Page 31 of Fat Arranged Mate
I excuse myself to the restroom, needing a moment to regain control. In the grimy bathroom, I brace against the sink, focusing on my reflection. My eyes have begun to shift, gold bleeding into the irises. I close them, drawing deep breaths, forcing my wolf back beneath the surface.
Not here. Not now. Not alone.
When I return, the meeting has shifted to operational details—patrol schedules, equipment needs, communication protocols. I listen with mechanical focus, memorizing facts while walling off emotion.
These men aren't calculating supervillains. They're ordinary humans twisted by fear and ignorance. The danger lies in their very ordinariness—hardware store owners, mechanics, factory workers. Men who consider themselves good citizens, loving fathers, faithful husbands. Men who would help a stranger change a flat tire, then hunt a shifter through the forest without moral qualm.
Their hatred isn't sophisticated or complex. It's the simple brutality of fearing what's different. Of believing the world should remain as it always was—human, controllable, familiar.
An hour later, I extract myself with a careful excuse about my "wife expecting me home." The concerned husband, responsible despite his enthusiasm for their cause.
"Next patrol is Tuesday," Mike tells me as I leave. "Nothing serious, just a training run. You should join us."
I nod, promising to check my schedule, all the while calculating how to warn the Northern Ridge pack before they enter this killing field.
The drive home passes in a blur of contained fury and strategic planning. By the time I reach our cottage, my knuckles are white on the steering wheel, my jaw aching from clenched teeth.
Inside, the house is dark except for a small lamp left burning in the living room. Sera must have waited up, but eventually succumbed to sleep. I move silently through the cottage, checking locks and windows—a ritual that does nothing to calm the storm inside me.
I should wake her. Should report immediately. The information is time-sensitive, critical to multiple packs' safety.
Instead, I find myself pausing outside her bedroom door, listening to the soft rhythm of her breathing. The thought of describing what I've seen—of watching her face crumple with the knowledge of Ellis's fate, of seeing the horror in her eyes at the hatred these humans harbor—stops me cold.
Why should her pain matter more than my efficiency? When did her reactions begin to factor into my decisions?
I retreat to the kitchen, pouring a glass of water I don't drink, staring into darkness that offers no answers. The images from tonight flash behind my eyes—Ellis's distinctive markings, the triumphant hunters, the maps marked for "cleansing”. My brother’s eyes. Always his eyes, blown huge with terror and then glassy with nothing at all.
Morning will come soon enough. Time enough then to report, to strategize, to face whatever this mission is becoming.
For now, I sit alone in darkness, guarding Sera's sleep against nightmares that will find her soon enough, perplexed by this unexpected protectiveness that feels dangerously close to something I swore never to risk again.
Chapter 11 - Sera
The supply room smells of antiseptic and latex, familiar scents that would normally calm me. Today, they only sharpen my unease as I count the latest shipment of medical supplies.
"Forty vials of ketamine," I murmur, marking the clipboard. "That's double the usual order."
The fluorescent lights hum overhead as I move to the next box. Inside, neatly packed rows of silver-infused bandages gleam with a dull metallic sheen—specialized products typically reserved for burn units in major hospitals, not small-town clinics like Pinecrest Medical.
"Three hundred units," I note, my pen hesitating on the paper. "Up from fifty last month."
Silver. Tranquilizers. The pattern forming in front of me correlates too perfectly with what Dylan reported from the Guardians' meeting three nights ago. My fingers tremble slightly as I continue the inventory, discovering similarly inflated orders of sedatives, heavy-duty restraints, and wound irrigation systems.
This isn't standard preparation for a rural clinic. This is a coordinated effort.
I complete the count methodically, maintaining a neutral expression when Nurse Diane peers in to check my progress.
"Almost done?" she asks, her thin face pinched with perpetual stress. As head nurse, she coordinates directly with Dr. Sanders on supply management.
"Just finishing up," I reply, keeping my voice light. "Quite a large shipment this time."
She nods; expression unreadable. "Dr. Sanders wants us fully stocked. Better safe than sorry with spring activities ramping up."
Spring activities. A convenient euphemism for whatever the Guardians are planning in their "human-only zones”.
"Makes sense," I agree, the lie bitter on my tongue. "Hiking accidents always increase this time of year."
"Among other things." Her gaze lingers a beat too long before she checks her watch. "Staff meeting in fifteen. Don't forget to lock up when you're done."
