Page 26 of Fat Betrayed Mate
And that's when everything changes.
Muscle memory kicks in, overriding conscious thought. Our movements become fluid, natural, like we've been training together for years instead of apart for six. When I feint left, she's already shifting right to counter. When she ducks under my guard, I'm there to catch her, to spin her out of harm's way.
"Better," Amelia calls, but her voice sounds distant.
We're lost in the dance of it, the give and take of bodies that know each other despite the years between. Fiona's scent surrounds me—lavender and rain and something uniquely her—and my wolf rises to the surface, recognizing its mate in ways my human mind has tried to deny.
"Switch," Victoria announces.
Now Fiona is the aggressor, coming at me with quick, precise strikes that I deflect and redirect. She's smaller than me, but faster, using her agility to stay just out of my reach, where my size advantage becomes a disadvantage. When she manages to hook her leg behind mine and send me off balance, I catch her wrist and take her down with me, both of us rolling across the training mats in a controlled fall that ends with her pinned beneath me.
We're both breathing hard, faces inches apart, and for a moment, the world narrows to just this—her wide green eyes, the rapid pulse at her throat, the way her body fits perfectly under mine. Her lips part slightly, and I see something flicker in her expression, a crack in the armor she's worn since returning to Silvercreek.
"Thomas," she whispers, and my name on her lips sounds like a prayer and a question all at once.
I help her to her feet, my hands lingering on her arms longer than necessary. She doesn't pull away immediately, and that slight hesitation gives me hope I probably shouldn't feel.
"Water break," Amelia calls, apparently sensing the tension crackling between us. "Fifteen minutes."
The other pack members training nearby disperse toward the water stations and shaded areas, but Fiona and I remain on the mats, caught in some invisible current that makes moving away from each other feel impossible.
"You're stronger than I remembered," I say, the words coming out rougher than I intended.
A small smile tugs at her lips. "I've had to be."
"Had to be?"
The smile fades, replaced by something guarded. "Six years of taking care of myself. And then Maisie. It changes you."
"Fiona—"
"We should hydrate," she interrupts, but she doesn't move away. "Amelia’s watching."
I glance over to see that Victoria has indeed positioned herself with a clear view of our conversation, her expression thoughtful in a way that makes me uneasy. But when I look back at Fiona, the moment feels too important to abandon for the sake of appearances.
"I never wanted things to end the way they did," I say quietly.
Her expression hardens. "Then why did they?"
"It's complicated."
"So you keep saying." Fiona takes a step back, rebuilding the walls between us. "But it felt pretty simple from where I was standing. You decided I wasn't worth the trouble."
"That's not—" I step closer, driven by the need to make her understand. "Fiona, you have to know that's not how it was."
"Then how was it, Thomas?" Her voice rises slightly, then drops back to an urgent whisper. "Because I've spent six years trying to understand how someone could go from saying 'forever' to… the way you became, overnight."
The pain in her voice cuts through me like a blade. She's right to hate me, right to build walls and keep her distance. But knowing that doesn't make the truth any easier to tell—or any safer to share.
Instead of answering, I do something that's probably incredibly stupid. I cup her face in my hands, feeling the silk of her skin against my palms, and lean in until our foreheads touch.
"I'm sorry," I whisper. "For all of it. For hurting you, for leaving you, for not being strong enough to find another way."
Her breath catches, and for a moment, she leans into my touch, her eyes fluttering closed. When she opens them again, they're bright with unshed tears.
"Thomas..."
"I know I don't deserve forgiveness," I continue, my thumbs brushing across her cheekbones. "I know I hurt you in ways that can't be undone. But Fiona, what we had—what we have—it wasn't nothing. It was everything."
