Page 20 of Fat Arranged Mate
Sera has done her part too, charming information from locals with an ease I find both impressive and unsettling. Her ability to appear harmless, to make humans comfortable enough to reveal things they shouldn't, is a skill I didn't expect from her.
Back at the cottage, the performance falls away as soon as the door closes. Sera kicks off her shoes with a sigh, rolling her shoulders to release tension.
"Productive day," she says, moving to the kitchen. "I counted seven confirmed Guardians, plus three probables."
"Same count." Surprising, given her lack of experience. I check the locks automatically, scanning windows for any sign of surveillance. "They're not hiding, but they're not advertising either. We need to gain their full trust if we want to know more.”
She nods, filling a glass with water. The exhaustion in her posture is evident now that we're alone. Dark circles have formed under her eyes, a reminder that neither of us slept well last night. Without thinking, I move to the refrigerator.
"Sit down. I'll make dinner."
She blinks in surprise. "Really?”
"I can make basic stuff." I pull out ingredients for a simple pasta dish. "Ethan needed to eat. I learned."
Something softens in her expression. "I can help."
"You've been on your feet all day. Rest." The words come out more commanding than intended. I modify my tone. "Please."
She hesitates, then acquiesces, sinking into a kitchen chair. "Thank you."
I work in silence, finding unexpected comfort in the mundane task. Pasta boils. Sauce simmers. Routine creates temporary normalcy in our abnormal situation. When I glance over, Sera has her eyes closed, head tilted back, throat exposed in a gesture of vulnerability that catches me off guard.
The lamplight casts soft shadows across her features, smoothing the worry lines that have been present since we arrived. Her hair falls loose around her shoulders, catching golden highlights in the warm glow. She looks...peaceful. Beautiful, even, in a way I refuse to acknowledge consciously.
Disturbed by the direction of my thoughts, I search for safer ground. "So that human at the clinic—the one you treated without authorization. What would you have done if he had been one of these guys?"
Her eyes snap open, the moment of peace shattered. "Seriously? We're back to this?"
"It's a legitimate question." I keep my tone deliberately neutral, stirring the pasta with unnecessary force. "In a town full of hunters, risk assessment matters."
"And you assume I didn't assess the risk?" Sera straightens, eyes flashing. "You think I just blindly treat anyone who walks in without considering consequences?"
"You have a history of prioritizing treatment over security."
"Because I recognize the difference between actual threats and paranoid fantasy!" Her voice rises slightly. "That man needed medical attention. He wasn't plotting our destruction."
"You don't know that," I counter, feeling on firmer ground with a familiar argument. This is safer than noticing the curve of her neck, the fullness of her lips. "Humans are unpredictable."
"So are wolves," she snaps. "Should we preemptively cage everyone who might be dangerous someday?"
"That's not what I'm saying, and you know it." I plate the pasta with jerky movements. "I'm talking about reasonable precautions."
"No, you're seeing danger everywhere because it's easier than admitting the world isn't black and white." She stands abruptly. "Thank you for cooking, but I've lost my appetite."
Before I can respond, she disappears into her bedroom, door closing with decisive force. Not quite a slam, but close enough.
I stare at the two plates of pasta, anger and something else—regret?—churning uncomfortably in my stomach. Why did I provoke her? The day had gone well. We'd worked effectively together, gathered valuable intelligence. There was no reason to resurrect old arguments.
Except that seeing her in lamplight, vulnerable and unexpectedly appealing, had triggered something I wasn't prepared to examine.
I eat alone at the kitchen table, the silence oppressive. Afterward, I cover her portion and place it in the refrigerator, then perform a final security check. Every window secure. Every entrance locked. Standard protocol that feels hollow without purpose.
In my small bedroom, I lie awake long after midnight, acutely aware of Sera's presence on the other side of the wall.My enhanced hearing picks up her breathing, not quite even enough for sleep. She's awake too, probably still angry. Probably regretting this mission, this lottery match, every circumstance that tied her to me.
I close my eyes, seeking the oblivion of sleep, but my mind betrays me. Instead of darkness, I see Sera—not as she was tonight, irritated and defensive, but as she was in the diner, smiling at the waitress. As she walked beside me, her hand warm in mine. As she might be if things were different between us.
In this unwanted fantasy, I cross the hallway to her room. Find her awake, waiting. Her eyes would widen as I approach, but she wouldn't turn away. Her lips would part in a silent question that becomes something else entirely when I close the distance between us...
