Page 68 of Fat Arranged Mate
Dismissal delivered, I gather my belongings with measured movements, fighting the instinct to run. Outside, I wait until I'm safely in my car before letting out a shaky breath.
The facade is cracking. Our time is running out.
As I return home, the cottage windows glow amber against the gathering dusk. I pause in the driveway, steadying myself before facing Dylan. After what happened in the forest—his body hard against mine, hands urgent, mouth demanding things I gave willingly—we've maintained careful distance, professional courtesy masking the chaos beneath.
Inside, I find him at the kitchen table, surveillance equipment laid out in neat rows. Packing.
"They're onto us," I say instead of hello.
He nods without looking up. "Mike's been asking pointed questions. Testing my reactions to increasingly extreme statements."
"Diane practically threatened me today. Said they're 'talking' about us."
His hands still. "We're blown. Need to extract soon."
"How soon?"
"Tonight. Tomorrow at the latest." He finally meets my eyes. "James called. Hunter activity increasing near the northwest boundary. Six men spotted yesterday, armed with specialized equipment."
The news settles like ice in my stomach. "Silver ammunition?"
Dylan nods. “A lot of it.”
I sink into the chair opposite him. "They're accelerating."
"Full moon's in three days." His jaw tightens. "Perfect time for whatever they're planning, I bet."
We begin sorting our intelligence materials, placing photographs, maps, and notes into categorized files. Working together with mechanical efficiency, we maintain careful distance, professional focus.
Until our fingers brush over a satellite image, and we both freeze.
"Sorry," I murmur, withdrawing my hand.
His eyes lift to mine, something unspoken burning there. "Sera—"
His phone buzzes on the table between us, breaking the moment. Mike's name flashes on the screen.
Dylan reads the text, expression darkening. "They're moving up the timeline. Meeting tonight to finalize details of… whatever their next move is. Target is the nearest pack.” His eyes flash up to meet mine. “You know what that means.”
"We need to warn Nic," I say, already reaching for our secure phone.
"We will." Dylan stands, sliding his jacket on with decisive movements. "But I need to attend this meeting first. Get final details, routes, numbers. It might be the difference between winning and losing against them to get that kind of information—"
Fear grips me. "It's too dangerous. They already suspect—"
"One last push," he insists. "Complete intelligence before extraction. If we disappear right before their operation, they'll know we warned the pack."
"And if they've already figured us out? If it's a trap?"
"Then I don't show, and they're even more suspicious." His logic is frustratingly sound. "Four hours. In and out. We contact Silvercreek immediately after, then leave town before dawn."
I want to argue, to remind him of the forest—how close we came to discovery—but his expression leaves no room for debate. This is happening.
"Fine," I concede, hating the tremor in my voice. "Four hours. Not a minute more."
He nods, checking his weapon with practiced movements. I watch his hands, remembering how they felt against my skin, how they gripped my hips with desperate urgency while pine needles dug into my back and his mouth—
"I'll be careful," he says, misreading my expression as only concern.
