Page 58 of Fat Arranged Mate
"Confirm location and numbers," I say into the secure phone, voice low despite the cottage's empty rooms. Sera leaves for her shift at the clinic soon, the space between us still charged with unspoken tension after Donovan's visit.
"Three hunters spotted at the northwest boundary," James Morgan replies, connection crackling and stuttering with its thick encryption, so heavily secured that it prompts intense interference. "Armed, using the old logging roads. Not aggressive yet, just surveillance. But we’ve got our eye on them. They’re getting closer."
I pace the small confines of my bedroom, mentally mapping the coordinates he provides. Northwest boundary puts them fifteen miles from Silvercreek's core territory, but only five from the summer hunting grounds. Close enough to raise alarms, not close enough for immediate action.
"Pack status?"
"Alert but not mobilized. Nic's ordered expanded patrols, protective details for vulnerable members." A pause. "Any intelligence on what these assholes are planning?"
"Nothing concrete yet," I admit, frustration bleeding through. "But they're coordinating across town lines, sharing resources. The rhetoric's escalating."
"And your cover?"
"Solid for now, but Donovan's getting suspicious. Started watching the cottage, made a surprise visit last night."
James curses softly. "Might be time to extract. You've gathered enough—"
My phone buzzes with an incoming text. Mike's name flashes on the screen, message preview visible:Special op tonight. Boss says you're in if...
"Wait," I interrupt James. "Something's happening."
I check the full message, pulse quickening as I read:
Special op tonight. Boss says you're in if you want. Tracking something big near Miller's Ridge. Meet at the HQ, 8 pm. Bring your kit. This is the real deal.
Miller's Ridge. Five miles east of where the hunters were spotted. The pieces click into terrible alignment.
"They're organizing something for tonight," I tell James. "Near the northwest boundary."
"Shit. I'll alert Nic."
"Sure," I say, decision crystallizing. "But let me go in tonight. If it's just another scouting mission, we don't want to escalate unnecessarily.”
"And if it's not?"
"Then I'll be there to warn you or create a diversion if needed. Or I can try to lead them in the wrong direction.”
Silence stretches between us, heavy with implications.
"Your call," James finally says. "If you think you can do it. But if you're not back in contact by midnight, we're assuming the worst and mobilizing to extract you and Sera.”
"Understood."
The call ends, leaving me standing in the center of the room, phone in one hand, Mike's text glowing on the screen of the other. Two paths diverge before me—withdraw now, return to Silvercreek, help prepare defenses. Or push deeper, gather critical intelligence, possibly prevent an attack before it begins.
The bedroom door opens, followed by the soft thud of Sera's bag hitting the kitchen table. Her scent—lavender and antiseptic—drifts through the cottage, instantly recognizable. She’s ready to go, but I need to talk to her first.
“You off to your shift?" I ask, leaning against the doorframe.
She doesn't look up. "Dr. Sanders got called away on some emergency. They want me there until late.”
I nod, watching her movements—the careful placement of items, the deliberate avoidance of my gaze. Since Donovan's visit, we've circled each other with almost comical caution, neither acknowledging the ease with which we'd fallen into our roles as lovers.
"Just heard from James," I say. "Hunters spotted near the northwest boundary of Silvercreek."
Her hands still, a can of soup suspended mid-air. "How close?"
"Close enough to worry, not close enough for immediate threat." I show her Mike's text. "But this changes things."
