Page 3 of Fat Arranged Mate
"My name won't be drawn anyway," I say with forced confidence. "There are at least thirty-five eligible females in Silvercreek now, with the packs merging. The odds are… minimal."
"That's what I thought," Ruby says dryly. "Look how that turned out."
I finally turn to face her fully. "Even if by some cosmic joke my name was drawn, it would be a disaster.Dylan?Really? The man practically growls when I enter a room."
Just thinking his name makes my pulse quicken with irritation. Tall, perpetually scowling, with shoulders broad enough to block doorways and eyes cold as winter frost.The pack's most dedicated enforcer, constantly pushing for harsher security measures, stricter borders, less forgiveness for transgressions. Everything I stand against. In another life, I suspect he must have been some kind of warmonger, and something of it stuck—he’s perpetually angry, unwilling to listen to reason. The man drives me mad.
"He doesn't growl," Ruby says, amusement coloring her voice. "He... intensely disagrees with your perspective on pack defense."
"He called my ideas 'suicidal pacifist garbage' at the last pack meeting." The memory still stings. "To my face. In front of everyone."
"After you called his security proposals 'paranoid warmongering’. To his face. In front of everyone."
I flush. "That was different. He was advocating for armed patrols at the borders—the borders withpeople.Against humans who haven't done anything threatening."
"Sera," Ruby says softly. "Some of us remember what happened before. The League for Humanity’s attack nearly destroyed us."
The weight of history I wasn't present for hangs in the air. I know the stories—how human extremists infiltrated Silvercreek, how they killed several pack members, people I never knew and never hear about, the wound a bit too fresh. It explains his hatred, but doesn't justify the extent of his rage.
He might think he knows what’s necessary, but if there’s one thing Dylan and his packdon’thave experience with, it’s what happens when a pack goes crazy with paranoia and desperation and, eventually, bloodlust.
That knowledge is my burden alone.
"Violence only creates more violence," I say quietly. "I've seen where that path leads."
Ruby's expression softens. "I know you have. And your perspective is valuable, especially now. But you need to understand—Dylan… people lost a lot. Innocent people. Everyone copes in the best way they can. You’re both similar, in some ways, you know. You both coped with what you went through by…"
She trails off, though I know she’s thinking,burying yourselves in work.
"That doesn't give him the right to treat every human as an enemy," I counter firmly.
"Just come tomorrow," Ruby says, rising slowly from the chair, one hand supporting her lower back. "Stand in the circle, listen to the ceremony, and then go back to avoiding Dylan in the dining hall. Your name probably won't be called anyway."
"Fine," I concede, if only to end the conversation. "But if the universe plays a cruel joke and pairs me with Silvercreek's angriest wolf, I'm blaming you."
Ruby laughs, heading for the door. "Deal. Oh, and Sera? Ignore those idiots outside. Your body is perfect exactly as it is."
After she leaves, I move to the small mirror hanging by the supply cabinet. I rarely look at myself these days, focusing instead on work, on healing, on forgetting. The woman staring back at me seems both familiar and strange—fuller cheeks, softer jawline, curves straining slightly against a simple blue sweater. My honey-blonde hair has grown longer, falling past my shoulders now. The dark circles that were permanent fixtures under my eyes have faded.
I look healthier. Stronger. But I can't help running my hands over the new softness at my waist, the roundness of my hips that wasn't there before. In Cheslem, being physically small was an advantage—less threatening, easier to overlook when Matthias was in one of his rages. Here, my body is expanding, taking up space, announcing its presence.
I turn away from the mirror, gathering my medical bag. The afternoon light is fading, and I should head to my small cabin on the eastern edge of pack territory. The location is no accident—as far from the main pack house as possible while still being within the protective boundaries. Close enough to reach the medical center quickly if needed, far enough to avoid most casual interactions.
Outside, Silvercreek hums with evening activity. Wolves returning from patrol, families gathering for dinner, young ones being called in from play. The scent of pine and woodsmoke fills the air, along with the aroma of cooking meat and the distinctive musk of the pack. It should feel like home. Some days it almost does.
I keep my head down as I walk, avoiding eye contact, taking the path that skirts the main gathering areas. Three months, and I still feel like an imposter, waiting for someone to realize I don't belong and send me away. Or worse—send me back.
The smell of corruption, dark magic crackling along my skin, Matthias's eyes gleaming with madness as he forces submission from his pack—
I stumble slightly, shaking off the memory. That life is over. Matthias is contained; his power broken. The corruption cleansed from those who didn't choose it willingly. I am safe.
So why does tomorrow's lottery fill me with such dread?
As I reach my cabin, the answer whispers through my mind, unbidden and unwelcome. Because deep down, beneath all the arguments and ideological differences, there's something about Dylan Zaleska that frightens me in an entirely different way. Something that makes my wolf stir restlessly whenever he's near. Something I refuse to name or acknowledge.
Something that feels dangerously like recognition.
I close my cabin door firmly behind me, as if that could shut out the thought. Tomorrow will come regardless of my fears. My name won't be drawn—the odds are firmly in my favor. And even if the universe does play its cruelest joke, surely Dylan would reject the match immediately.
