Page 86 of Fat Arranged Mate
Epilogue - Dylan
Three months have passed since the day we stood beneath the twisted arch and chose each other.
Autumn paints Silvercreek in fiery colors, the forest transforming just as we have—gradually, inevitably, beautifully. I lean against the fence surrounding our training grounds, watching Sera lead a self-defense class for younger pack members. Six participants mirror her movements as she demonstrates how to break a hold without causing permanent harm.
"Remember," she calls out, voice clear and confident, "the goal isn't to hurt your attacker. It's to create space to escape."
One of the younger wolves—a former Cheslem survivor—raises her hand. "But what if they deserve to be hurt?"
Sera pauses, considering the question with the seriousness it deserves. "That's for justice to decide, not us in the moment. Our job is to survive, to get home safely."
Her eyes find mine across the yard, a small smile playing at her lips when she catches me watching. Three months ago, she might have preached total pacifism. Now she teaches practical defense balanced with restraint—not because I convinced her, but because she found her own middle path.
She continues the lesson, moving with a grace that belies her recent recovery. The silver poisoning left no lasting physical effects, though nightmares still visit occasionally. On those nights, I hold her until the trembling stops, until her breathing steadies against my chest.
My own journey mirrors hers in reverse. I still serve on Silvercreek's security team, but my focus has shifted fromretaliation to prevention. Three times now, I've met with neighboring human communities, building relationships based on understanding rather than fear. Last week, I even spoke at a town council meeting, the first shifter to publicly address Pinecrest since the hunters' operation collapsed.
Progress comes slowly, but it comes.
Our cabin sits on Silvercreek's eastern boundary—close enough for pack connection, removed enough for the privacy we both value. We've made it ours in ways that reflect our shared journey. The exterior bristles with security measures I insisted upon, the interior houses Sera's expanding collection of healing herbs and medical texts. Strength protecting gentleness. Protection enabling healing.
The training session concludes as evening approaches. Sera dismisses her students with individual feedback for each, taking time with the Cheslem survivor who asked about hurting attackers. I can't hear their conversation, but I see the girl's posture relax, see her nod with newfound understanding.
That's Sera's gift—meeting others exactly where they are, offering what they need rather than what she wants to give.
She walks toward me as twilight softens the forest edges, hair coming loose from its practical braid, cheeks flushed with exertion. She's gained weight since our undercover days—healthy curves replacing the almost gaunt frame that spoke of survival rather than thriving.
"Spying on my class?" she teases, reaching the fence.
"Admiring the teacher," I correct, pulling her against me. "You're good with them."
"They're teaching me as much as I'm teaching them." She stretches up to kiss me briefly. "Ready to head home?"
Home. The word still carries wonder for both of us.
We walk the forest path hand in hand, fallen leaves crunching beneath our boots. Around us, Silvercreek prepares for night—pack members returning from patrols, evening meals beginning in scattered cabins, Luna's magic lights igniting along main pathways.
Our cabin appears through the trees, warm light spilling from windows. The sight still catches in my chest sometimes—this tangible proof that we've built something lasting from chaos.
We settle on the porch swing I built last month, Sera fitting perfectly against my side, her head resting on my shoulder. Below us, the valley stretches toward distant mountains, the first stars appearing in the darkening sky.
"I visited the medical bay today," Sera says after a comfortable silence, her voice carefully neutral.
My heart stutters. "Everything okay?"
She shifts to look up at me, eyes holding something new—vulnerability mixed with wonder. "They confirmed what I suspected last week. I'm pregnant."
The world stops, narrows to her face in the gathering darkness, to the impossible words hanging between us.
"Pregnant," I repeat, the word foreign yet perfect on my tongue.
She nods, watching me carefully. "It's early. Just six weeks. But..." She takes my hand, placing it over her stomach. "She's there."
"She?" My voice cracks embarrassingly.
Sera smiles. "Just a feeling."
Something primal and protective surges through me—not the destructive rage I once channeled, but a fierce, constructive love that wants to build rather than destroy. My hand splays protectively over Sera's still-flat stomach, imagining the miracle growing beneath.
