Page 6 of Fat Arranged Mate
I cross my arms. "No. It's tradition. Shows commitment to the pack."
Nic's eyebrow raises slightly. "There are other ways to show commitment besides letting the elders potentially mate you to someone at random."
"It worked for you. And James. And Thomas." I keep my tone neutral. "Besides, the odds of getting someone completely incompatible are low. The elders' system factors in compatibility."
"True." Nic taps his fingers on the desk. "But you're not James. Or me."
The implication is clear. I'm not stable like they were. Not ready for a mate. The anger that simmers constantly beneath my skin flares.
"I can handle it," I say flatly. "Unless you're planning to forbid my participation."
Nic shakes his head. "It's your choice. I just want to make sure it's for the right reasons."
"Which are?"
"Starting a future. Not punishing yourself for the past."
I look away, unable to hold his gaze. Nic sees too much—a side effect of fighting beside someone, of watching them shatter and try to rebuild themselves with jagged pieces.
"Is that all?" I ask.
Nic sighs. "One more thing. The security team rotation. You've been working double shifts for weeks. I need you to scale back."
"We're understaffed."
"We're adequately staffed. You're overworked." His tone shifts to Alpha authority. "This isn't a request, Dylan. Take the next two days off. After the lottery, we'll revisit the schedule."
I want to argue, but I know it's pointless. When Nic uses that tone, even Thomas backs down.
"Fine."
"Good." Nic's expression softens again. "You're one of our best, Dylan. But even the strongest wolves need rest."
I nod stiffly and turn to leave.
"Oh, and Dylan?" Nic calls after me. "Try not to terrorize any more medical volunteers today. Luna says Sera is still fuming about your little... discussion... yesterday."
Heat rises up my neck. "She was treating a human trespasser who had no business on our territory."
"She was treating an injured hiker who got lost. Part of our agreement with local authorities. We help hikers who wander off trail, they keep the rangers from exploring too deep into our territory."
"He was taking photos. Of our woods. Our pack land."
"Of birds, according to the camera we checked and returned. The man's an ornithologist."
I scoff. "Convenient cover."
"Not everyone is a spy, Dylan." Nic's voice holds a note of tired patience. "Go. Rest. Try not to pick any fights before the lottery."
I leave without another word, irritation prickling under my skin. Nobody seems to understand the threats still lurking at our borders. Six months of relative peace have made themcomplacent. Even Nic, who lost pack members in the attack, who almost lost his mate, seems willing to lower his guard.
Outside, spring sunlight warms the air. Silvercreek bustles with morning activity—cubs playing near the community center, pack members heading to work assignments, a hunting party preparing to depart. Normal life continuing as if nothing could disrupt it again.
I walk toward my cabin on the northern edge of pack territory, deliberately avoiding the main paths. Two days off. The thought makes my skin crawl. Inactivity means thinking and thinking means remembering.
The scent hits me before I see her—honeysuckle and antiseptic, an odd combination that's become instantly recognizable. Sera. I consider changing direction, but realize it's too late when she emerges from the path leading from the medical center, medical bag slung over her shoulder.
Our eyes meet, and her steps falter briefly before she continues forward, chin lifting slightly. The morning light catches in her honey-blonde hair, making it glow. Despite myself, I notice how the simple blue sweater she wears hugs curves that have filled out since her arrival three months ago. My wolf stirs with unwelcome interest.
