Page 70 of Fat Arranged Mate
"Indeed." Donovan's eyes never leave my face. "Funny thing about outsiders—sometimes they're not what they seem."
The room shifts imperceptibly. The men spread out, casual movements that aren't casual at all.
I've been in enough ambushes to recognize the pattern.
“You think there might be sympathizers in town?” I ask, stalling for time, playing stupid. But they know I’m not stupid.
"Worse." Donovan looks me hard in the eye. "Some might be the very monsters we're hunting."
My wolf surges against my control. I force it down, maintain the mask.
"Interesting theory." I slide my hand casually toward my hip, fingers brushing my concealed knife. "How would you identify traitors like that?"
"The signs are there if you know how to look." The stranger steps forward, too close. "Unusual strength. Enhanced hearing. Resistance to injury. Shady pasts that don’t add up. Asking too many damn questions.”
"My wife and I have nothing to hide," I say, injecting just enough indignation. "We moved here for her job, for a fresh start—"
"Your wife," Mike interrupts, "has been asking too many questions at the clinic. And you..." He tilts his head. "You're never where you say you'll be, Dylan. Always showing up late, disappearing during hunts. You say you’re some programmer, but you hunt better than half our guys.”
"I've been gathering intelligence," I counter. "Learning the woods—"
"We checked," Donovan cuts in. "No Dylan or Sera Winters in the database. No record of your marriage. No social media. Nothing. As far as the human world is concerned, you two don’t exist.”
The trap snaps shut.
Six armed men, one door, two windows. I calculate odds, trajectories, force required.
"You don't understand," I try, backing toward the window, dropping the pretense. They won’t believe a word I say, but that’s not the point. I’m trying desperately to buy time. "They're not what you think. You're killing innocent—"
"There it is," Donovan says softly. "Confirmation."
My back hits the wall. The stranger pulls a pistol, silver gleaming in the barrel. "Show us what you really are."
Time slows, options narrowing.
Fight: six armed men—I’ll likely die, Sera left unprotected.
Run: might escape, warn the pack,find Sera.
Decision made in a heartbeat.
I drive my elbow backward, shattering the window. Glass explodes outward as I dive through the opening, hitting the ground rolling. Gunshots crack behind me, bullets splintering wood where I stood moments before.
I sprint for the treeline, enhanced speed my only advantage. More shots, closer. Pain blazes across my side—a graze, not a direct hit. Keep moving. Keep moving.
Get to Sera.
The forest swallows me, branches whipping my face as I tear through underbrush. Behind me, voices shout, engines roar to life. They'll follow, but I have minutes. Maybe less.
I cut east through dense woods, pushing my body beyond human limits now that concealment doesn't matter. My wolf strength surges through muscles, driving me faster despite the burning in my side.
One thought consumes me as I run: her.
The realization crashes through defenses I've maintained for weeks. She matters. Not the mission, not revenge, not even the pack. Sera, with her stubborn compassion and infuriating idealism. The woman who challenges everything I believe, yet somehow became my anchor in a world of shifting shadows.
I need to tell her tonight—I need to tell her and hold her and never let her go again. No more pretending this is temporary or unwanted. The lottery wasn't a mistake—it was the universe's darkest joke that we'd find each other through such randomness, that I'd fight it so hard only to discover she's become essential to my future.
Blood seeps through my shirt, but I don't slow. The pain is nothing compared to the fear driving me forward. Three miles disappear beneath my feet, lungs burning, heart hammering against ribs.
