Page 2 of Plus-Size Bullied Mate

One time, I overheard him call me pathetic when he thought I was out of earshot, or maybe it was intentional. Either way, he made it seem like my existence offended him.

And to make matters even worse, I never understood why.

I never did anything to him. Not even once.

My parents did enough damage on their own, and while I could understand why the pack might’ve felt betrayed by what they did, it had nothing to do with me. Still, I was the perfect target.

Parents pulled their children away from me at gatherings, conversations stopped when I walked into rooms, and wolves who used to tolerate me suddenly looked at me like I carried a disease they were afraid to catch.

Nobody ever said it outright, not to my face, anyway, but I heard enough.

I was the daughter of traitors, and my bloodline was surely cursed because of it. Some days, that’s what it felt like.

My jaw clenches hard enough to ache while those thoughts rear their ugly heads again.

I haven’t attended a pack gathering in almost three years, and nobody has asked me to. Nobody has even cared enough to notice.

A sudden prickle crawls down my spine, awakening that suppressed part of me all over again when I catch the scent of wolves nearby.

Going still, my instincts sharpen as I focus past the rain and the breeze.

Several scents drift through the trees north of the cabin, likely from patrols or some returning late from a hunt.

When their scents fade, I relax again, relieved to be left alone.

No one comes here unless they have to, and I’m too far from the inner territory for casual visits. That’s exactly why I chose it, since distance makes people forget you exist.

Annoyingly, I can’t fully disappear since I’m still tied to the pack regardless.

And now, Hunter’s back, which means the dynamics have been changing since he became the alpha, as it was always intended.

With an irritated huff, I quietly move toward the fireplace, kneeling to stir the dying embers with the poker.

His ceremony happened the other night, but I didn’t go. I didn’t see the point after everything.

The entire pack had gathered to celebrate their returning war hero, apparently. The former black ops operative, deadly fighter, and rightful alpha is taking his place at the head of the pack after Cole stepped down.

They probably expected me to show up and stand quietly at the back like a proper outcast who pops up occasionally just to make a reluctant appearance. But that didn’t appeal to me in the slightest.

I’d heard enough about Hunter’s return already, along with all the ways he has supposedly changed.

Apparently, years of covert operations and bloodshed turned him into exactly the kind of alpha wolves admire.

Good for him… But I want nothing to do with it, and nothing to do with him.

No matter how much people change, the memories don’t, leaving me to remember every cruel look, the cutting words, and every moment he made me feel small just because he could.

Hunter had never needed fists to hurt me, since he used precision and quiet cruelty instead.

My inner wolf stirs softly inside me, remembering him differently, and I shove that traitorous thought away immediately.

Outside, the rain begins to ease, and I stare into the flames for several long minutes before finally grabbing my coat from the hook near the door.

I need air, and the woods at night are the only place my mind ever quiets.

A light mist greets me when I step outside, and cold air brushes against my cheeks while damp earth sinks beneath my boots. The forest surrounding the cabin stretches endlessly, illuminated only by thin moonlight filtering through the cloud break and trees overhead.

Everything in me settles, including those base instincts within myself.