Page 11 of Fat Betrayed Mate
"We need to talk," he said, stepping back to let me in but not reaching for me like he usually did.
"What's wrong?" I asked, alarm spreading through me as I took in his rigid posture, the carefully maintained distance between us.
"This thing between us," he said, gesturing vaguely. "It was just a summer distraction. Nothing more. And I’m finished with it.”
The words didn't make sense at first. Couldn't reconcile with the man who'd whispered "forever" against my skin just days before.
"What are you talking about?" My voice sounded small, even to my own ears.
"Come on, Fiona." His voice was harsh, unfamiliar. Flat. Empty. “Neither of us thought it would last.”
"But we talked about—"
"We talked about a lot of things." He cut me off, his voice cold enough to freeze my blood. "Things people say in the moment. It didn't mean anything."
I stared at him, searching for any sign of the man I thought I knew. Found nothing but a stranger wearing his face.
"So that's it?" I asked, tears threatening. "Everything we shared was just... what? Practice?"
Something flickered in his eyes then—pain? regret?—before his expression hardened again.
"You should go, Fiona. It's better this way."
"Better for who?" I demanded, anger finally breaking through the shock.
He turned away, his back a wall between us. "Just go. Please."
I left his cabin with my dignity in tatters, stumbling through the dark woods, tears blinding me. Two weeks later, the pregnancy test showed positive. A day after that, my father found the test in the trash and erupted in rage.
"No daughter of mine will bear a shifter's bastard," he'd snarled, his hand gripping my arm hard enough to bruise, and the implications terrified me to my core.
“I’ma shifter!” I tried to snap back with just as much fury, but as he loomed over me, I knew it was a fight I couldn’t win. Only flight would save us.
That night, I packed a bag, emptied my savings account, and disappeared from Silvercreek. I'd thought, forever.
The memory fades, leaving me cold in the autumn night. I push away from the tree, wrapping my arms around myself as I walk the lonely path to the cottage where Maisie waits.
Mrs. Finley, a kindly older wolf who's never shown me the contempt others have, meets me at the door with concern etched on her face.
"There you are, dear. I was getting worried."
"I'm sorry I'm late," I say, stepping inside and scanning the room for Maisie.
"She's asleep on your bed," Mrs. Finley says, gathering her knitting. "Wanted to wait up for you, but those little eyes couldn't stay open past eight." She hesitates, then adds gently, "She had another episode. Got very warm. It passed quickly."
My heart sinks. "Thank you for letting me know."
Mrs. Finley pats my arm. "She's a special little one. Strong blood." She peers at me more closely. "Are you alright, Fiona? You look shaken."
I know what she’s asking.Who was picked? Was it you?
"Just tired," I lie. "Thank you for watching her."
After she leaves, I check the locks twice before going to my bedroom. Maisie is a small lump under the quilt, her dark curls spread across my pillow. In sleep, the resemblance to her father is even more pronounced—the same stubborn set to her jaw, the same long lashes. She has my dark hair, not his blonde curls, but their eyes are identical. She looks more like him every day.
I change quickly into an oversized t-shirt and slide in beside her, her small body automatically curling against mine. Her skin is still warmer than it should be, but not alarmingly so. I stroke her hair, watching her breathe, my mind racing with impossible choices.
I could run. Pack my daughter and what little we own, steal a car, drive until Silvercreek is just a bad memory again. But Victoria's words echo in my mind: "Rogues are hunted by all allied packs. It's for their own protection as much as ours."
