Page 14 of Fat Forced Mate

Luna uses the interruption to put more space between us. "You should go. Wouldn't want to keep tradition waiting. I’ve heard it waits for no one.” Even after all this time, she’s still so sharp, so funny.

I try to protest. "We're not finished here, Luna."

"Yes, we are." She meets my eyes, and the pain there makes my chest ache. "I won’t make the same mistakes I did. Go get mated, Nic, and love her.”

Luna turns to leave. I reach out as if to catch her arm, and she freezes, but my hand just lingers in the air, hovering over herwrist, so close I can almost feel the heat of her skin radiating into my palm.

For a heartbeat, her mask cracks. I see the longing, the need that mirrors my own. Then she moves onward, and the moment is over.

She walks away, head high. I can smell the sorrow rolling off her, the fear, the anxiety, the anger. My wolf whines, urging me to follow, to explain, to make her understand that shame was never the issue. That I've regretted that night every day for five years.

Instead, I watch her disappear into the gathering darkness.

"That was quite a display."

I turn to find Grandma Victoria emerging from the shadows nearby, her silver hair catching the last rays of sunlight. My grandmother has always had perfect timing when it comes to witnessing my weakest moments.

"How long have you been watching?"

"Long enough." She moves to stand beside me, studying the creek where Luna's scent still lingers. "She's stronger than when she left. More sure of herself. I remember your father and you arguing about her. She’s grown more confident than she was when your father disapproved of your affection for her so."

"I noticed." Pride and regret war in my chest. “She’s been through a lot.

"She’s not a shifter." Victoria's tone turns serious. "A hybrid?”

I nod. Luna's power has always been vibrant, almost wild in its intensity, but with no Shift, no one taught her how to use it. "Her mother was a witch. Her father—”

“I know,” interrupts my grandmother. “I knew them.”

I raise an eyebrow in interest. “You did?”

She pulls an ancient journal from her robes. "Fifteen years ago, Catherine and Michael Morgan died protecting our borders. I read their eulogies, Dominic.”

My blood runs cold. "Luna and James’ parents? I thought that was a random attack."

James never talks about them, though he’s surely old enough to remember them well. Luna never told me much about them, either. The Morgan siblings were raised by an uncle after their parents’ deaths until James came of age, and then took care of themselves. It seemed lonely, I always thought, but neither volunteered information about their upbringing, and I didn’t push.

Victoria opens the journal, revealing pages of cramped writing. She doesn’t offer it to me to read, seeming to skim idly, not looking for anything in particular, though her eyes are sharp. "They worked for the pack’s security. A witch and a wolf. Around the time they died, we were experiencing our first border conflict with the Cheslem pack.”

My mouth goes dry. "Why hasn't anyone told me this before?"

"Because until recently, we thought they were gone—and little James and Luna were never told the details. I suspect neither knows to this day. Nonetheless, we believed the Cheslem ferals and leadership to have been destroyed in the same battle that killed the Morgans." She sighs heavily. "We were wrong. They've been gathering strength, watching, waiting. And now they're back, just as the lottery draws near."

My head hurts. I rub at my temples with my fingers.

“I wish you had let me find a mate in my own time,” I mumble, feeling oddly childish. “I would have the space in my head to deal with the Cheslem threat if you had. We could have waited longer.”

"The old magic always knows what the pack needs." She touches my arm gently. "And we’re in need, Dominic. You know we are. It will deliver us what we need to survive. That’s why I suggested it. And I stand by my decision.”

The hollow reassurance does little to make me feel better. “I’m required at the pack building?”

“Yes.” Grandma Victoria pats my arm once, then moves away, seeming to understand my unspoken plea for space.

She leaves me with the journal and too many questions. She knows I won’t read it, knows my head is too full. Maybe it’s just a gesture of trust. Above me, as I linger at the creek, the moon rises over Silvercreek, nearly full. Tomorrow, the lottery will choose, and everything will change.

My wolf paces restlessly, still scenting Luna on the air. He's never accepted losing her, never stopped seeing her as a mate. Maybe he knew something I was too blind to see. Maybe I haven’t been taming him as I should. Self-control is the core of an Alpha. It makes a man what he needs to be for his pack.

I repeat that to myself even as the scent of Luna threatens to drive me mad.

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