Page 4 of Fat Arranged Mate
Surely that’s something hecando, right?
After all, what could be worse for Silvercreek's newest, fiercest defender than being paired with a pacifist who can barely shift, who once belonged to their greatest enemy, who stands against everything he believes in?
The answer is nothing. And that knowledge should be comforting.
Instead, as night falls and I prepare for sleep, it feels strangely, inexplicably, like loss.
Chapter 2 - Dylan
The impact vibrates through my knuckles, pain blossoming sharp and sweet. I welcome it, throwing another punch into the reinforced bag. Left hook. Right cross. Uppercut. Each hit lands with precision born from thousands of hours of training.
"Jesus, Zaleska. That bag owes you money or something?" James asks from the doorway of the training facility, his voice carrying the casual authority of the Alpha's second-in-command.
I don't pause. "Just staying sharp."
Sweat drips into my eyes, but I blink it away. The training room is empty, except for Thomas and me. Dawn light barely filters through the high windows, catching dust motes in pale golden beams. I've been here since 4 AM. Three hours of solitary conditioning before the rest of the security team arrives.
"You know the definition of 'rest day,' right?" James leans against the wall, arms crossed. "It typically involves actual rest."
I throw a final combination before steadying the bag. "I'll rest when the borders are secure."
"They are secure. Your rotation ended at midnight. Jenkins reported nothing unusual all night."
I grab a towel, wiping sweat from my face and neck. "Connor wouldn’t know an intruder if they introduced themself.”
James sighs. "Always the optimist."
My lips twist into something that isn't quite a smile. My optimism died with my brother.
I unwrap the tape from my hands, revealing reddened knuckles. They'll heal before noon—one benefit of being a werewolf. The physical pain always fades too quickly. The other kind lingers.
"The Alpha wants to see you," James says, straightening. "After you shower, preferably."
"Problem?"
"Not everything is a problem, dude. Take a shower."
I grunt in response, gathering my things. James watches me with that look—the one that's become too familiar these past six months. Concern mixed with wariness, like I'm a weapon that might misfire. By all accounts, he’s laid-back, relaxed, friendly. I wouldn’t really know. Since I started working for the Alpha’s inner circle, I’ve avoided their social gatherings like the plague.
In the locker room, I stand under scalding water, letting it pound against tense muscles. Steam rises around me, but it can't wash away the images that surface when I close my eyes.
"Dylan, check this out!" Ethan's voice echoes in my memory, his lanky teenage frame hunched over an engine part. His eyes—so like our mother's—are bright with enthusiasm. "I think I fixed the timing issue on the Jeep."
I lean against the garage doorframe, coffee in hand. A weekend morning, a rare moment of normalcy. "Without breaking anything else this time?"
He rolls his eyes, grease smudged across his cheek. "That was one time. And the radiator was already cracked."
"Sure it was." I hide my smile behind my mug. At eighteen, taking responsibility for a six-year-old after our parents’ deaths hadn't been in my plans. Now, with him sixteenand me twenty-eight, our dynamic has evolved—less parent and child, more brothers who've weathered too much together.
"You working tonight?" Ethan asks, wiping his hands on a shop rag.
"Uh-huh. Should be back by midnight."
"Cool. I'm helping Luna with the younger kids' tracking lessons tomorrow. She says I have a knack for teaching."
Pride wells in my chest—unexpected, powerful. "You do. You've got patience. Unlike some of us."
He grins, that bright, open expression that somehow survived everything. "You've got plenty of patience. You wouldn’t have tolerated me this long otherwise.”
