Page 5 of Fat Arranged Mate
“Ain’t that the truth.” I toss him a clean rag. "Wash up. Breakfast is getting cold."
The memory dissolves, replaced by another—the one that follows me into sleep, that waits in the shadows of every quiet moment.
Blood. So much blood. The smell of gunpowder and silver. Ethan's broken body in my arms, his chest barely moving, silver poisoning spreading through veins too young to fight it.
"Stay with me, buddy. Please. I can't do this without you." My voice cracks, hands pressing desperately against the wound in his side where the silver bullet entered.
His eyes flutter open, clouded with pain. Amber and gold and—and fading. Fading fast.
"Did—did I get any of them?" Blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth.
"You fought like a true wolf." Tears blur my vision. "The bravest wolf I've ever known."
"Dyl—" His fingers grip mine with surprising strength. He wheezes, an awful, crackling sound. "I'm scared."
"I'm right here. I won't leave you. Never."
His final breath leaves in a soft exhale, and something inside me shatters beyond repair.
I slam my fist against the shower wall, tiles cracking under the impact. Blood mingles with water, swirling down the drain. The pain brings me back to the present, away from that night six months ago when human extremists took everything I had left.
Dressed in clean clothes, I head toward the Alpha's office in the main pack house. Morning has fully arrived, bringing with it the bustle of pack life. I acknowledge greetings with short nods, not slowing my stride. Everyone knows to give me space these days.
Nic's office door is open, but I knock anyway—a courtesy to the man whose employment has kept me from going completely feral in the aftermath.
"Come in, Dylan." His voice is steady, authoritative, without being domineering. It's why he makes a good Alpha.
The office smells of coffee and old books. Nic sits behind a desk piled with reports and territory maps, looking more like a professor than a pack leader in his button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms marked with old battle scars. Luna's influence, the casual style. His mate has softened some of his edges.
"Thomas said you wanted to see me."
Nic gestures to the chair opposite his desk. "Sit. Coffee?"
I remain standing. "I'm good."
He studies me for a moment, then shrugs. "Your patrol reports from yesterday were... comprehensive."
"Just thorough."
"Eight pages on a routine border check is beyond thorough. It's obsessive."
I shift my weight, uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "I noticed some unusual scents near the eastern ridge. Could be nothing. Could be someone testing our defenses."
"Or it could be hikers from the campground five miles away." Nic leans back in his chair. "The League is gone, Dylan. Their leader is in prison. The remnants scattered after we exposed their operation."
"Scattered doesn't mean defeated." The words come out sharper than intended. "They still have supporters. People who believe we're monsters."
"Some people will always fear what they don't understand." Nic's expression softens slightly. "But not all humans are League members. Not all of them are enemies."
I clench my jaw. "Tell that to Ethan. His ghost will appreciate it.”
The name hangs between us. Nic doesn't flinch from it, doesn't offer platitudes. Instead, he lets the silence stretch, allowing my brother's memory the respect it deserves.
"Your lottery is tomorrow," he finally says, changing the subject.
"I'm aware."
"Having second thoughts?"
