Page 3 of Fat Forced Mate

"Touch me without permission, and you'll learn exactly what a witch can do to a wolf," I say softly, letting my power color my voice.

The enforcer steps back, uncertainty flickering across his face. “We know you have no shift. You can’t win this.”

Thomas speaks for the first time, his familiar voice still catching me off guard, even though I never forgot it. How could I forget how it sounded when he laughed at me, along with everyone else, jeering and mocking? The mind never lets go of the sound of cruelty. I hear it in my nightmares every night. "Luna, be rational. No one wants this to become... difficult."

I almost laugh. My entire life has beendifficultfor the pack. My birth had been difficult, my magic had been difficult, my very existence had been difficult. And now they have the audacity to demand my return?

"I have responsibilities here," I say, gesturing to my shop. "Clients who depend on me. A business to run, rent to pay. I can't just abandon everything because the pack suddenly decided to revive some archaic tradition."

"Arrangements will be made," Dynastes assures me. "The pack will compensate for any losses in your absence. We’ll make sure your life doesn’t suffer for your responsibilities back in Silvercreek. But you need to come with us now, and we’re not afraid to make you.”

"The pack needs you," Thomas adds—forceful, but not unkind.

The pack never needed me before,I think bitterly.You were all more than happy to let me leave, desperate and friendless and hurt.

But I know resistance is futile. Running from a pack summons means becoming a true outcast, hunted and alone. They’ll find me and drag me back and never let me go again. I've built too much here to risk losing it all.

I square my shoulders, channeling every ounce of confidence I've gained in the past five years. "I need thirty minutes to properly close up shop and pack a bag."

The younger wolves start to protest, but Thomas nods. "Thirty minutes. We'll wait outside."

As they file out, my hands shake as I rush through my closing routine. I seal jars of fresh tinctures, cover drying herbs, and write detailed instructions for my assistant about pending orders. Every movement feels heavy with finality, though I tell myself this is temporary. Just a few days to humor some pack tradition, then I can return to my real life. I try to behave as if this is any other day. I try to hold myself together.

My fingers brush the small leather pouch of protective herbs I keep under the counter—my mother's last gift. I slip it into my pocket, along with the crumpled summons.

In the back, lugging a small suitcase onto the stairs up to my tiny apartment, I pack quickly—clothes, toiletries, my mother's grimoire, and my own notebook of recipes and spells. My magic hums beneath my skin, restless and anticipatory. It’s behaving as if it knows something I don’t.

The drive to Silvercreek will take hours. Hours to prepare myself to face Nic again, to walk back into the world that rejected me. Hours to figure out why my magic is thrumming with anticipation instead of fear.

But I refuse to dull myself again, I think, even now. I refuse to stifle myself until I’m almost nothing at all. It almost killed me last time—I won’t do it again.

Fine,I think, following the wolves to their waiting SUV.You want me back? You're going to get all of me—spite, magic, and all.

The shop door locks behind me with a final, decisive click.

Chapter 2 - Dominic

The weight of the Alpha ring is heavy on my finger as I scan through another report of border incursions. Six months into leadership, and I'm still not used to it—the constant responsibility, the endless decisions, the way every pack member's eyes track my movements. My father made this look effortless. Then again, he'd had decades to perfect his role. I got thrust into it when a heart attack took him mid-run three days after the Spring equinox.

I’d expected to have at least another decade to prepare. But nothing happens in the way you prepare for it, too—that’s something the job taught me fast.

Morning light streams through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the pack headquarters' top floor, warming the dark wood panels and illuminating the territory spread out below. Silvercreek is beautiful in autumn, the forest a riot of red and gold stretching to the mountains. From up here, I can see most of the town—the shops opening for the day, kids heading to school, pack members going about their lives. All of them depend on me to keep them safe.

The pack building itself is a testament to our history—a restored Victorian mansion that's served as the heart of Silvercreek for generations. My great-grandfather commissioned it in 1902, determined to create a symbol of pack permanence and prosperity. The grand staircase still bears claw marks from years of particularly heated council meetings. Every room holds memories, whispers of past triumphs and failures.

My office, once my father's, still smells faintly of his preferred whiskey and leather chairs. I've changed little since taking over—kept the heavy mahogany desk, the wall of leather-bound pack records, the collection of territorial maps dating back to our founding. Added my own touch with a state-of-the-art computer system and security monitors, trying to bridge tradition and progress. Some days, it feels like I'm playing dress-up in his space. Other days, the responsibility crushes like a physical weight.

My wolf paces restlessly inside me, agitated by the reports and the confinement. He doesn't like being trapped in meetings and paperwork when there are threats to face. Sometimes I agree with him.

A knock at my door interrupts my brooding. "Enter."

James Morgan strides in, looking annoyingly awake for this hour. He's been my friend since we were pups wrestling in the training yard, long before I became Alpha or he became Head of Security. Now, he's one of my most trusted advisors, even if his smirk sometimes makes me want to knock him down a peg.

"You look like shit," he announces cheerfully, dropping into one of the leather chairs across from my desk. "Late night with the border reports?"

I grunt in response, pushing aside a stack of papers. "Some of us actually work for a living, Morgan."

"Hey, I work! Just got back from the northern perimeter. All quiet, but..." He hesitates, something flickering behind his eyes. "There's definitely movement out there. Getting closer."

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