Page 18 of Fat Forced Mate

"The candidate is settled in the east wing guest quarters, so she’s close enough to us for… security," he reports, then hesitates before adding, "Settled might be a generous term. She's already tried to leave twice."

Of course, she has. "Any issues?"

"Nothing serious. She's powerful, but exhausted. Her magic sputtered out both times." Thomas shifts his weight, uncharacteristically uncertain. "Victoria wants to know when you'll brief her on the trials. Preferably before she tries to blast her way through another wall."

The candidate. Not Luna. We're all pretending last night didn't upend five years of careful distance, that the lottery's choice hasn't thrown the pack into chaos. That my wolf isn't howling for me to claim what he considers ours. That I didn't lie awake all night remembering how she looked in the ceremonial circle, power crackling around her like contained lightning.

"Now is fine." My voice comes out rougher than intended. "Have her brought to my office."

Thomas clears his throat. "There's... unrest in town. Some of the older families are talking about challenging the lottery's choice. Melissa's been particularly vocal."

"They can talk all they want." I shuffle the trial plans into a neat stack, more forcefully than necessary. The top pagecrumples under my grip. "The lottery is sacred. Its choice is final."

"Even if—"

"Final, Thomas. You know it as well as I do."

Consenting to the revival of the lottery was a choice I made with the well-being of the pack in mind. If I try to bend its rules, I risk putting everything in jeopardy.

My right-hand man nods and withdraws, but not before I catch his concerned expression. Let him worry. Let them all worry. I have enough on my plate without managing their feelings about this situation.

Minutes later, familiar footsteps approach—a rhythm I'd know anywhere, though it's been five years since I last heard it in these halls. My wolf surges forward, recognizing Luna's scent before she even enters. Herbs, magic, and woman, with an undertone of something defiant that makes my mouth water. The scent grows stronger as she nears, mixed now with exhaustion and frustration my wolf picks up on easily.

She steps into my office like she's walking into battle, chin high and shoulders back. The simple blue dress she wears hugs curves that have only grown more lush with time, the fabric sliding over her hips in ways that make my wolf desperate to touch. Her copper hair falls loose today, wilder than the careful style she wore last night, framing her face in waves that remind me of how it looked spread across my pillows five years ago. But it's the flash of challenge in her green eyes that truly undoes me—she might be here under pack law, but she won't make it easy for any of us.

"You wanted to see me,Alpha?" The title drips sarcasm. "I’ve been meaning to ask, given the circumstances—are weadding imprisonment to the list of pack traditions I get to experience?"

I gesture to the chair across from my desk, keeping my expression neutral despite my wolf's demands to close the distance between us. "Sit. We need to discuss the trial protocols."

"I'd rather stand." She crosses her arms, drawing my attention to the way the fabric pulls across her chest. "The sooner we get this over with, the sooner I can return to my real life. You know, the one where I'm actually respected? Where people don't treat me like something they scraped off their shoes?"

"Sit down, Luna." I infuse the words with Alpha command, though I know it won't affect her. It never has. Her hybrid nature makes her immune to pack hierarchy, a fact that used to drive my father crazy. "This isn't a negotiation. You know as well as I do that there’s nothing I can do about this.”

She arches one perfect eyebrow, and my wolf recognizes the danger in her expression too late. "Sit down or what? You'll make me? I seem to recall that didn't work out so well for you last time. How did your father put it?'The mongrel bitch doesn't even have enough wolf blood to know her place.'"

The memory cuffs me across the face, a startling and vivid blow—Luna at eighteen, refusing to submit during pack training, my father ordering me to force her compliance. I'd tried to use Alpha influence, and she'd laughed in my face before walking away. It was the first time anyone had ever directly defied me. I'd been equal parts furious and aroused.

Just like now.

"The first trial begins tomorrow at dawn." I keep my voice level through sheer force of will. "The Trial of Strength will test your physical capabilities and endurance. You'll need to—"

"You mean it will humiliate the half-breed who can't shift." Her smile holds no warmth. "Don't pretend this is anything else. I've seen how these things work, Nic. I watched my mother go through the same humiliation when she married my father. The pack never forgave her for diluting the bloodline. But she had love to endure it for. What do I have?”

A shudder runs through me. Certainly not love. The thought makes me ache.

"The trials are tradition—" I try.

"Tradition." She laughs, bitter and sharp. The sound makes several glass paperweights rattle on my desk as her magic responds to her emotion. "Like the tradition of pure bloodlines? Of keeping shifters and witches separate? Of rejecting anyone who doesn't fit your perfect pack image?" Her eyes narrow. "Or maybe like the tradition of future Alphas keeping their dirty little hybrid secrets on the side while planning to mate properly pure-blooded wolves? You know, despite it all, I’m glad that didn’t work out for you.”

The accusation stings precisely because it had once been true. "That's not fair."

"Isn't it? Tell me something, Nic." Luna moves closer, magic crackling around her like static electricity. The air grows thick with power, making it hard to breathe. Or maybe that's just her proximity. "If the lottery hadn't chosen me, would you have ever acknowledged what happened between us? Or would you have just mated some properly pure-blooded wolf and pretended none of it ever happened?"

There’s something more than derision in her voice now. Vulnerability. Desperation.

"You're the one who ran," I remind her, my own anger finally slipping its leash. "Five years without a word. You didn't even say goodbye."

"Say goodbye?" The magic intensifies, making the hair on my arms stand up. "After you humiliated me in front of the entire pack? After you called me—what was it?'A mistake that should never have happened'?"

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