Page 78 of Fat Arranged Mate
"I promise you," he whispers fiercely into my hair, "no one will ever hurt you like that again. Not while I live."
The vow should trigger my independence, my resistance to protection. Instead, it settles something restless inside me. Not because I need saving, but because for the first time, someone sees all of me—brokenness and strength together—and chooses to stand beside me rather than over me.
"And I promise," I whisper back, "that I won't let you lose yourself to what happened to you. Your brother wouldn't want that for you."
His breath catches. For a moment, I fear I've gone too far, crossed a boundary still too raw. Then his arms tighten around me, a shudder passing through his powerful frame.
"No," he admits, voice rough with unshed tears. "Ethan wouldn't. He was the gentle one. Always seeing the good in people."
"Like you can," I say. "When you allow yourself."
He doesn't answer, but his hand comes up to stroke my hair, carefully avoiding the wound. We sit like that as darkness fills our small sanctuary, holding each other against cold stone and colder memories.
"If we don't make it," I say finally, speaking the fear aloud, "if tomorrow—"
"We'll make it," he interrupts, voice firm with conviction. "Both of us."
"But if we don't," I persist, needing him to hear this, "I want you to know that I don't regret the lottery. Not anymore."
His hand stills in my hair. "Neither do I."
"I choose you," I whisper, echoing his words from earlier. "Not because fate threw us together, but because I see you now. All of you."
In the darkness, I feel rather than see his smile. "The stubborn, ass-headed parts too?"
"Especially those," I laugh softly, then wince as the movement jars my head.
Dylan shifts, easing me down until we're lying side by side on the cave floor, his body curled protectively around mine. His arm serves as my pillow, his warmth a shield against the night's growing chill.
"Sleep," he murmurs. "I'll keep watch."
"Wake me in four hours," I insist. "You need rest, too."
He makes a noncommittal sound that tells me he has no intention of sleeping tonight. I should argue, but exhaustion pulls at me with inexorable force. My body needs healing, and even my stubborn will can't override that biological imperative much longer.
As consciousness begins to fade, I feel Dylan's lips press softly against my temple, the gentleness of the gesture at odds with the lethal strength I know his body contains.
"I love you," he whispers, perhaps thinking I'm already asleep. "I think I have from the beginning. I was just too afraid to see it."
I want to answer, to tell him I feel the same impossible truth. But darkness claims me before the words can form, pulling me under into healing sleep with his confession still warming my heart.
Outside our sanctuary, hunters move through moonlight, drawing ever closer to Silvercreek. Tomorrow brings danger, perhaps death. But tonight, in this small space carved from stone and circumstance, we've found something neither of us expected when fate thrust us together—not just passion or companionship, but understanding. Recognition of the broken pieces in each other that somehow fit together to form something stronger than either of us alone.
Whatever comes with dawn, we face it together.
Chapter 28 - Dylan
Dawn breaks in pale streaks through pine branches, revealing what darkness concealed. Sera's skin—sallow, waxy, beaded with sweat. The silver has spread, dark lines tracking beneath her skin like poisoned rivers despite her claimed immunity. Her breathing comes shallow and rapid, each intake carrying a barely perceptible wheeze.
"Sera," I whisper, brushing damp hair from her forehead. Her skin burns against my palm.
Her eyes flutter open, glassy with fever. "Morning already?"
"We need to move," I say, helping her sit. "Silvercreek's still four miles southwest."
She nods, then immediately falls sideways. I catch her, feeling the unnatural heat radiating through her clothes.
"I'm fine," she insists, the words slurring slightly. "Just need a minute."
