Page 22 of Fat Betrayed Mate
I count down. Three. Two. One.
We converge from opposite sides. James bursts from cover like a startled deer, but we're ready. Thomas cuts off his northern escape while I block the creek path.
"Well," James says, hands raised in mock surrender. "That was faster than expected."
"Getting old," Thomas grins. "Losing your edge."
"Speak for yourself." James looks between us with interest. "You two work well together.”
Heat rises in my cheeks. "We got lucky."
"Luck had nothing to do with it," James says kindly. "Trust me, I've seen plenty of mated pairs who couldn't coordinate a grocery run. If Nic and my sister had gotten this trial, they’d have killed each other.”
The officials appear, confirming our success. Two hours, fifteen minutes. Excellent, according to Victoria's pleased expression. It only makes me feel worse. Every ‘pass,’ every small victory, only leads me closer to a future I don’t want to think about.
The walk back feels easier, pressure lifting. Thomas and I don't talk much, but the silence is less hostile. Almost companionable.
We're nearly back when we encounter the swollen creek. The recent storm has transformed a gentle stream into a raging torrent, with brown water tumbling dangerously over rocks. There's a fallen log, but it looks slippery and unstable.
"I can manage," I say, eyeing the crossing.
Thomas tests the log's stability. "It's not steady. Let me help."
My hackles raise. "I said I can manage."
But the log shifts under minimal weight, and the current below looks vicious.
"Fiona." His voice is gentle. "Please."
Something in his tone makes me reconsider. "Fine. But just across."
He steps onto the log first, testing each foothold, perfectly balanced, more cat-like than wolf-like. Halfway across, he turns and extends his hand.
"Trust me?"
I don’t. Of course, I don’t. We stare at one another, his unintentionally ironic words hanging in the air between us.I couldn’t trust you if I wanted to,I wish I could say to him.I couldn’t trust you if we were the last people on Earth.
I take his hand anyway.
His grip is warm and steady, guiding me onto the log step by step, his other hand hovering near my waist. The log shifts slightly.
"Easy," he murmurs. "I've got you."
He does. His touch is sure and protective, nothing like the cold stranger who broke my heart. This feels like the Thomas I used to know. It makes me want to be sick.
The log lurches suddenly, water surging higher. Thomas's hand moves to my waist, steadying me, and we're pressed close together. His eyes are intent on mine, pupils dilated, and I can feel his body heat through our clothes.
Neither of us moves. His thumb traces a small circle against my hip, and my breath catches. Six years of hurt and anger fall away, and all I can think about is how right this feels.
"Fiona," he says, my name rough on his tongue.
"Hey!" A voice calls from the far bank. "Everything okay?"
The spell breaks. I jerk away so suddenly I nearly lose balance, but we're close enough to shore that I can jump to solid ground. James is approaching through the trees.
"We're fine," I call back, voice artificially bright.
Thomas follows more slowly, his movements careful. When he reaches the bank, I catch him looking at me with an expression I can't interpret—longing? regret? I turn away before I can analyze it.
