Page 16 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)

Sunlight streams through the ranger station's grimy windows, painting warm patterns across my face that eventually drag me from restless dreams. I blink awake, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar ceiling and the lingering vestiges of a dream I can't quite remember but that leaves me flushed and unsettled.

The sound of quiet voices draws my attention to the far corner of the room.

James and Sera sit cross-legged on the floor, heads bent together over what appears to be a collection of plants spread across a faded bandana.

James listens intently as Sera demonstrates something, her slender fingers crushing leaves between them, releasing a sharp, pungent aroma that fills the small space.

“Cedar works best,” she's explaining, “but pine needles have a similar effect if you bruise them right.”

James nods, his dark hair falling across his forehead as he leans closer to examine her technique. “And this really masks a shifter’s scent?”

“Not completely,” Sera admits, “but it confuses it enough to throw off trackers. My mother taught me once. The Cheslem scouts rely too heavily on their enhanced senses—it makes them vulnerable to simple countermeasures.”

Something uncomfortable twists in my chest at the easy rapport between them. I sit up abruptly, drawing their attention.

“Morning,” James says, his eyes meeting mine briefly before sliding away. There's a wariness there that wasn't present yesterday, a deliberate distance that stirs both relief and irritation in equal measure.

“You should have woken me earlier,” I say, running a hand through tangled hair. “I didn't mean to sleep so long.”

“You needed the rest,” James replies with a shrug that's too carefully casual. “We all did.”

Sera offers a tentative smile, her amber eyes—so like mine, like James's—bright with an energy that belies her injuries. “I was just showing James how to mask our scents. The Cheslem scouts will be looking for us.”

I move to join them, ignoring the twinge of something that feels uncomfortably like jealousy.

It's ridiculous, of course. James isn't mine, regardless of the forced bond between us.

And Sera is barely more than a child, injured and afraid.

The fact that they've found common ground should be a relief, not a source of this irrational prickle beneath my skin.

“Show me too,” I say, settling across from them, careful to maintain distance from James. The bond between us pulses with awareness despite my efforts, a constant reminder of connections I don't want to examine too closely.

Sera demonstrates again, this time for my benefit, explaining how certain plants can interfere with a shifter's tracking abilities when applied correctly. I watch her hands—confident despite her youth, moving with the practiced grace of someone taught well and early.

“Your grandmother taught you this?” I ask, accepting a sprig of something that smells like mint but looks nothing like it.

Sera nods, a shadow crossing her features. “She taught me everything she could before...” She trails off, the loss still too raw for words.

“And she was a witch,” I prompt gently.

“Yes.” Pride brightens Sera's expression. “One of the last in the Cheslem territory. Most fled or were killed when the corruption began spreading under Manox and then Matthias.”

My grimoire sits atop my pack nearby, its worn leather cover a constant temptation and reminder of my own inadequacies. Sera's gaze follows mine, widening with recognition.

“Is that yours?” she asks, reverence coloring her voice. “A witch's grimoire?”

I hesitate before nodding. “My mother's. She was teaching me before she died.”

“You're a witch too,” Sera breathes, excitement replacing her earlier caution. “You cast?”

“Not really,” I admit, flushing with shame. “I can’t—my mother died suddenly. She didn’t have much time to teach me.”

James makes a noncommittal sound, drawing Sera's curious gaze.

“You're witch-born too,” she observes, noting his amber eyes. “But you’re not magical?”

“No,” he says shortly, the single syllable closing the subject with finality.

I resist the urge to press the issue, to reopen last night's argument about his rejection of his magical heritage. Instead, I reach for my grimoire, running my fingers over its familiar surface.

“I'm not much of a witch,” I admit. “Not like my mother was. Not like James's sister, Luna.”

“But you've had training,” Sera insists, her enthusiasm undimmed. “More training than me, at least. Even basic knowledge could help with the counter-ritual my grandmother was developing.”

“I doubt it,” I say, the familiar weight of inadequacy settling on my shoulders. “I can barely manage the simplest protection spells. Everything I try fails.”

“That's not entirely true,” James interjects unexpectedly. “You've managed small wards before. I've seen them around your bookshop.”

I look up in surprise, meeting his gaze directly for the first time since waking. “Those were Luna's work, not mine.”

He ducks his head again, seeming embarrassed for me. That only makes me feel worse.

Before I can respond—not that I can think of much to say to that—Sera speaks again.

“My grandmother believed that witch-born abilities could be amplified through connection,” she says. “Like, mating bonds and stuff. If you two are bonded...” She glances between us, clearly sensing the tension but misunderstanding its source.

“It's complicated,” I say, closing the grimoire with perhaps more force than necessary. “And we should be moving. We've stayed in one place too long already.”

James nods, rising to his feet in one fluid motion that reminds me of his wolf's grace. “Ruby's right. We need to keep moving, find somewhere more defensible.”

“I know a place,” Sera offers, standing more carefully, mindful of her healing injuries. “A cabin my grandmother used sometimes, about ten miles north. It's warded—not much, but enough to hide us while we rest and plan.”

“That's Cheslem territory,” James points out, skepticism evident in his tone.

“Yes,” Sera agrees, “But it’s close to the outskirts. It’s rarely patrolled. We’ll be safe there.”

