Fat Arranged Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #4)

Chapter 1 - Sera

The scent of blood hits me first—metallic and sharp—before I register the young wolf's whimpers and remember where I am.

"You're going to be fine, Liam," I say, keeping my voice steady as I examine the deep gash running along his forearm. The training injury looks worse than it is, but it still requires careful cleaning. "This might sting a bit."

He nods bravely, though his eyes—amber flecked with gold, typical of this pack’s wolves—betray his fear. At fourteen, he's trying hard not to show weakness, especially not to someone like me. An outsider. A former Cheslem.

"What happened?" I ask, gently dabbing antiseptic along the wound edges. The medical center is quiet this afternoon, sunlight streaming through high windows onto shelves of neatly labeled herbs and medicines.

Liam winces. "Climbing exercise with the junior patrol. My hand slipped on the rock face."

"And your shift didn't trigger?" It's unusual. Pain typically activates our healing abilities.

His cheeks flush. "I... I've been having trouble with controlled shifts. Sometimes it just won’t come."

Ah. That explains it. Adolescent wolves often struggle with the balance between human and wolf forms. I remember how it feels—that internal tug-of-war, the frustration of your body refusing to obey your mind.

"That's completely normal," I assure him, reaching for suture materials. "Your body's changing, and your wolf is getting stronger. It takes time for everything to sync up."

As I work, my fingers move with practiced precision. Three months at Silvercreek's medical center has honed skills I'd only begun developing with my grandmother before—

A flash: dark walls, the smell of corruption, hands restraining me as Matthias howls commands, my grandmother's herbs burned in front of me, punishment for healing instead of hurting—

I blink hard, forcing the memory away. Not now.

"You're really good at this," Liam says, watching as I tie off the last suture.

I smile, grateful for the distraction. "Thanks. Nearly done. Just need to wrap it and you'll be set."

"Will it scar?" There's a hint of hope in his voice that makes me laugh.

"Sorry to disappoint, but probably not. Werewolf healing, remember? Once your shift stabilizes, this will fade completely."

His face falls slightly, and I bite back another laugh. Teenage boys and their battle scars—some things are universal across packs.

I'm finishing the bandage when a sound from outside catches my attention. Voices near the side window, not quite whispered.

"—shouldn't even be here. Taking one of our healing positions when we barely know what she did in that corrupted pack—"

"I heard she's gained like fifteen pounds since coming here. Eating our food, getting fat on our supplies—"

"At least the other ex-Cheslems have useful skills. What good is a half-trained healer who can barely shift?"

My hands freeze momentarily, heat rising to my cheeks. I force myself to continue wrapping Liam's bandage, pretending I haven't heard. The boy is watching me closely, his expression uncomfortable. He heard too.

I swallow hard, focusing on securing the bandage with medical tape.

My body feels suddenly too large, too visible.

Since coming to Silvercreek, I've gained weight—a natural consequence of regular meals and safety after years of intermittent famine and abuse.

My curves, already ample before, have become more pronounced.

My wolf, always smaller and weaker than most, hasn't shifted fully in weeks.

The voices continue, oblivious or uncaring that I can hear them.

"—lottery tomorrow. Can you imagine if she gets paired with someone important? Dylan deserves better than some Cheslem castoff—"

"I heard Alpha Nic is only keeping them around because of what happened with the human hunters. Once that's settled—"

A new voice cuts through the gossip, sharp and authoritative.

"If you two have nothing better to do than spread vicious rumors, I'm sure Thomas could use help reinforcing the northern perimeter fence. In the rain. For the next twelve hours."

Ruby. The familiar voice of my defender makes my shoulders relax slightly. I hear shuffling and hasty apologies before footsteps retreat quickly.

I clear my throat, looking down at Liam.

"All done. Try to keep it dry for twenty-four hours, then you can remove the bandage."

He nods, sliding off the examination table.

"Thanks, Sera." He hesitates by the door, then adds quietly, "Most of us are glad you're here."

The simple kindness catches me off guard. "Thank you, sweetheart. Be careful on those rocks next time."

After he leaves, I busy myself cleaning up, wiping down surfaces with perhaps more force than necessary. The antiseptic smell burns my nostrils, a familiar bite in my sinuses, but it's grounding. Better than thinking about what I just heard.

