Page 2 of Fat Forced Mate

The paper crinkles in my clenched fist as memories crash over me like a wave, dragging me back five years to my last night in Silvercreek.

My last night with Dominic.

—

The bonfire casts dancing shadows across faces I've known since childhood, none of them friendly now. I’m eighteen, my gut twisting with anxiety. Whispers follow my movement through the crowd—the usual mix of mockery about my size, my lack of wolf, my audacity in thinking I belong.

"Luna."

His voice cuts through the murmurs, deep and commanding. Nic stands tall in the firelight, already growing into his future Alpha role. The flames paint his sharp cheekbones in gold and shadow, highlighting the cold distance in his eyes. Those same eyes had burned with passion just hours before, when he'd pressed me against the wall of his cabin and kissed me like I was oxygen.

"Nic, please." I don't mean to beg, but the words spill out anyway. "You don't have to do this."

"You're not pack." Each word falls like a stone. "You never will be. Look at you—you’re pathetic. Silvercreek will be far better off without you.” His eyes narrow, a flash of cruelty in them. “Anyone would be.”

The crowd's satisfaction is palpable. Finally, their future Alpha is putting the half-breed in her place. The humiliation is almost physically painful, a burn, hot and tingling, and awful.

I feel the magic surge inside me, responding to my pain, but I force it down. Using it would only prove them right about me being dangerous, unnatural. With all the pride I have left, clutching it even as it dissolves away in my fingers like sand, I turn and walk away, spine straight despite the tears streaming down my face.

By dawn, I am gone.

***

I blink back to the present, realizing I've crumpled the summons in my fist. With deliberate care, I smooth the paper, reading the formal text again. The words remain unchanged. Participation is mandatory. Three days.

"No," I say aloud to my empty shop. "Absolutely not."

My phone chimes with a news alert. The headline catches my eye immediately: "WILD ANIMAL ATTACKS CONTINUE IN NORTHERN MICHIGAN—SHIFTER INVOLVEMENT SUSPECTED." The article details three more incidents in the past week—hikers found dead, their bodies showing signs oflarge predator attacks. The locations form a pattern, I realize with growing unease. Each one is closer to Silvercreek.

The timing can't be coincidence. A rare invocation of the Mating Lottery, mysterious attacks... something is wrong in Silvercreek. Something big enough to make them desperate enough to summon even me back.

My hands shake as I begin closing up shop early, mind racing through options. I could run—but where? Pack law is clear about the consequences of refusing a formal summons. I'd be marked as a rogue, hunted by every pack in North America. Everything I've built here would be destroyed.

I'm still weighing impossible choices when the bell above my door chimes one final time.

I don't need to turn around to know what I'll find. The energy in my small shop has shifted dramatically—the air suddenly thick with power, dominance, and the faint wild scent that clings to all shifters. My magic rises instinctively in response, setting the dried herbs swaying in a nonexistent breeze.

"Already closing up for the day?" The voice is familiar, though deeper than I remember. "That's convenient."

I take a steadying breath before turning to face my visitors. Four wolves fill my doorway, their presence overwhelming in the small space. Fuck—they even brought an Elder, Dynastes, who stands at the front, his once-dark hair now streaked with Elder's silver. The years have added gravitas to his bearing, but his eyes are still kind beneath their determination. Beside him lingers the hulking, blonde form of Thomas Ennes, Nic’s best friend besides my brother. He’s likely now the Alpha’s right hand.

Damn it all. I can’t escape them. They’d be on me in a heartbeat.

The other two are younger, faces I don't know. Their stances scream "enforcer," and their expressions hold the barely concealed disdain I remember all too well. One of them wrinkles his nose at the herb-laden air.

"Dynastes, Thomas." I keep my voice steady, professional. "I wasn't expecting a pack delegation today.”

"Luna." Dynastes’ voice is gentle but firm. "You received the summons?"

I gesture with the crumpled paper. "This unprecedented interruption of my life? Yes, I received it. Though I'm surprised, the mighty Silvercreek Pack bothered with paper at all. Sending four wolves to collect me seems more your style. You could have come without warning. What could I have done to stop you?”

The younger enforcers bristle at my tone, but Dynastes holds up a hand to calm them. "The Lottery isn't unprecedented. It's tradition."

"A tradition no one has used in half a century," I counter. "Why now? And why include me? I'm not even—" I catch myself before sayingnot even pack. The words still hurt too much. “I have my own life here. And you can’t seriously believe anyone, least of all the Alpha, would appreciate my involvement in this mess.”

"The Council's decisions aren't for us to question," the taller enforcer says, taking a step forward. "Every pack member in the age range must participate. You never joined another pack—legally, that means you’re still ours. You'll come with us now."

My magic flares at the implied threat, rattling the jars on their shelves. One of the young wolves growls in response, but Dynastes silences him with a look.

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