Page 30 of Fat Forced Mate

"Or waiting for something," Thomas adds another red marker. "Victoria seems to think—"

A knock interrupts him. My grandmother enters without waiting for a response, silver hair gleaming in the grey morning light. She carries an ancient leather-bound journal, its pages brittle with age.

"You should see this." She sets the journal on my desk, open to a page dated fifteen years ago. "History has a way of repeating itself."

The entry describes another series of border incursions. Another pattern of escalating violence. Another time when Silvercreek found itself under watch by forces that moved in shadow.

"The Cheslem Pack was different then," Victoria continues as I read. "Stronger. More organized. They had plans for our territory."

"What kind of plans?"

She touches the journal's weathered pages. "They believed in old magic. Blood magic. The kind that requires sacrifice to work." Her eyes meet mine. "The kind that feeds on pack bonds."

My wolf snarls at the implication. "What happened?"

"We had protectors." Victoria's voice turns distant with memory. "A special team that maintained our wards. A shifter and a witch, working together in ways that hadn't been seen for generations. Their combined power kept the Cheslem Pack at bay, prevented them from corrupting our territory."

My blood runs cold. The Morgans. Luna and James’ parents.

Thomas shifts uncomfortably, preparing to ask a question to which I already know the answer, though we were too young then to understand. "What changed?"

"They died." Simple words, heavy with meaning. "The Alpha of their pack finally broke through, just for one night. It was enough. Our protectors fell, maintaining the wards, keepingthe corruption from spreading to the heart of our territory. We thought the threat died with them."

The journal's pages whisper as I turn them, revealing detailed accounts of the attack. "But they didn't die, did they? The Cheslem Pack survived."

"Some did. Scattered, weakened, but alive." Victoria's fingers trace the pack symbol inked at the page's corner. "Now they've had fifteen years to rebuild. To plan. To wait for the right moment."

"The lottery." The realization hits like ice water. "That's why you pushed for it now. You knew they were coming back."

She inclines her head—not an agreement but not a disagreement either. "The old magics are stirring. The wards grow weaker every day without proper maintenance. We need..." She hesitates. "The lottery knows what the pack requires."

My wolf paces restlessly, sensing something important in her words. "The protectors who died. They were witch and wolf. You—you have it in your head that this is connected somehow, that the lottery chose—her—”

"A mated pair,” she cuts over me, ignoring my sputtering, my question. “One of our strongest wolves and a witch of considerable power. They left behind—" She stops abruptly. "It doesn't matter now. What matters is that history is repeating itself. The Cheslem Pack grows stronger while our defenses weaken. They're watching, waiting for the right moment to strike."

Thunder rolls in the distance as if emphasizing her words. My wolf bristles at the threat to our territory, to our pack, to Luna...

The thought brings me up short. But before I can examine the feeling, Thomas clears his throat.

He hands me another report. "We found this at the north border. It was... deliberately placed."

A small bundle of herbs, wrapped in black cloth. The scent makes my wolf recoil—corruption, dark magic, and something else. Something that reminds me of Luna's magic, but twisted, wrong.

"Another warning," Victoria says softly. "Or a promise. They remember what happened fifteen years ago. Remember the price they paid for underestimating the power of combined magic."

"What are you not telling me?" I demand, my wolf too close to the surface to maintain perfect Alpha control. "What really happened that night?"

Victoria meets my gaze steadily. "Ask yourself why the lottery chose Luna Morgan. Ask yourself why her magic feels different from other witches. Why it responds to your wolf in ways that should be impossible for a hybrid. The answers are there, if you're willing to see them."

She leaves before I can press further, taking the journal with her. The bundle of herbs sits on my desk like an accusation, its wrongness making my teeth ache.

"Double the border patrols," I tell Thomas. "I want eyes on every inch of our territory. And..." I hesitate. "Keep watch on Luna. Discreetly."

"Already done." His expression turns knowing. "James volunteered for the first shift. Said something about making up for lost time."

I dismiss him with a nod, mind spinning with implications. Luna's increasingly volatile magic. The lottery's unexpected choice. Victoria's careful omissions about the past. It all connects somehow, but the pattern eludes me.

Outside, the storm finally breaks. Rain lashes against windows as thunder shakes the pack house foundations. Somewhere in the building, I feel Luna's magic surge in response—wild, powerful, and somehow familiar in ways I'm only beginning to understand.

---