Page 66 of Plus-Size Bullied Mate

The newness about our situation still feels tender and fragile, like we both need to handle it with gentle hands. As far as I can tell, Hunter is doing exactly that.

What isn’t new is the pack.

I felt it yesterday when I walked through town to see some of the damage myself, and to check in on Brooke and her family.

In some ways, I think that night helped. When I saw other wolves, they didn’t look at me with the same disdain I navigated my whole life. Instead, most seemed curious, as if they wanted to know more about what happened, or even more about me as a person, rather than as a concept or as the being who now stands next to their alpha.

They weren’t prepared to shower me in love and affection, but curiosity is easier to handle than open disgust. At the very least, it has brought me a flicker of hope that’s entirely new to me.

A few others still look at me the same way Hunter’s mother does, like she still hasn’t decided what I’m worth yet, regardless of what I mean to her son.

Many people knew Daniel Reed well. They loved him, and some of them will most likely look at me for the rest of my life like a byproduct of two despicable individuals.

I don’t know if that will ever be resolved, and as much as it bothers me not to know, I can’t spend the rest of my life worrying about it.

I’m Hunter’s mate, whether they like it or not, and with this faded mark on my neck, everyone will know just how far that attachment goes.

Luna.

Hearing that title in reference to me still hits me with a strange feeling I haven’t learned to contend with. It implies that I belong here, and it’s something I’ve earned, not that I was born into it. For the most part, it still feels and sounds foreign, but given how intense Hunter has been about our connection, I don’t feel the need to doubt it.

Instead, I have to learn how to embrace it, and not feel unsettled when someone calls me it.

Taking a deep breath, I follow the trail west and watch as the trees gently sway, allowing me to let go of everything else that I don’t need.

The trail opens up along the cliffside, as the tree line splits open to reveal the drop and the view. Right beneath me is a dense canopy of trees, and just beyond is the coastline. From here, the wind picks up a bit, forcing my hair back while it washes over me.

Standing at the edge, I breathe and look out over the woods Hunter calls his, and in a complicated way, are also mine. That thought stirs something in me, and now more than ever, I feel the responsibility of my role settling in.

Then I feel it before I hear it.

The air changes just enough for me to notice, the birds go quiet, and a wave of silence moves through the forest as if something is wrong.

My body registers it with an immediate, cold alertness, and every sense sharpens at once. The hair along my arms stands up before my conscious mind has fully processed what it’s responding to.

Then they come out through the trees, eyes focused completely on me.

Three wolves step out, fanned just enough to make me feel surrounded. They position themselves deliberately, as if they’ve done this before, covering the trail back down and closing the space between the rest of the pack and me.

Instinctively, I want to take a step back to put as much distance between us, but if I did, I would fall right over the cliff.

So I stand where I am, frozen while I glance between them and take in their scents.

Wraith Peak.

Hayes steps through last, hands in his pockets, while he looks me over.

I would say he feels like he did that night he tried to drag me back to his territory, but that wouldn’t be the full truth. Instead, his presence feels even more oppressive, like it’s pressing down on me and I don’t have anywhere to go. His eyes seem even darker than before, and his expression is set more seriously than it once was.

Everything about him feels cold, and I already know he’s still clinging to what happened that night.

Hayes looks at me with mild interest, like he found exactly what he was hoping for. He hums before his voice reaches me.

“Tessa Collins…” he says, and makes my name sound like mockery. His lips pull in dark amusement. “Wait, it’s Tessa Reed now. That’s right… the big bad alpha scooped you up and brought you into his bed. Let me guess, he already knocked you up, didn’t he?”

The other wolves chuckle to themselves, but I don’t say anything.

Every instinct I have tells me to make myself small and to find the submissive angle that will make the situation easier by making myself less. I have how many years of practice doing this, and I feel it tugging at me like an old habit.