Page 1 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)

Sweat trickles down my spine as I heave another shattered beam into the pile of debris.

A small residential area on the edge of Silvercreek stands wounded around me, its bones exposed to the summer sky through gaping holes in the roof.

Bullet holes pockmark the walls like a disease.

Broken glass glitters on the floor, catching sunlight in dangerous constellations.

The hunters didn’t destroy the heart of our town, but they left their mark.

Two weeks since the attack, and the scent of gunpowder still haunts the air, mingling with sawdust and the metallic tang of blood that no amount of cleaning seems to erase.

My wolf stirs beneath my skin, restless and vigilant.

He doesn't believe we're safe yet. Neither do I. No one died, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t come perilously close.

“James, hand me that nail gun,” Nic calls from where he's reinforcing a load-bearing wall. Our Alpha hasn't slept more than three hours a night since the League for Humanity stormed our territory. The attack transformed him—hardened the friendly, diplomatic leader into something sharper, more dangerous. I barely recognize my best friend in the hollow-eyed man barking orders and obsessively checking perimeter reports. I know it’s temporary—when he’s stressed, he gets like this. But it’s still painful to watch.

I toss him the tool and return to clearing debris, my muscles burning pleasantly with the effort. Physical labor is the only thing keeping me sane.

But I have other responsibilities now, too.

“I'm taking a break,” I announce to no one in particular. “Going to check on Luna.”

Nic nods without looking up—he’s been spending more time with her than anyone else when he can get away from his duties—and I slip out the side door into the blinding afternoon sunlight.

Silvercreek sprawls before me, a small town tucked into the embrace of a thick forest that our enemies have rarely, in our lengthy history, ever penetrated.

From here, it looks almost normal—picturesque even—if you ignore the increased patrols and the way everyone moves with wary purpose, eyes scanning constantly for threats.

The makeshift medical center has been established in the town hall, the only building large enough to accommodate the dozen wounded packmates still requiring care.

The sharp astringent scent of antiseptic hits me before I even open the door, making my wolf recoil.

He hates hospitals, medical centers—anywhere that smells of sickness and chemicals.

I force him down and push through the double doors.

Inside, organized chaos reigns. A doctor whose name I don’t remember moves between beds with efficient precision, her nurse struggling to keep pace.

At the far end, a supply station has been established, and I freeze mid-step when I recognize the woman organizing bandages and medications. Ruby Mulligan—Luna's best friend.

The outcast, a voice whispers in the back of my mind. Just like Luna was.

She hasn't noticed me yet, and I find myself watching her unexpected presence here.

Ruby moves with quiet efficiency, her hands quick and sure as she sorts supplies.

Her dark hair is pulled back in a messy bun, exposing the elegant curve of her neck.

She looks tired—dark shadows bruise the skin beneath her eyes—but determined, consulting a clipboard before rearranging several bottles on the shelf.

Casual, somewhat worn clothes hug her ample curves. She looks raw, exhausted.

I've known Ruby peripherally for years—impossible not to in a pack the size of Silvercreek—but we've rarely spoken directly. She’s existed in my awareness as Luna's strange friend, the one who runs the bookshop, the one who can't shift, the one whose mother was a witch like mine was.

The outcast who somehow managed to remain despite the pack's collective cold shoulder, even as that cold shoulder triggered my own sister to vanish for years.

Something uncomfortable squirms in my gut at the thought.

She looks up suddenly, as if sensing my scrutiny, and our eyes lock across the room. For a suspended moment, neither of us moves. Her eyes are amber, almost wolf-like despite her inability to shift, and they widen slightly in recognition before her expression shutters.

I approach hesitantly, my boots squeaking against the polished floor. “Have you seen Luna?”

Ruby tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear, revealing a small crescent moon tattoo on her wrist I've never noticed before. “She's resting. Dr. Foster gave her something for the headaches about an hour ago.”

Her voice is lower than I expected, with a slight huskiness that catches me off guard. I clear my throat. “How is she doing? Really?”

Something softens in Ruby's expression, and I realize with sudden clarity that she loves my sister as much as I do. In this, at least, we're united.

“Better. The dizziness is less frequent, but she's still having trouble with bright lights.” She hesitates, then adds, “I've been making her a tincture that seems to help with the pain. She’d been showing me her salves and herbs since she came back. I’ll never be as good at it as Luna, but—well.”

I nod, unsure how to respond to this unexpected kindness.

“Thank you,” I finally manage. “For helping her. For... all this.” I gesture at the supply station.

Ruby's lips quirk in a not-quite smile. “Everyone's helping where they can.”

“Still. I didn't expect—” I stop, realizing too late how the words sound.

“Didn't expect the pack reject to pitch in?” The words are sharp, but her tone is resigned rather than angry.

“That's not what I meant.” But wasn't it? The uncomfortable feeling intensifies.

