Page 11 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)

I hesitate for only a fraction of a second before bolting for the back door. Behind me, snarls and the sound of splintering furniture fill the cabin as James fights to buy me time.

Outside, the morning is deceptively beautiful—sunlight filtering through pine branches, dew sparkling on grass still wet from last night's rain. I sprint toward the small outbuilding that must be the garage, praying the keys are where Nic said they'd be.

I'm halfway there when a second wolf emerges from the trees to my right—larger than the first, its eyes gleaming with unnatural yellow light. The corruption is more evident in this one, black veins visible beneath patchy fur, ichor dripping from yellowed fangs.

I change direction, veering left toward the tree line. If I can reach the forest, I might be able to hide, to circle back when it's safe.

But the wolf is faster, cutting off my escape with frightening speed. It growls, the sound more mechanical than animal, vibrating with wrong magic that raises the hair on my arms.

“Another half-breed,” a voice says behind me.

I whirl to find a man standing where no one had been seconds before. Tall, painfully thin, his face a map of scars that form almost deliberate patterns across his skin. He smiles, revealing teeth filed to points.

The Cheslem Alpha. The new one, since Nic killed the last.

The corrupted wolf circles closer, its movements jerky, almost puppet-like. Through the cabin's broken window, I still hear the sounds of fighting—James against the first attacker.

“What do you want?” I ask, buying time, mind racing for any escape.

“Originally just to eliminate two Silvercreek wolves,” he says with a shrug. “Now I'm considering keeping pieces of you for my collection.”

From the cabin comes a yelp of pain that I feel echoed through the bond. James. Hurt.

The Alpha's unnatural eyes gleam. “Your mate won't survive much longer. Petra's wolves have orders to kill.”

“Why attack Silvercreek?” I demand, desperation making me reckless. “What do you gain?”

“Power. Territory.” He gestures at the wolf circling me. “And your pack members will provide excellent fuel for our final transformation.” His smile turns cruel. “Those evacuees your Alpha thinks are escaping to safety? My scouts are already tracking them.”

Rage blossoms hot and sudden in my chest. “You won't touch them.”

“I already have,” he says. “Your pack is scattered, vulnerable. And you and your mate will die here, unable to warn them of what's coming.”

He nods to the corrupted wolf. It lunges toward me, supernaturally fast.

I drop and roll, pure instinct guiding me beneath its attack. My hand closes around a fallen branch—not much of a weapon, but better than nothing.

As the wolf turns for another attack, a russet blur explodes from the cabin's back door. James, bleeding but still fighting, tackles the corrupted wolf mid-lunge.

“The Jeep!” he shouts through our bond. “Go!”

I sprint for the garage, hearing the Alpha's curse behind me. Inside, I find the ancient vehicle, keys dangling from the ignition as promised. The engine roars to life just as something heavy lands on the roof, claws scrabbling for purchase.

I floor the accelerator, crashing through the wooden garage doors rather than waiting for them to open. The impact dislodges whatever was on the roof, and in the rearview mirror, I see a third corrupted wolf tumble to the ground.

James races toward the Jeep, still in wolf form, two pursuers close behind. I swerve alongside him, throwing open the passenger door. He leaps in, immediately shifting back to human form, bloodied but alive.

“Drive!” he gasps, pulling the door closed as I accelerate away from the cabin.

In the mirror, I see the Alpha watching our escape, making no move to follow. His casual confidence is more terrifying than any pursuit.

We tear down the mountain road, the Jeep bouncing violently over ruts and potholes. Neither of us speaks until we've put several miles between us and the cabin.

“Are you hurt?” James asks finally, his voice ragged.

“No.” I keep my eyes on the treacherous road. “You are, though. I felt it.”

He touches a deep gash on his shoulder, already beginning to heal with shifter speed. “It's nothing.”

“They were waiting for us,” I say, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “They knew exactly where we were.”

“And now they're tracking the evacuees,” James adds grimly. “We need to warn Nic.”

He checks his phone.

“Still no signal.” His palm slams against the dashboard. “Dammit!”

“So we go back,” I insist, slowing as we approach a fork in the road. “We warn them in person.”

“It's too dangerous,” James argues. “You heard him. The borders are compromised.”

“All the more reason to go back!” I turn to face him. “I don’t care how the pack treated me—there are kids evacuating—”

“And we're no good to them dead,” he counters, his frustration pulsing through the bond. “Nic ordered us to stay away.”

“Since when do you follow orders blindly?” I challenge. “The James Morgan I know would be racing back to fight.”

His expression hardens. “The James Morgan you know? You made it clear two months ago that you don't know me at all.”

The accusation lands like a physical blow. “That's not fair.”

“Isn't it?” His amber eyes flash. “You decided who I was without giving me a chance to explain. Now you're doing it again.”

“This isn't about us,” I say, though the bond makes a lie of the words.

“It's about responsibility,” he says, voice lowering. “To the pack, yes. But also, to each other now. I won’t let you kill yourself in an attempt to disobey me.”

I slow the Jeep at the fork. Left leads toward Silvercreek. Right continues away.

“We can't abandon them,” I say softly.

“We're not abandoning them,” he insists. “We're staying alive to help when the time is right.”

“When will that be?” I demand. “After they're dead?”

James closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, determination has replaced uncertainty.

“Right,” he says, pointing away from Silvercreek. “We go right.”

“James—”

“It's a trap, Ruby,” he interrupts. “He wanted us to rush back in a panic. They’ll pick us off. I won’t let you die.”

I hate that his logic makes sense. Hate even more that I can feel his certainty steadying my own chaotic emotions.

“Then what do we do?” I ask, voice cracking. “Just run while our pack fights without us?”

“We find another way to help,” James says firmly. “But we don't walk straight into their trap.”

With a heavy heart, I turn the Jeep right, away from Silvercreek.

“I don't trust easily,” I say after a mile of silence. “But I'm trusting you now, James.”

He says nothing, but through the bond, I feel his silent promise—to find a way back, to make this forced connection between us mean something beyond survival.

As we drive deeper into the wilderness, I wonder if we're making the right choice. If there even is a right choice anymore in a world where blood binds unwilling mates and corruption stalks our people.

Only time will tell. And time, I fear, is the one thing our pack doesn't have.