Page 68 of Fat Betrayed Mate
I meet her eyes across the dim cellar, seeing in them everything I've longed for since the day I left.
"Never again," I promise. "Nothing will separate us again."
She nods once, fierce and certain, then resumes pulling against her restraints. Above us, footsteps move across thefloor—Edward's men preparing for their demonstration, for our execution.
But they've miscalculated. They've chained two wolves who now have everything to live for, everything to fight for.
And somewhere upstairs, our daughter waits for us to find her.
The wooden post gives way with a splintering crack, sending me lurching forward. My restraints are still attached to the broken fragments, but I'm free from the support beam. I twist my body, ignoring the burn of silver against my wrists as I work to loosen the chains.
Across from me, Fiona pulls with renewed determination, her eyes fixed on my progress.
"Almost," she grunts, muscles straining. "Almost there."
With a final heave, her post fractures, wood splintering like gunshots in the quiet cellar. She pitches forward, catching herself on her knees, the chains still trailing from her wrists.
"The lock," I say, nodding toward a toolbox in the corner. "There might be something—"
She's already moving, dragging her chains as she searches through the abandoned tools. Her fingers close around a rusted screwdriver, triumph flashing across her face.
"Hold still," she says, kneeling beside me. Her hands tremble slightly as she works the screwdriver into my restraint's locking mechanism. Each touch sends silver burning through my skin, but I bite back the pain, focusing instead on her face—so close, so determined.
The lock gives with a click, and the first restraint falls away. The relief is immediate; the skin is already beginning to heal as I take the screwdriver and free her left hand. We workquickly, methodically, until all four restraints lie discarded on the concrete floor.
For a moment, we simply stare at each other, the reality of what we've learned—of what we've found—hanging in the air between us. Six years of separation. Six years of believing lies. Six years of our daughter growing up without me.
"Thomas," she whispers, my name a question and an answer all at once.
I reach for her, unable to form words for the storm inside me. My hands cradle her face, thumbs brushing away tears I hadn't noticed falling. Her skin is warm against my palms, achingly familiar and new all at once.
She leans into my touch, her eyes never leaving mine.
"I never stopped loving you," she confesses, voice breaking. "Even when I thought you'd left us, I couldn't stop. I tried, but I couldn’t.”
"Fiona." Her name contains everything I can't articulate—regret, hope, a future reclaimed. "I've loved you every day since I left. Every single day."
We move together like gravity, inevitable and necessary. Her lips meet mine, tentative at first, then with a desperation that matches the roaring in my blood. Years of longing poured into a single kiss, her body fitting against mine as though we were never separated.
I taste salt from our mingled tears, feel the tremble in her fingers as they tangle in my hair. My arms wrap around her, pulling her closer, as though I could erase the time and distance with this embrace.
When we finally break apart, breathless, she rests her forehead against mine.
"We have a daughter," she whispers, wonder threading through the words.
"We have a daughter," I repeat, the truth of it settling into my bones, reshaping everything I thought I knew about myself, about my future. "And we're going to get her back."
Fiona nods, drawing strength from certainty. She rises to her feet, extending her hand to me. I take it, our fingers interlacing, palms pressed together in silent promise.
Whatever awaits us upstairs—whatever Edward Wright has planned—he'll face us not as broken individuals, but as what we truly are: a family, a pack, a force he cannot possibly understand.
"Ready?" she asks.
I squeeze her hand once, feeling the wolf rise within me, fierce and protective. "Ready."
Chapter 17 - Thomas
We move as one unit down the hallway, every sense heightened, adrenaline burning away the lingering pain of silver burns. Two guards stand outside Maisie's room, rifles held casually, clearly not expecting trouble from within the lodge itself.
