Page 38 of Fat Forced Mate

"People change." He looks at me meaningfully. "Some of us learned our lesson after you left."

The unspoken apology hangs between us. James had never been my tormentor, but he hadn't always been my defender either. Perhaps he means to change that now. Perhaps I’d allow it.

"Well, seven more to go," I say, changing the subject. "Any suggestions?"

"The dining hall at the pack building is short-staffed for lunch prep. Could be an opportunity."

My stomach clenches, and not just from morning sickness. "Melissa usually helps with lunch shifts on days like these.” Days when the community gathers. Days for easy pickings.

James's expression confirms my fear. "Yeah, she does."

"Perfect." I stand, squaring my shoulders. "Might as well face the queen bee directly."

"Luna—" he starts, but I'm already walking away.

"I've got this," I call over my shoulder, not entirely sure if I'm trying to convince him or myself.

The community dining hall sits at the heart of the pack compound, a sprawling building with high ceilings and long wooden tables. Most pack members take at least one meal a day here, making it the social center of Silvercreek. It's also where I experienced some of my worst moments growing up.

I push through the swinging doors into the kitchen, immediately assaulted by the noise and heat. Cooks and volunteers bustle around, preparing what smells like beef stew and fresh bread. At the far end of the kitchen, directing the chaos with sharp commands, stands Melissa Blackwood, looking mildly set apart from all the chaos, observing more than working.

It still amazes me how little she’s changed in the years I was gone. Still tall and striking, with the same dark hair and aristocratic features as her brother, though her eyes lack his depth. When those eyes land on me, they narrow immediately.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she says loudly enough for the kitchen to momentarily pause. "Or should I say, what the wolf couldn't be bothered to chase out?"

A few sNicers ripple through the room, and I feel heat rising to my cheeks. I force myself to approach her steadily.

"I'm here to help with lunch prep."

She looks me up and down. "We don't need your help.”

"Please, Melissa. The Trial—"

"Trust me, we know about the Trial." Her smile is all teeth and no eyes. "Tell me, did you use some special magic trick to make the lottery choose you? Or did you just seduce my brother again?"

The words hit like a physical blow. Around us, the kitchen has gone silent, everyone watching the drama unfold. I feel something dark and powerful surge within me—anger mingled with magic—and the lights above us flicker ominously.

Control it. Think of the baby.

The thought centers me instantly. This isn't just about me anymore.

"I understand you're upset," I say carefully, aware of how the pots on the nearby stove have begun to vibrate slightly. "But I'm just trying to complete the Trial. Tell me what needs doing, and I'll do it."

Her eyes widen slightly at my restraint, clearly having expected—perhaps hoped for—an explosive reaction. After a tense moment, she points to a mountain of potatoes.

"Those need peeling. Try not to hex them."

I nod and move to the workstation, picking up a peeler and setting it to work. The familiar, repetitive task helps calmmy frayed nerves and restless magic. I focus on each potato, creating a rhythm—peel, turn, peel, drop in water, repeat.

The kitchen gradually returns to its normal buzz, though I notice people giving me a wide berth. I don't blame them. They all saw the lights flicker, saw the subtle signs of my magic responding to my emotions.

After about twenty minutes, Tania and Diane—Melissa's constant shadows since high school—saunter over to my station.

"So," Tania begins, voice syrupy sweet, "how does it feel knowing you're only here because of some ancient tradition no one cares about?"

I keep peeling. "Wonderful. How does it feel knowing you haven't developed a new insult since tenth grade?"

Diane laughs, though quickly disguises it as a cough when Tania glares at her.

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