Page 83 of Fat Arranged Mate
Our eyes meet across the battlefield, communication flowing between us without words. She points to a hunter aiming at Connor's exposed back. I nod, already moving.
I tackle the hunter mid-shot, his bullet flying harmlessly into the canopy. We roll, his combat training evident in the counter-moves he attempts. But I've been fighting since before he was born, my wolf strength giving me edges no human can match.
He goes limp beneath me, unconscious but breathing.
"Dylan!" Nic's voice carries across the clearing. "Northeast quadrant!"
I look up to see Donovan and three others making a strategic retreat, heading for vehicles hidden in the trees. Abandoning their wounded, saving themselves.
Not today.
I sprint across the clearing, leaping fallen hunters and scattered weapons. Out of nowhere, Sera appears on a parallel path, our movements synchronized without planning. We converge on the escaping group from two angles, cutting off their route.
Donovan raises his rifle, targeting Sera with cold precision.
Time slows. I won't reach him before he fires.
"Silver for monsters," he snarls.
Before he can pull the trigger, a flash of blue light sends him sprawling. Luna stands thirty yards away, hands still glowing with spent magic.
I don't waste the opportunity, tackling Donovan while Sera handles his companions with more of her medical arsenal. We work in perfect tandem—her immobilizing, me restraining.
"Zip ties," I call, and she tosses them without looking, knowing I'll catch them.
We secure the last fighters as Silvercreek wolves converge around us. The battle winds down, hunters subdued, injured tended by our medical team.
James approaches bloodied but grinning. "Thought you two were dead."
"Nearly were," I admit, clasping his forearm in greeting.
Nic joins us, already back in human form, expression grave but satisfied. "Good work. Both of you."
His eyes flick between Sera and me, noting our proximity, the easy way we operate in each other's space now. A question forms in his gaze, but he doesn't voice it.
He doesn't need to.
In the center of the clearing, as pack members secure prisoners and tend wounds, I turn to face Sera. She stands in morning light, blood and dirt streaking her face, hair wild around her shoulders. She's never looked more beautiful.
"We made it," she says softly.
"Together," I remind her.
The space between us feels charged with possibility. Before, I might have hesitated—worried about appearances, about seeming weak before the pack, about a hundred meaningless concerns.
Now, I simply reach for her.
My hands frame her face with a gentleness that belies the violence they inflicted minutes earlier. Her eyes widen slightly, realizing what I'm about to do in full view of Silvercreek.
"Dylan?" she whispers.
"I choose you," I say, loud enough for those nearby to hear. "Not because of any lottery. Because you're everything I never knew I needed."
Something beautiful breaks open in her expression. Instead of answering with words, Sera rises on her toes, pulling my face down to hers. Her lips meet mine with decisive certainty, claiming me as thoroughly as I claim her.
Whistles and cheers erupt around us. I barely hear them, lost in the miracle of Sera's touch, her taste, her unwavering presence.
When we finally separate, I keep her close, arm around her waist. The world has changed—hunters captured, Silvercreek victorious, ancient enmities momentarily balanced.
