Page 69 of Fat Arranged Mate
"You'd better be." I move to the window, giving us both space. "These aren't sophisticated operatives, Dylan.They're terrified men with guns and hatred. That makes them unpredictable."
"I know exactly what they are." Something dark flashes across his face. "Saw it firsthand with the League."
I cross to him, unable to maintain distance when pain radiates from him in palpable waves. "Dylan—"
He steps back, shaking his head. "Don't. If you touch me right now, I won't go. And I need to go."
The admission hangs between us, charged with implications neither of us is ready to face.
"Four hours," I repeat. "Then we warn the pack, and we leave. Together."
He nods once, then he's gone—the door closing behind him with quiet finality.
I stand frozen in the kitchen, surrounded by evidence of our failed mission and impending danger, while outside, night falls like a verdict.
Chapter 24 - Dylan
The hunting cabin squats in darkness, a hunched predator with amber eyes. Through windows glowing with lamplight, I count six silhouettes moving about inside. More than expected. My truck idles behind me, engine ticking as it cools in the night air.
Mike meets me at the door, rifle slung casually over one shoulder. "Almost thought you weren't coming."
"Traffic," I lie, following him inside. The cabin reeks of gun oil, stale coffee, and male sweat—a testosterone fog so thick it nearly masks the undercurrent of fear beneath.
Donovan stands at a table covered with maps, red markers bleeding across the paper landscape like wounds. He barely glances up as I enter. "Winters. Nice of you to join us."
Around the room, faces turn toward me—Mike, Rick, two others I recognize from previous meetings, and one I don't.
"What'd I miss?" I ask, sliding into casual confidence like a second skin.
"Just getting to the good part," Donovan says, tapping the map. "Tomorrow night's operation."
I move closer, studying the marked territory. My blood runs cold. They've mapped Silvercreek's boundaries with disturbing accuracy—running paths, patrol routes, even the meadow where the pack gathers on full moons.
"Impressive intel," I remark, keeping my tone neutral.
"We've been watching them for months," Carlson says. "Long before you showed up."
Something in his emphasis makes my skin prickle.
Donovan traces a red line through the forest. "Three teams. North, south, and central approach. Silver ammunition, UV lights, sound disruptors." He points to markers representing camps. "We push them from their safe zones, drive them toward the ravine where team two will be waiting."
"Should be quick," Mike adds. "Clean."
"What about civilians?" I ask, testing the waters. "Hikers, campers? There could be—there might be people out there."
Johnson snorts. "At a full moon? Anyone stupid enough to be out there deserves what they get."
The stranger pushes off from the wall, approaching the table. "Of course, we're only targeting confirmed monsters. We're not animals."
Laughter ripples through the room, but there's an edge to it that wasn't there before.
"Speaking of," Donovan says, straightening. "We've got another matter to discuss."
And somehow, that’s the moment I know. The moment it hits me why I was invited here.
"We've been monitoring persons of interest," Donovan continues. "People who might interfere with tomorrow's operation."
I keep my expression perfectly blank as panic claws up my spine. "Smart. Can't be too careful."