The door opens, bringing a rush of forest-scented air and Ruby's familiar presence. My first real friend in Silvercreek, aside from Caleb and the other former Cheslems.

"Those idiots," Ruby says without preamble. "I swear, some people have nothing better to do than run their mouths."

I keep my back turned, organizing supplies. "I didn't hear anything."

"Right." Ruby leans against the counter, her red hair pulled back in a short, stubby braid. She even manages to make that look elegant. "You shouldn't listen to them, Sera."

"Hard not to when they're right outside the window." I close the cabinet, finally turning to face her. "It's fine. I'm used to it. It’s not like my old pack didn’t say far worse."

Ruby's eyes narrow. "It's not fine. You saved lives during the Cheslem conflict. You've been treating pack members for months. You belong here as much as anyone."

I shrug, uncomfortable with her defense. "It's only been three months. Trust takes time."

"Trust has nothing to do with judgment and prejudice." Ruby's head tilts to the side, eyes sharp and perceptive as they slide up and down me. "I dealt with similar garbage before mating with James. Some people just fear what they don't understand."

"And what don't they understand about me?" I try to keep my tone light, but bitterness seeps through. "That I was born into a corrupted pack? That I survived the only way I could? That I'm grateful every day just to be alive and safe?"

The words hang between us, heavier than I intended. Ruby doesn't flinch.

"They don't understand strength when they see it," she says simply. "Their loss."

I busy myself washing my hands, letting the cool water soothe my heated skin. "How are you feeling?”

She allows the subject change, shrugging. "No morning sickness yet, though it’s early days. Luna told me she barely got any, but I think she’s just magic or something. I keep waiting to… feel it. I don’t know. James is already convinced it’s a girl, and we’ve only known a week.”

"And what do you think?"

Ruby smiles, serene and mysterious. "I think my child will be exactly who they're meant to be."

I dry my hands, trying to match her smile. "Wise words from Mother Ruby."

"I’m known for my wisdom," she says, settling into the chair by my desk. "By the way, Luna asked me to remind you about tomorrow."

My stomach tightens. "What's tomorrow?"

Ruby gives me a serene look that says she knows I'm playing dumb. "The lottery. Dylan Zaleska's matching ceremony."

"Right. That." I turn away, reorganizing items that don't need reorganizing. "I wasn't planning to attend."

"It's mandatory for all eligible females, Sera. Pack tradition."

I close my eyes briefly, exhaling slowly. "I'm barely pack. Surely that exempts me?"

"Nice try. All unmated females over twenty and under thirty must participate. Your absence,” she grimaces in sympathy—“will definitely be noted.”

The lottery. Silvercreek's traditional mate-matching ceremony, where one male is paired with a randomly selected female.

No trials like the old days, just names drawn and fate decided.

I've heard the stories of how Ruby and Luna found their mates this way, how their initial reluctance transformed into true bonds.

"My name won't be drawn anyway," I say with forced confidence. "There are at least thirty-five eligible females in Silvercreek now, with the packs merging. The odds are… minimal."

"That's what I thought," Ruby says dryly. "Look how that turned out."

I finally turn to face her fully. "Even if by some cosmic joke my name was drawn, it would be a disaster. Dylan? Really? The man practically growls when I enter a room."

Just thinking his name makes my pulse quicken with irritation.

Tall, perpetually scowling, with shoulders broad enough to block doorways and eyes cold as winter frost. The pack's most dedicated enforcer, constantly pushing for harsher security measures, stricter borders, less forgiveness for transgressions. Everything I stand against. In another life, I suspect he must have been some kind of warmonger, and something of it stuck—he’s perpetually angry, unwilling to listen to reason. The man drives me mad.

"He doesn't growl," Ruby says, amusement coloring her voice. "He... intensely disagrees with your perspective on pack defense."

"He called my ideas 'suicidal pacifist garbage' at the last pack meeting." The memory still stings. "To my face. In front of everyone."

"After you called his security proposals 'paranoid warmongering’. To his face. In front of everyone."

I flush. "That was different. He was advocating for armed patrols at the borders—the borders with people. Against humans who haven't done anything threatening."