Ruby shrugs, returning to her clipboard. “Luna's in the back room. She'll probably sleep for another hour, but you can sit with her if you want.”

Dismissed, I nod awkwardly and head toward the door she indicated. Something makes me pause and look back. “Will you be here later? I can bring coffee when I come back to check on her.”

Surprise flickers across Ruby's face, quickly masked.

“I'm here until eight.” A pause. “Black, two sugars.”

I find myself smiling for the first time in days.

“Black, two sugars,” I repeat, committing it to memory like it matters.

For some reason, it does.

***

The weeks blur together. Rebuilding. Patrolling. Pack meetings that stretch into the night as we fortify boundaries and hunt for any remaining League sympathizers. But through it all, one constant emerges—evenings at Mystic Page, Ruby's bookshop.

For some reason, I just can’t stop returning to her.

Tonight, I've brought dinner—containers of stew from the pack house kitchen—and we sit among the shelves after closing, talking as if we've been friends for years instead of whatever this new, fragile thing is between us.

“Do you ever think about it?” she asks suddenly, setting down her spoon.

“About what?”

“How things were.” She looks at her hands. “How things still are, I guess. The people here might like Luna now, but they’re never going to accept me. I made my peace with that a long time ago.”

Shame burns through me. “I should have...” But I trail off. The words feel inadequate against years of silent complicity.

Ruby’s eyes flash. She looks up at me, something flat and hard in her gaze. “I don’t need your defense.”

“I know.” I clear my throat. “Still.”

“Why didn't you?” The question holds no accusation, only genuine curiosity. “Defend me, I mean. You watched the people here bully me right alongside your sister. You didn’t do anything. Me, I’d understand, but Luna?”

I stare at the books surrounding us, searching for honesty. “Because it was easier not to. Because I didn't want to be different.” I meet her eyes. “My mother was a witch, too. But I got my Shift. It made things safer for me.”

The admission hangs between us, raw and vulnerable.

Ruby studies me, her amber eyes unreadable in the soft lamplight. “And now? Would you defend me now, James?”

I’m not sure what to say to that. I wish I could give her the answer she clearly wants. But I refuse to lie to her. It’s the line I won’t cross.

My own cowardice won’t change that.

Just as Ruby’s face begins to fall, her street’s massive orange tabby—Maggie—chooses that moment to leap onto the table between us, knocking over an empty teacup in her imperial quest for attention. I laugh, scratching behind her ears as she purrs like a small engine.

“She's enormous,” I say, watching as the cat stretches luxuriously under my touch. “The fattest thing I've ever seen.”

“She's very sensitive about her weight,” Ruby mock-whispers, her eyes dancing with amusement, though there’s still a woundedness there that tells me the conversation hasn’t been forgotten. “I've tried diets, but she just steals food from the café next door.”

Maggie flops onto her side, exposing a vast expanse of orange belly in shameless demand for scritches. When I oblige, she catches my hand in her paws, gentle but insistent.

“She likes you,” Ruby says softly, watching us. “She’s usually wary of strangers.”

“I'm honored,” I reply, equally soft.

Our eyes meet over the purring cat, and something shifts in the air between us—a tension that wasn't there before, electric and undeniable. My wolf presses against my skin, suddenly alert and intensely interested.

Without conscious thought, I find myself leaning toward her, watching as her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting in surprise. The moment stretches, fragile and perfect, until I close the final distance and press my mouth to hers.

The kiss is gentle at first, tentative—until she responds with unexpected hunger, her hand coming up to curve around the back of my neck. Heat explodes through me, my wolf howling in triumphant approval as I deepen the kiss, tasting cinnamon tea and something uniquely Ruby.

Maggie yowls indignantly as we displace her, leaping to the floor with offended dignity. The interruption breaks the spell, and we pull apart, both breathing heavily.

Ruby looks stunned, her lips slightly swollen, a flush spreading across her cheeks. I imagine I look equally thunderstruck.

“That was...” she begins.

“Unexpected,” I finish, though it's a lie. Some part of me has been wanting this since that first day in the medical bay, maybe even before.

“Was it?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

I shake my head slowly. “No. Not really.”

We stare at each other, balanced on the edge of something new and terrifying and exhilarating. I reach for her hand across the table, threading our fingers together. Her skin is soft against mine, her pulse racing as fast as my own.

“I should go,” I say reluctantly, though everything in me rebels against the idea. “Early patrol tomorrow.”

Ruby nods, but neither of us moves to break the contact of our joined hands.

“Tomorrow?” I ask, the single word containing a universe of questions.

Her smile unfurls slowly, like a flower opening to the sun. “Tomorrow,” she agrees.

As I walk home through the quiet streets of Silvercreek, my lips still tingling from her kiss, I can't suppress the smile that seems permanently etched on my face. For the first time since the attack, the future feels like something to look forward to rather than something to dread.

I have no way of knowing that by this time tomorrow, everything will have fallen apart.