Page 60 of Fat Arranged Mate
And with a hot, lashing tendril of rage rising inside me, I say it.
"This is why the lottery was a mistake," I spit finally, words emerging before I can reconsider. "I would have taken anyone else over you. A life with you as my mate sounds like hell on earth, Daley.”
The moment the words leave my mouth, I want to call them back. Her face remains composed, but something shutters behind her eyes—a door closing, a light extinguished.
"Sera—" I begin.
"No." She holds up a hand, voice steady despite the pain evident in her expression. "You're right. It was a mistake. We both know that."
She moves past me toward her bedroom, posture rigid with controlled emotion. The silence she leaves in her wake feels heavier than any accusation could have been.
I stand frozen, trapped between the instinct to follow her and the knowledge that I have nothing to offer that wouldn't make things worse. No comfort that wouldn't be a lie, no promises I could keep.
My phone buzzes again—Mike, confirming details for tonight's operation. The decision I'd already made hardens into certainty, despite the hollow feeling expanding beneath my ribs.
I gather my gear methodically—weapons cleaned and checked, communications secured, cover story reinforced. Professional routine offering refuge from emotional complexity.
When I emerge, Sera stands in the living room, bag slung over her shoulder.
"I’ll be out late," she says, voice carefully neutral. "Don't wait up."
The words contain layers—practical information, emotional withdrawal, tacit permission to proceed with my plan despite her objections.
"Be careful," I say, inadequate but sincere.
"You too." Her eyes meet mine briefly, complex emotions flickering across her face too quickly to identify. Then she's gone, the door closing softly behind her.
I check my watch. Three hours until I meet the Guardians at their makeshift headquarters. Three hours to reconcile my dual missions—gathering intelligence while maintaining enough emotional distance to remain effective. Three hours to push away the memory of Sera's expression when I spoke words I didn't mean but can't unsay.
The cottage feels emptier than it should, given its small size. I move through final preparations with mechanicalprecision, mind circling back repeatedly to our argument, to her accusations, to the fear beneath her anger.
The memory of it follows me as I load my truck, as I drive toward town, as I prepare to dive deeper into a hatred that sometimes echoes my own too closely for comfort. Sera sees the danger more clearly than I've allowed myself to acknowledge—the thin line between infiltrating evil and absorbing it.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, focus narrowing to the mission ahead. One more operation. One more chance at critical intelligence. Then, perhaps, a reckoning with truths I've been avoiding—about vengeance, about healing, about the mate I claimed to regret but find myself increasingly unable to imagine living without.
Chapter 21 - Sera
The clinic buzzes with muted efficiency, staff moving in practiced patterns like blood cells through veins. I've been here for three hours, mind still ringing with the echo of Dylan's words:A life with you as my mate sounds like hell on earth. Every time the memory surfaces, I push it down, focusing instead on patient charts, medication schedules, and anything that requires concentration.
"Sera?" Diane appears at my elbow, clipboard in hand. "We've got an emergency coming in. Ten-year-old boy, predator encounter near Blackberry Creek."
My heart stutters. "How serious?"
"Conscious and stable. ETA five minutes." Her thin lips press together. "Dr. Sanders wants you on this—test your trauma skills."
Translation: observe how I handle a supposed shifter attack.
I nod, moving automatically toward the trauma bay to prepare supplies. The double doors burst open minutes later, EMTs wheeling in a small figure on a stretcher. The boy's face is pale beneath a shock of red hair, eyes wide with fear. Gauze wraps his right arm and shoulder, small spots of blood seeping through.
"Sam Mitchell, age ten," the lead EMT reports. "Lacerations to the right shoulder and upper arm. Stable vitals. Parents en route."
I step forward, voice gentle. "Hi Sam, I'm Sera. We're going to take good care of you, okay?"
He nods, teeth worrying his lower lip.
"Can you tell me what happened while I check your wounds?"
"A—a wolf attacked me," he stammers, eyes darting to Diane, who hovers nearby. "In the woods behind our house."