"Sera," Ruby says softly. "Some of us remember what happened before. The League for Humanity’s attack nearly destroyed us."

The weight of history I wasn't present for hangs in the air.

I know the stories—how human extremists infiltrated Silvercreek, how they killed several pack members, people I never knew and never hear about, the wound a bit too fresh.

It explains his hatred, but doesn't justify the extent of his rage.

He might think he knows what’s necessary, but if there’s one thing Dylan and his pack don’t have experience with, it’s what happens when a pack goes crazy with paranoia and desperation and, eventually, bloodlust.

That knowledge is my burden alone.

"Violence only creates more violence," I say quietly. "I've seen where that path leads."

Ruby's expression softens. "I know you have. And your perspective is valuable, especially now. But you need to understand—Dylan… people lost a lot. Innocent people. Everyone copes in the best way they can. You’re both similar, in some ways, you know. You both coped with what you went through by…"

She trails off, though I know she’s thinking, burying yourselves in work.

"That doesn't give him the right to treat every human as an enemy," I counter firmly.

"Just come tomorrow," Ruby says, rising slowly from the chair, one hand supporting her lower back. "Stand in the circle, listen to the ceremony, and then go back to avoiding Dylan in the dining hall. Your name probably won't be called anyway."

"Fine," I concede, if only to end the conversation. "But if the universe plays a cruel joke and pairs me with Silvercreek's angriest wolf, I'm blaming you."

Ruby laughs, heading for the door. "Deal. Oh, and Sera? Ignore those idiots outside. Your body is perfect exactly as it is."

After she leaves, I move to the small mirror hanging by the supply cabinet.

I rarely look at myself these days, focusing instead on work, on healing, on forgetting.

The woman staring back at me seems both familiar and strange—fuller cheeks, softer jawline, curves straining slightly against a simple blue sweater.

My honey-blonde hair has grown longer, falling past my shoulders now.

The dark circles that were permanent fixtures under my eyes have faded.

I look healthier. Stronger. But I can't help running my hands over the new softness at my waist, the roundness of my hips that wasn't there before.

In Cheslem, being physically small was an advantage—less threatening, easier to overlook when Matthias was in one of his rages.

Here, my body is expanding, taking up space, announcing its presence.

I turn away from the mirror, gathering my medical bag.

The afternoon light is fading, and I should head to my small cabin on the eastern edge of pack territory.

The location is no accident—as far from the main pack house as possible while still being within the protective boundaries.

Close enough to reach the medical center quickly if needed, far enough to avoid most casual interactions.

Outside, Silvercreek hums with evening activity.

Wolves returning from patrol, families gathering for dinner, young ones being called in from play.

The scent of pine and woodsmoke fills the air, along with the aroma of cooking meat and the distinctive musk of the pack.

It should feel like home. Some days it almost does.

I keep my head down as I walk, avoiding eye contact, taking the path that skirts the main gathering areas. Three months, and I still feel like an imposter, waiting for someone to realize I don't belong and send me away. Or worse—send me back.

The smell of corruption, dark magic crackling along my skin, Matthias's eyes gleaming with madness as he forces submission from his pack—

I stumble slightly, shaking off the memory. That life is over. Matthias is contained; his power broken. The corruption cleansed from those who didn't choose it willingly. I am safe.

So why does tomorrow's lottery fill me with such dread?

As I reach my cabin, the answer whispers through my mind, unbidden and unwelcome.

Because deep down, beneath all the arguments and ideological differences, there's something about Dylan Zaleska that frightens me in an entirely different way.

Something that makes my wolf stir restlessly whenever he's near.

Something I refuse to name or acknowledge.

Something that feels dangerously like recognition.

I close my cabin door firmly behind me, as if that could shut out the thought. Tomorrow will come regardless of my fears. My name won't be drawn—the odds are firmly in my favor. And even if the universe does play its cruelest joke, surely Dylan would reject the match immediately.

Surely that’s something he can do, right?

After all, what could be worse for Silvercreek's newest, fiercest defender than being paired with a pacifist who can barely shift, who once belonged to their greatest enemy, who stands against everything he believes in?

The answer is nothing. And that knowledge should be comforting.

Instead, as night falls and I prepare for sleep, it feels strangely, inexplicably, like loss.