Page 80 of Fat Arranged Mate
"I paid attention."To you,I don't add.Even when I pretended not to.
Outside, engines rumble in the distance. Hunter vehicles moving along forest roads. The operation has begun. I pause, listening to their trajectory—they're heading west, toward Silvercreek. Away from us.
Still, I secure the cabin—checking locks, drawing curtains, positioning myself between the door and Sera. The wolf in me stands vigilant while my hands continue their gentle work.
Hours pass. The fever peaks, breaks, rises again. I bathe her face with cool cloths, coax water between her lips, whisper reassurances I'm not sure she hears. My vigil never wavers.
Through one window, I glimpse more vehicles passing on the distant road. My pack faces danger without me. The knowledge should tear me apart. Instead, I feel only certainty in my choice.
When her eyes open again near sunset, clarity has returned to them. The silver lines have receded, her skin cooler beneath my touch.
"You're still here," she whispers, wonder in her voice.
"Always will be," I promise, taking her hand in mine.
"The pack—"
"I couldn't leave you," I confess. "Not even for them."
Her eyes fill with understanding, with a fragile emotion I'm only now learning to name. "That's not the Dylan I met two months ago."
"He didn't know what mattered then," I say, squeezing her hand gently. "I do now."
Gunshots echo in the far distance—the battle we're missing. I don't flinch, don't waver. Whatever happens beyond these walls, my place is here.
Sera shifts, making room beside her on the narrow bed. "Hold me?"
I slide in beside her, gathering her against my chest where she fits perfectly, as if designed to rest there. Her heartbeat steadies against mine, the fever finally breaking for good.
Tomorrow brings uncertainty. The pack's fate. Hunters still searching. A future neither of us planned.
But tonight, I hold my world in my arms and know, for the first time in years, that I've made the right choice.
Chapter 29 - Sera
Silver burns through my veins like liquid fire, a familiar agony. In my fevered dreams, I'm back at Cheslem, strapped to a metal table while faceless figures inject poison into my blood.
"For your own good," they whisper as I scream. "This will make you strong for the pack.”
I always endured alone, huddled in dark corners, biting my arm to muffle cries that would mark me as weak. Prey.
Now, I drift toward consciousness to find strong arms cradling me. Dylan's scent—pine and earth and safety—surrounds me. His voice anchors me to reality, a constant murmur of reassurance.
"I've got you," he whispers, cool cloth against my burning skin. "Stay with me, Sera."
The contrast nearly breaks me. Tenderness where there was only cruelty. Protection where there was abandonment.
By sunset, the fever finally releases its grip. I open my eyes to find Dylan watching me, his face etched with relief and exhaustion. He hasn't slept, hasn't left my side.
"Hey," I whisper, voice rough.
His smile transforms his entire face. "Hey yourself. Welcome back."
I try to sit up, muscles protesting. "The pack—"
"Nothing we can do now except recover," he says, supporting me with gentle hands. "Then we go help clean up the mess."
The certainty in his voice soothes something ragged inside me. We'll face whatever comes together.
