Page 40 of Fat Arranged Mate
We sit like that, not quite leaning on each other but not entirely separate, as rain washes the world clean outside our windows. Neither of us speaks again. Words would only complicate what this silence has carefully constructed—a temporary sanctuary between opposing worldviews, a moment of connection without concession.
By morning, I know, we'll have retreated to our respective positions. He'll still believe violence is sometimes necessary; I'll still maintain that peace offers the only sustainable path forward. He'll see my pacifism as naiveté; I'll view his aggression as dangerous oversimplification.
But for now, in this liminal space between night and dawn, we simply exist alongside each other. Two broken pieces from different puzzles, temporarily aligned along a single edge.
I close my eyes, not to sleep but to preserve this moment—to memorize the steady rhythm of his breathing, the solid warmth of his presence, the strange feeling of safety I've found beside someone I once feared.
Some gifts are too fleeting to grasp, too fragile to acknowledge. By first light, this one will have dissolved like morning mist, leaving only the faintest impression that something momentous and ordinary has transpired between us.
For now, that's enough.
Chapter 14 - Dylan
The secure phone vibrates against my hip at precisely 6:48 AM. Only one person has this number.
I'm on the back porch, halfway through my morning routine of surveillance checks. Sera sleeps inside, exhausted from yesterday's clinic shift. Last night's strange, quiet exchange between us lingers in the periphery of my consciousness—something I'm not ready to examine too closely.
I answer on the second vibration. "Report."
"We've got a situation." James's voice comes through crisp despite the encryption. As Nic's second, he handles most field communications. "Miles Everett is missing."
The name registers immediately. Miles, fifty-three, lone wolf by temperament, though loyal to the pack. Former military. Prefers running the territory's boundaries in wolf form to hunt, sometimes for days at a stretch.
"When?" I keep my voice low, moving farther from the house.
"Forty-eight hours since last check-in. His regular hunting route takes him within ten miles of Pinecrest."
My mind assembles the map, calculating possibilities. "Any chance he's just extending his run? He's done it before."
"I don’t think so. He's never missed a scheduled check-in with his family. Plus, his daughter's getting married next week. He wouldn't go dark now."
The timing aligns too perfectly with the Guardian activity we've been tracking. A spike of adrenaline hits my system, sharpening every sense.
"Understood. We'll investigate." My fingers tighten around the phone. "Permission to engage if we locate him in immediate danger?"
A pause. "Reconnaissance only, Dylan. Your cover is too valuable to compromise without confirmation. Understand?"
The instruction grates against every instinct. "Copy that."
I end the call, already mapping search parameters in my head. Miles is experienced, cautious. If he's been taken, the Guardians must have developed new tactics we haven't identified yet.
Inside, Sera stands in the kitchen doorway, sleep-rumpled but alert. Her hair falls in messy waves around her face, oversized t-shirt slipping off one shoulder. The sight creates an unexpected hitch in my chest.
"Problem?" she asks, voice still rough with sleep.
"Pack member missing. Miles Everett." I move past her into the kitchen, needing movement, purpose. "Last known position within striking distance of Pinecrest."
She absorbs this, instantly awake now. "The Guardians?"
"Possibly." I pour coffee into a travel mug. "We need to check Sheriff Donovan's hunting cabin. I've heard them mention it as a secondary location for 'processing' what they catch."
"Slow down." She places herself in my path, suddenly solid despite being half my size. "We can't just storm in there. If they have him, we need a plan. If they don't, we've blown our cover for nothing."
"Every minute we delay—"
"Could be the difference between finding him alive or not, I know." Her eyes hold mine, unflinching. "But rushing in half-cocked guarantees failure. Let's be smart about this."
The rational part of me recognizes her logic. The wolf part snarls against restraint when a packmate might be suffering. But her steady gaze anchors me, pulls me back from the edge of impulse.
