Page 46 of Fat Enemy Mate

It isn't a decision; my body just reacts. I run as fast as I can the way I came toward the clinic, but it’s no use; they’re far too fast. When they’re almost on me, I spin around and scream. "STOP."

It comes out hard. I feel it leave me the way it left me in the garden, only sharper, aimed now right at them, and I feel the word tear from my chest just like it did at the camp when it floored the wolves.

Nothing happens.

Nothing at all.

The talismans.

I keep running, but there’s no more path. One reaches for me and grabs my shirt. I twist and turn, elbowing him in the face the way my father taught me, but another hits me from the side. I go down hard on the path. My knees' skin hits the gravel, and my palm tears, and the third one is on me before I've even finished falling, his weight across my back, his hand over my mouth.

"You’re magic won’t work this time," he snarls in my ear. "Not while we're wearing these."

I scream into his hand and struggle to get free. He’s not taking me like this. I kick him hard where it hurts and struggle from under him, but one of them grabs me by the neck and slams me hard into the ground. I see stars and feel nausea welling in my throat. My last coherent thought is that Wilf doesn’t even know I’m here, and then everything goes dark.

Chapter 21 - Wilf

The pre-training meeting for the new recruits runs over by twenty minutes, which is what happens when you put Connor in a room and someone starts asking questions about how the southern line was run last summer. I don’t usually come to these things, but as I’m here anyway, it made sense for me to sit in because the recruits will be running their first outer sweeps with me on the ridge next month, and if they're going to be my responsibility on those runs with more rogues causing problems, I’d better know their faces first.

We're in the small office we usually use for tactical meetings at the back of the hall. Connor is at the head of the long table running through the new wards' layout. Nick's leaning on the radiator with a coffee, listening more than talking. Bryan is beside Connor, handing out the printed maps, which he loves because it lets him add a bit of commentary every time. Ethan's on the other side of the room, arms folded, sizing up the recruits. I think Connor’s earmarking him to head up his own training soon, and Caleb is next to me, nursing his third coffee of the morning, the clearest indicator of how well his new baby is sleeping.

It’s when the meeting begins wrapping up, and Nick and Connor are chatting through some final details with the recruits, that Bryan settles into the chair near and gives me a sideways look that I’ve known him well enough to read as trouble.

"So," Bryan says. "Wilf."

"What," I reply.

"How's that mate of yours doing?"

"She's not my mate, Bryan," I tell him.

"Right, right," Bryan says, easy. "The woman living in your house, then. How's she doing?"

"She's at lunch with Skylar and Fern," I tell him, keeping my voice even.

"He's been at this all week," Connor says, walking over. "Working up to it."

"I’m just being observant," Bryan protests, laughing.

"Wilf," Caleb says. He hasn't spoken since the meeting started, but looks me dead in the eye when he says. "She is your mate."

"She's not," I protest because my wolf would know; it would feel clearer than this.

"I'm not just saying it to make Bryan feel better," he says. "I've seen you two together, and anytime someone even mentions her name, it’s like you switch on. Remember, I didn’t think Dina was my mate, and look where denial got me."

"He's right," Ethan chips in, surprising me. He's looking at me straight. "Don't pretend, Wilf."

I’m about to tell them both to get lost, but I find myself pausing, the denial getting stuck in my throat. Perhaps because they clearly wouldn’t believe it anyway, but Connor gets there first.

"Guys, leave him alone," Connor says and then adds, “he’ll admit it when he’s ready.”

That has the whole group erupt in laughter, and someone claps me on the back. I know they mean well, but my wolf is pacing, not in anger, just straight up confusion. I’m about to say something back when Connor’s phone starts ringing, and he answers it, still laughing, still pleased with himself.

He starts talking, but his laughter dies almost immediately.

"Fern," he says.

The room shifts, and we all feel it at the same time. Everything about the men in the room shifts. We can hear her on the other end. Not the words. The pitch. The pitch you get from someone who has just run somewhere fast and is trying to talk into a phone while still getting her breath. Connor's listening, and his face goes briefly white and deadly still.