Mate
The formal words wash over me as Nic and Luna take their places as our witnesses. Luna winks at Maisie, who beams back at her favorite "almost-aunt."
"The binding ritual acknowledges what already exists," Victoria continues, her voice carrying to every corner of the Hollow. "A connection of souls, recognized by wolves who found each other despite all obstacles."
She gestures for us to step forward into the circle of stones. Maisie moves with us, naturally included in what would traditionally be a ceremony for two. No one suggests she step aside—this binding is as much about creating a family as it is about uniting mates.
"Thomas Ennes," Victoria says, "speak your vows to your mate."
I take Fiona's hands in mine, all prepared words fleeing in the face of the emotion swelling in my chest. What emerges comes straight from my heart, unfiltered.
"Fiona. Six years ago, I made the hardest choice of my life when I left you, believing it was the only way to keep you safe. Every day without you was a day half-lived, my wolf searching for its mate in forests too empty to hold your scent." My voice catches, steadies. "I vow never to be separated from you again—not by threat, not by fear, not by misunderstanding. My place is with you, always."
I turn slightly to include Maisie, who watches with wide, solemn eyes. "Maisie. I missed the first five years of your life, a loss I can never reclaim. But I vow to be present for every moment that follows—to guide your wolf, to celebrate your victories, to catch you when you fall. Before our pack, I claim you as my daughter, my blood, my greatest pride."
Maisie's smile could light the night sky. Fiona's eyes shimmer with unshed tears as Victoria nods for her to speak.
"Thomas. When I returned to Silvercreek, I carried years of hurt and misunderstanding alongside our secret daughter.I thought I knew the story of us—abandonment, betrayal, endings. Now I know the truth—sacrifice, protection, love that never died." Her fingers tighten around mine. "I vow to trust in that love, to rebuild what was broken, to create a future that honors the pain of our past without being defined by it. My wolf has always known you as mate; now my heart reclaims that truth without reservation."
She reaches for Maisie, bringing her closer to our joined hands. "Together, we vow to raise our daughter in strength and compassion, to teach her that family comes in many forms, and that love, once truly found, can overcome any separation."
Elder Victoria produces a shallow wooden bowl filled with clear water, the surface reflecting the lantern light like stars captured in liquid. "Water, like pack bonds, finds its way around any obstacle, adapts to any container, yet remains itself—fluid, strong, essential."
She holds the bowl between us. Traditionally, Fiona and I would each place a hand in the water, symbolizing our willingness to adapt and flow together. Without prompting, Maisie reaches out, adding her small hand to the bowl alongside ours.
Victoria's eyes crinkle with approval at this unplanned addition. "The wisdom of children," she murmurs, then continues the ritual. "As your hands join in these waters, so too do your lives merge—not losing individuality, but creating something stronger in combination."
Nic steps forward with the box of binding cords. Victoria takes them with reverent care, her expression softening when she sees the third cord.
"Three strands," she says, "for the family being bound today."
She weaves the cords around our joined wrists—white gold for new beginnings, deep red for passion and blood ties, honey brown for hearth and home. Maisie watches, enraptured, as the cords form an intricate pattern connecting the three of us.
"What is bound before the pack is acknowledged by both human and wolf," Victoria intones. "Thomas and Fiona, your wolves have recognized each other as true mates. Do you now acknowledge this bond in your human forms, accepting all that comes with such a connection?"
"We do," we say in unison, the words hanging in the air like a physical force.
Something shifts between us—a settling, a recognition deeper than words. My wolf rises close to the surface, sensing its mate, its family, its pack all aligned in perfect harmony.
"Then, by the authority granted by the Council of Packs and the ancestors who watch over Silvercreek, I declare this binding complete." Victoria raises her hands. "The pack witnesses and celebrates Thomas and Fiona, true mates, and welcomes Maisie Wright-Ennes as the daughter of their union."
A cheer rises from the gathered pack, the solemn ceremony giving way to celebration. Maisie bounces with excitement as Victoria carefully unwinds the binding cords, preserving them to be displayed in our home as a reminder of this day.
"Now," Victoria says with a smile, "we welcome young Maisie officially to the pack."
Maisie's welcome ceremony, usually performed for newborns, has been modified to honor her unique situation. She stands between Fiona and me, practically vibrating with excitement as Elder Victoria presents her with the traditionalpack amulet—a small silver disk etched with Silvercreek's mountain and wolf symbol.
"Maisie Wright-Ennes," Victoria announces, "daughter of Thomas and Fiona, we acknowledge you as pack, as family, as one who carries our legacy in her blood and bones."
Pack members approach one by one, offering small gifts and blessings. Nic and Luna present her with a child-sized leather jacket embossed with the pack symbol. Ruby gives her a handcrafted dream catcher, James adding a small carved wolf to accompany it. Each gift acknowledges her place among them, wrapping her in the protection of the community.
"Would you like to show the pack what you've learned?" I ask her quietly when the gift-giving concludes.
Maisie nods eagerly, stepping forward with newfound confidence. Under our careful guidance this past month, she's learned to control partial shifts—a skill many young shifters don't master until puberty.
She concentrates, her small face serious, and extends one arm. Before the pack's appreciative eyes, fur ripples along her forearm, her hand transforming into a perfect miniature wolf paw. She holds the partial shift for nearly thirty seconds before releasing it, beaming with pride as the pack applauds her control.
"That's my girl," I whisper, fierce pride mingling with lingering sadness for the milestones I missed. As if sensing my thoughts, Fiona's hand finds mine, squeezing gently. She understands without words—the complex mixture of joy and grief that colors my love for our daughter.
The formal ceremonies complete, the Hollow transforms again as tables appear laden with food, musicians strike up lively tunes, and the pack relaxes into celebration. I find myself at thecenter of it all, accepting congratulations, watching in wonder as Maisie darts between pack members, already comfortable in her belonging.
