Page 48 of Fat Forced Mate

My pulse quickens. The eastern boundary—the same area where the Matthews Pack was just attacked.

I continue reading, turning pages with increasing urgency.

June 12, 2009

The hybrid defense system is working better than we hoped. The ward markers respond to both blood activation and my elemental binding spells. Michael says he can feel the difference when he patrols—the boundaries feel more solid, more present. Elder Victoria believes this could be a new chapter in pack protection.

I worry about using so much magic while pregnant. The baby seems fine—active and strong—but sometimes I feel my power fluctuating in strange ways. The pregnancy seems to both amplify and destabilize my abilities. It wasn’t quite like this with Luna and James. Luna, sort of. James, not at all.

I press my hand against my abdomen, a chill running through me. History repeating itself in ways my mother never lived to see. The little sibling she never lived long enough to give us.

The final entries become increasingly concerned, referencing more boundary testing, more strange tracks. The last entry is dated just a day before their deaths.

July 28, 2009

The eastern ward markers have been tampered with. Someone—something—is trying to dismantle our work. Michael is organizing extra patrols tonight. I've reinforced the magic as much as I can, but I'm exhausted. This pregnancy takes more energy than I expected. Will continue tomorrow after I've rested.

But tomorrow never came for them.

I close the journal slowly, mind racing.

***

"They were combining shifter blood magic with witch protection spells," I explain to Ruby later that evening, the journal open between us on the counter beside the cash register. The bookstore is closed, the "Closed" sign flipped, and the blinds drawn against the darkness outside.

Ruby frowns, tapping one purple-painted nail against her coffee mug. "That's not something I've heard of before. Witch and shifter magic are usually considered incompatible."

"Apparently not," I gesture to the journal. "They were making it work."

"And you think this has something to do with the current attacks?" Ruby asks.

"I'm not sure." I pace the small space behind the counter. "But it can't be coincidence that the Cheslem Pack was testing our borders then, and they're back now. At the same boundary.”

Ruby pulls out a map of the territory she's been keeping behind the counter. Various marks dot the parchment—red X's, question marks, small notations in Ruby's precise handwriting.

"What's this?" I ask, leaning closer.

"I've been tracking... incidents." She looks slightly embarrassed. "Call it a hobby. Whenever I hear about something strange happening in neighboring territories, I mark it down. It’s the same work the Alpha and his people have been doing, I’ve just… been doing it, too. I guess it eases my mind.”

The map shows a pattern I hadn't expected—a systematic progression of unusual events moving clockwise around Silvercreek territory over the past six months. Livestock disappearances near the northern boundary. Unexplained fires to the northwest. Hikers gone missing to the west, ten miles from our border. And most recently, strange sightings to the south, culminating in the Matthews Pack attack.

"They're testing all the boundaries," I murmur. "Looking for weaknesses."

Ruby nods grimly. "That's my theory. Like they're... I don't know, mapping the defenses."

My mind races back to my mother's journal. "The ward markers," I say suddenly. "My parents created special ward markers for the boundaries. What if those are what's keeping the Cheslem Pack at bay? What if they're looking for a way past them?"

"And if they find it?" Ruby's voice is hushed.

I don't answer. We both know what happened to the Matthews Pack.

Chapter 18 - Dominic

The stench of death hangs heavy in the crisp morning air. I crouch beside what remains of Ethan Hayes, his body barely recognizable as human. Nineteen years old. First patrol rotation—a volunteer, one of our youngest. His throat has been torn out, but the wound edges are wrong, blackened, and puckered as though burned by acid. Beside him lies David Kelsey, twenty-two, his torso ripped open from sternum to navel, intestines splayed across blood-soaked pine needles.

"They didn't even have time to shift," James says quietly, kneeling on the other side of the bodies.

I grunt, not trusting my voice. These were boys I'd trained myself. Boys I'd sent to patrol this sector.

---