Page 80 of Fat Betrayed Mate
"May I have this dance?" I ask my daughter as the music shifts to a playful melody. She giggles as I lift her, placing her tiny feet on top of mine so we can sway together.
"Like this, Daddy?" she asks, gripping my hands for balance.
"Just like that, pup." I move carefully, treasuring her delighted laughter. "You're a natural."
Fiona joins us, sliding into the circle of my arm, her head resting against my shoulder as we three move together in perfect synchronicity.
"Happy?" she asks softly.
I look down at her—my mate, officially and completely mine after six years of emptiness—and at Maisie, the miracle we created together. "Beyond words."
The celebration continues around us, the pack rejoicing in our union while we exist in our own small bubble of contentment. Eventually, Maisie spots her friends and dashes off to play, leaving Fiona and me to mingle with the adults.
Nic pulls me aside briefly; business is never entirely suspended. "The Council sent word," he says, keeping his voice low. "Edward's anti-shifter rhetoric has spread to some of the neighboring human communities. Nothing we can't handle, but something to watch."
"We'll be ready," I assure him, newfound protectiveness for my family extending to encompass the entire pack. "Whatever comes, we face it together."
The concern passes quickly, unable to take root on a night dedicated to celebration. I return to Fiona's side, watching as Maisie proudly demonstrates another partial shift to a circle of impressed pack children.
"She's incredible," Fiona says, leaning against me. "Every day, she surprises me."
"She gets that from her mother." I press a kiss to her temple, still marveling that I can do so freely, openly, without fear.
Later, as the celebration winds down, we find ourselves across the clearing from each other. Fiona's eyes meet mine over the heads of departing pack members, a silent message passing between us that sends heat curling through my veins. Not yet, but soon. The promise hangs between us as we gather our sleepy daughter and accept final congratulations.
***
Maisie falls asleep on the short walk home, her head heavy against my shoulder, exhausted from excitement and shifting practice. Together, Fiona and I tuck her into bed, lingering in the doorway to watch her peaceful breathing.
"She didn't even stir," Fiona whispers as we retreat to the living room. "Out cold."
"Big day for a little wolf." I settle on the couch that has become mine this past month, though I've rarely slept on it—most nights, find me in Fiona's bed, our bodies relearning each other with increasing boldness.
Tonight feels different. Official. The start of something permanent rather than tentative.
Fiona curls beside me, her ceremonial dress shimmering in the low lamplight. "Nic asked if you'd officially accept your first extension in the second-in-command position," she says. "Said the pack vote was unanimous. That’ll be another five years."
"I told him I would." My fingers trace lazy patterns on her arm. "It feels right, especially with everything that's happening. And if not me, it’ll be James, and he’s an idiot.”
We both laugh, mostly because it’s true.
But there’s a darkness there, too. The specter of Edward's legacy—the anti-shifter sentiment he cultivated, now spreading beyond his direct influence—hovers at the edges of our awareness. Not enough to threaten our happiness, but a reality we can't ignore.
"I've been thinking about going back to school," Fiona says, shifting to look up at me. "The community college in Riverton has a program for shifters. I could finish the degree my father made me abandon."
"That's wonderful." I mean it completely, admiration swelling in my chest for this woman who, despite everything she's endured, still reaches for growth and fulfillment. "Whatever you need to make it happen—childcare, time, support—it's yours."
She smiles, the expression holding a confidence that grows stronger each day. "We'd have to juggle schedules, and Maisie would need to start kindergarten..."
"We'll make it work." I pull her closer, reveling in the simple rightness of making plans together. "That's what families do."
"Speaking of family," she says carefully, "I know it's too soon to think about it seriously, but someday...would you want more children?"
The question catches me off guard, not unpleasantly. The image of another child—a brother or sister for Maisie, another miracle created between us—fills me with unexpected longing.
"Someday," I agree, equally careful. "When we're ready. When Maisie's older and we've had time to just be us for a while."
Fiona nods, satisfaction in her expression. "That's what I thought too. No rush, but...possibility."
