Page 13 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)
The fall is brief but violent, both of us crashing through underbrush and bouncing off rock. Pain explodes across my body as we land on a ledge twenty feet below. The corrupted wolf recovers first, staggering to its feet with unnatural resilience.
Before it can attack again, Ruby appears at the edge above, her eyes scanning the terrain with remarkable speed.
She disappears for a split second, then reappears holding a dead branch.
With precise timing, she wedges it between two rocks and leverages her weight against it, sending a single large boulder tumbling down.
Her aim is impeccable—the result of a lifetime navigating these forests—and the heavy rock crashes directly into the corrupted wolf's hindquarters, pinning it momentarily.
It's all the opening I need. I lunge forward, teeth finding its spine, crushing with all my strength until something gives with a sickening crack. The creature thrashes once, then goes still.
Silence descends, broken only by our ragged breathing.
I shift back to human form, the transformation slower and more painful due to my injuries.
Ruby makes her way down to the ledge with nimble movements that speak of years spent exploring the wilderness alone, rushing to my side as I complete the change.
“Are you okay?” she asks, hands hovering over my bloodied shoulder, uncertainty in her eyes.
“I'll heal,” I manage, though the pain is substantial. “You're bleeding.”
She glances at her arm as if just remembering her own injury. “It's nothing. Just a scratch.”
Our eyes meet in the moonlight, adrenaline still coursing through both our systems. The bond thrums between us, amplified by the danger we've just faced together, by the primal satisfaction of survival.
My wolf is still too close to the surface, urging me to pull her closer, to confirm with touch that she's safe, whole, mine.
Ruby seems to sense the direction of my thoughts, her pupils dilating slightly as she takes a half-step back. “We should move,” she says, her voice rougher than usual. “There could be more.”
I nod, forcing my wolf's instincts down with practiced discipline. “You fought well.”
Something flickers across her face—surprise, perhaps, at the simple compliment. “So did you.”
It's the closest thing to peace we've managed since this nightmare began.
Dawn finds us miles from the ridge, having traveled through the night despite our injuries. We stumble upon an abandoned hunting cabin just as the first birds begin their morning chorus—a small, dilapidated structure that nonetheless offers four walls and a roof.
“It'll do,” Ruby says, exhaustion evident in every line of her body.
The cabin is basic—a single room with a rusted woodstove, a rough-hewn table, and a narrow cot pushed against the far wall. Dust covers every surface, but the roof appears intact, and the door has a functioning lock. After the exposed ridge, it feels like a fortress.
“I'll check the perimeter,” I say, needing a moment to compose myself. The night of fighting and fleeing has left my wolf too close to the surface, especially with the bond pulsing between us, heightened by shared danger and proximity.
When I return, Ruby has cleared the dust from the table and is sorting through our meager supplies.
The morning light filters through grimy windows, catching in her dark hair and illuminating the curve of her neck as she bends over the task.
My wolf stirs, a low rumble of appreciation that I have to forcibly silence.
“We should be safe for a few hours,” I say, closing the door behind me. “No signs of pursuit.”
Ruby nods, not looking up. “Good. We both need rest.”
The mention of rest brings the issue of sleeping arrangements into sharp focus. One cot. Two people. The bond between us is already humming with tension that isn't entirely from danger or fear.
“You take the cot,” I say, moving to the opposite wall where I can spread the emergency blanket on the floor. “I'll keep watch.”
“You're injured worse than I am,” Ruby counters, finally meeting my gaze. “You need proper rest to heal.”
“I'm fine.” I roll my shoulder to demonstrate, hiding the wince as pain lances through freshly knitting muscle. “Shifter healing, remember?”
“I remember.” Her voice has something I can’t quite describe in it. Longing, perhaps, or just exhaustion. I know it must have felt like a jab to her. “But even shifters need sleep to heal properly.”
Before I can argue further, she unrolls the emergency blanket on the floor beside the woodstove. “I'll take first watch. You sleep.”
The simple act of her making a bed on the floor while insisting I take the cot stirs something in my chest that has nothing to do with the bond and everything to do with the woman herself. Stubborn, resilient, unexpected.
“Ruby—”
“Just take the cot, James,” she interrupts, a thread of exhaustion making her voice rough. “Please. I'm too tired to argue.”
I give in, moving to the narrow bed that will barely accommodate my frame. As I stretch out, the scent of dust and old fabric fills my nostrils, but beneath it, I catch Ruby's scent—wild herbs and paper and something uniquely her that makes my wolf pace restlessly beneath my skin.
Ruby settles by the window, her back against the wall, knees drawn up to her chest. The morning light plays across her features, softening the wariness that's become habitual. For a moment, she looks younger, vulnerable in a way she rarely allows anyone to see.
“We make a good team,” I say quietly, the words escaping before I can filter them. “Out there. Fighting.”
Ruby glances at me, surprise flickering in her amber eyes. She doesn’t say a word, and that’s worse, I find myself thinking, than if she had torn me apart.
Rolling away, I close my eyes, surrendering to the exhaustion that drags at my limbs. The bond hums between us, quieter now but still present—a tether connecting us across the small room. Through it, I feel Ruby's vigilance, her determination, and beneath that, a confusion that mirrors my own.
This forced connection between us is changing, evolving into something neither of us anticipated. Something that feels dangerously close to understanding, to partnership, to possibilities I shouldn't consider.
Sleep claims me before I can pursue that thought further, but even in dreams, I'm aware of Ruby's presence—the sound of her breathing, the subtle shifts of her movement, the invisible thread that binds us together against our will. It’s a tension that follows me into my dreams.