I begin gathering our few possessions, considering the suggestion.

“It makes a certain strategic sense,” I admit reluctantly. “Hiding where they least expect us.”

“Or walking straight into a trap,” James counters, frustration bleeding into his voice.

“If I wanted to trap you, I wouldn't have spent the night teaching you how to avoid Cheslem scouts,” Sera points out reasonably.

The logic is sound, but I understand James's caution. Trust doesn't come easily to either of us, especially now, with everything at stake.

“We need to go somewhere,” I say, shouldering my pack. “And her grandmother's research might be our only chance of helping Silvercreek.”

James's jaw tightens, a muscle pulsing beneath the skin in a way that shouldn't be as distracting as it is.

“Fine,” he concedes finally. “But at the first sign of trouble, we're out.”

Sera helps me gather the herbs she's been showing James, explaining which combinations work best for different purposes. Her knowledge is impressive for someone so young, a testament to her grandmother's teaching and her own quick mind.

“Your mother taught you spells?” she asks as we work. “Before she died, I mean.”

I nod, the memories bittersweet. “Basic ones. Wards against negative energy, concealment spells, and purification rituals. Nothing complex. I’ve never even cast one correctly, though.”

“I still wonder sometimes if I could learn someday,” Sera says, excitement coloring her voice. “You know, if things work out somehow. I’ve got a bit of magic, but it wasn’t permitted to teach the young ones how to cast. Maybe you could teach me something sometime.”

I don't share her optimism, too familiar with my own limitations, but I don't discourage her. Hope is too precious a commodity these days to squander unnecessarily.

Within an hour, we're ready to move. James takes point, his shifter senses most acute for detecting potential threats. I follow, with Sera between us, her injuries still limiting her speed, but her determination is evident in every step.

The day grows warmer as we trek through dense forest, following game trails when possible to avoid leaving obvious tracks.

James moves with the silent efficiency of a predator, occasionally raising a hand to halt us while he investigates some sound or scent.

The bond between us transmits flashes of his awareness—sharp, focused, alert to every rustle and shadow.

Sera watches our wordless communication with interest.

“The bond is strong between you,” she observes during a brief rest, as we sit. “Even despite… You know. How things happened.”

Heat rises to my cheeks unbidden. “It was forced,” I say, more sharply than intended. “There's nothing natural about it.”

Sera has the decency to look cowed at that. “Yeah. Sorry. I just—you know. It’s what you’re meant to say, I guess.”

I soften. She didn’t mean anything by it, I know. “It’s okay. Just… a sore spot.” And, because I don’t want her to look so guilty: “It was going to happen anyway. We’d been paired in Silvercreek’s mating lottery. I didn’t have a choice, really.”

Admitting it even to myself—that James’ betrayal, his purchasing of me, changed very little in reality—is both a balm and a new dash of salt in the wound. Sera nods silently, looking thoughtful and somewhat sympathetic. I can appreciate that for what it is, at least.

James, returning from scouting ahead, clears his throat from above us.

“We need to keep moving,” he says, pointedly ignoring the subject of our bond. “There's a steep incline ahead. We'll need to be careful.”

The trail narrows as we begin to climb, forcing us into a single file.

The terrain grows increasingly treacherous—loose shale and exposed roots creating natural hazards that demand constant attention.

Despite the danger, or perhaps because of it, I'm acutely aware of James ahead of me, the breadth of his shoulders, the controlled power in his movements.

We're nearing the crest of the ridge when it happens. A rock shifts beneath my foot, sending me stumbling backward with a startled cry. There's a heart-stopping moment of vertigo as I begin to fall—then strong hands catch me, pulling me against a solid chest with reflexive speed.

James steadies me, his body curved protectively around mine, his breath warm against my hair. The bond flares between us at the contact, a surge of awareness that leaves me dizzy in a way that has nothing to do with the near-fall.

“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice rougher than usual.

I should pull away immediately. Should establish distance, maintain the walls I've built so carefully.

Instead, I remain frozen in his grip, my body registering every point of contact with embarrassing clarity—the strength of his arms around my waist, the solid warmth of his chest against my back, the way his heart pounds a rhythm that matches my own.

Through the bond, I feel his response—a mirror to my own confused desire, a hunger neither of us wants to acknowledge. His hands tighten fractionally before he forces himself to release me, stepping back as if burned.

“Watch your step,” he says, the words clipped and impersonal, at odds with the emotion still pulsing between us.

I nod stiffly, unable to form a coherent response, irritated by my body's betrayal and his apparent ability to dismiss the moment so easily.

The bond tells a different story—his control is paper-thin, his reaction to our contact as visceral as my own—but his expression reveals nothing as he turns to continue up the trail.

Sera, who had moved ahead during our brief interaction, glances back with a knowing look that only intensifies my frustration. I follow James up the incline, forcing my attention to the path beneath my feet rather than the man before me.

The forced bond between us grows more complicated with each passing day, blurring lines between obligation and desire, between resentment and something dangerously close to longing.

And as we make our way deeper into enemy territory, I can't shake the feeling that the greatest threat to my equilibrium isn't the Cheslem pack at all, but the growing connection to a man I never chose but can't seem to escape—not just because of blood magic, but because of the treacherous heart beating in my chest.