Page 64 of Fat Arranged Mate
"Run," I mouth silently, pointing. “Hunters. Go, now. No time.”
Understanding dawns. Connor nods once, eyes darting past me for signs of others.
I gesture back the way he came, then mime running.
"Five hunters," I whisper, voice barely audible even to shifter ears. "Coming from the south. Tell Nic they're using the old logging roads."
He hesitates. “Are you safe?”
“I’m fine,” I whisper, though I won’t be for long if I’m discovered. “Go!”
He nods, disappearing into the darkness with preternatural speed. The sight of my friend vanishing into the darkness after weeks apart only makes my heart hurt a little. I retrieve my rifle, heart hammering against my ribs as I radio Mike.
"Lost the trail. Doubling back to your position."
Static crackles before his response comes through. "Copy. Stay put. Main group moving toward you."
I start creating my cover story—how the wolf gave me the slip, how I tracked it north before losing the trail—lies constructed with just enough detail to sound convincing.
A twig snaps behind me.
I spin, rifle instinctively rising, to find myself staring into familiar golden-brown eyes.
Sera.
She freezes, hands half-raised in surrender. Her face is flushed, breathing quick and shallow. She's been running.
"What thefuckare you doing here?" I breathe, lowering the rifle instantly.
"I could ask you the same," she whispers back fiercely. "I just saw a shifter tear through these woods like death itself was chasing him."
"It is. Guardian hunting party. You need to get out of here."
Her expression hardens. "I came from the Mitchell house. The attack reports are fake, Dylan. They're manufacturing evidence, forcing people to lie about—"
"Not now." I grab her elbow, steering her toward denser cover as radio chatter increases. "They're converging. We need to move."
"Dylan? You copy?" Mike's voice crackles through my radio.
I respond while pulling Sera deeper into the underbrush. "Copy. Still searching grid four. No visual."
Sera's protests die as flashlight beams cut through trees fifty yards south. We drop into a hollow beneath a fallen cedar, bodies pressed together in the narrow space. My arm wrapsaround her waist automatically, holding her still against me as boots crunch over forest debris.
"I swear I heard voices," Donovan's distinctive drawl carries through the darkness.
"Could've been our boy," another hunter suggests. "Sometimes they talk to themselves when cornered."
Sera's body tenses against mine. I tighten my hold in silent warning, breath ghosting against her hair. Her heartbeat thunders so loudly I'm certain they'll hear it, though logic tells me human ears aren't that keen.
Flashlight beams sweep across our position, light filtering through branches inches above our heads. One hunter steps close enough that dirt dislodges from his boot, sprinkling onto the log sheltering us.
Seconds stretch into eternities, neither of us daring to breathe.
"Spread out," Donovan finally orders. "Mike, take north quadrant. Johnson, west. Dylan, radio your position."
I ease one hand free to press the transmit button. "Southeast ridge, working back toward the rendezvous point. Nothing here."
"Copy that. Meet at the trucks in twenty. We lost this one."
