Page 62 of Fat Forced Mate

"You won't have to," I promise. "I'm coming back. For both of you."

I place my hand gently on her stomach, feeling a faint magical signature that echoes both of us—witch and wolf combined. Our child. The wonder of it steals my breath.

Luna's eyes meet mine, vulnerability and strength mingling in their depths.

"Go," she says softly. "End this. Then come back to us."

I kiss her forehead, lingering for just a moment before pulling away. At the cellar stairs, I pause for one last look. Luna Morgan, carrying my child, her magic having just saved ourterritory. My mate, in truth now, regardless of what ceremony might follow.

"Lock this behind me," I instruct. "I'll give three short knocks when I return."

She nods, already pushing herself up to secure the door after me. I climb the stairs and step outside, shifting back to wolf form as soon as I clear the cabin's threshold. The pain of my injuries fades beneath renewed purpose.

The pack needs its Alpha. And I need to ensure that Luna and our child have a home worth returning to.

I spare one last glance at the cabin, then turn and sprint back toward the battle, toward my pack, toward our future.

Chapter 23 - Luna

I drift through fragments of memory like scattered leaves on water. Consciousness slips away and returns in gentle waves, each bringing different visions before receding again into darkness.

My mother kneels beside me in the herb garden behind our old house, her dark hair caught in a loose braid that falls over one shoulder. I'm young—eight, maybe nine—watching as her hands move with practiced grace among the plants.

"This one is yarrow," she says, guiding my small fingers to touch the feathery leaves. "It stops bleeding and fights fever. And this one..." She smiles as she points to purple flowers. "This is sage. It cleanses and protects."

"Like magic?" I ask, wide-eyed.

Her laugh is warm sunshine. "Exactly like magic, my little moon. The plants have their own kind, and we just help it along."

The memory dissolves, colors running like watercolors in rain.

I'm fourteen, standing awkwardly at the edge of a pack gathering, trying to be invisible. Someone jostles my elbow, spilling my drink, and I look up into green-gold eyes. Nic Blackwood, sixteen and already beautiful enough to stop my heart, my brother’s best friend, looks down at me with an expression I've never seen directed my way before—not pity or disdain, but something like interest.

"Sorry about that," he says, actually sounding like he means it.

I'm too shocked to speak, clutching my now-empty cup like armor.

He takes it from my hands, his fingers brushing mine deliberately. "Let me get you another."

When he returns, he doesn't leave. He stays, talking to me like I'm a real person, not the half-breed freak everyone whispers about. For twenty-three minutes—I count every one—I experience what it feels like to be normal.

The scene shifts, bleeding into another.

We're older now. I'm seventeen, Nic nineteen. Shadow Creek in summer twilight, water murmuring over stones as we sit hidden by willows that trail their fingers in the current. His hand cups my cheek like I'm something precious.

"No one understands," he whispers, forehead pressed to mine. "How I can feel this way about you."

"Do you care what they think?" I whisper back.

"Sometimes," he admits, his honesty both wounding and appreciated. "But not enough to stay away from you."

His lips find mine, gentle at first, then hungry. The memory is so vivid I can feel the rough bark of the willow against my back, the heat of his palms as they slide beneath my shirt, the racing of my heart that feels too big for my chest.

The sweetness dissolves into something darker.

The pack gathering hall. Faces turned toward us, expressions ranging from shock to disgust to cruel satisfaction. Nic standing stiffly, his father's hand heavy on his shoulder.

"The Blackwood heir has no business with a half-breed," Alpha Blackwood announces to the assembled pack. "His duty is to strengthen our bloodline, not dilute it further."

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