Page 17 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)

The cabin appears through the trees like a mirage—weathered logs and a sagging porch that somehow still stands despite years of neglect. After a full day of hiking through increasingly hostile terrain, the sight of shelter triggers an almost embarrassing wave of relief.

“There it is,” Sera announces, her voice bright with triumph despite her lingering injuries. “My grandmother's hunting cabin.”

I scan our surroundings, cataloging details with the practiced efficiency of a pack enforcer.

Single room structure. One door. Two windows are visible from this angle.

Dense forest on three sides. A small clearing to the south that offers too little warning of approach.

Defensively speaking, it's far from ideal.

“It's not much,” Sera admits, reading my expression, “but it's warded. And no one in the Cheslem pack comes out this far anymore.”

Ruby steps forward, her amber eyes narrowed as she studies the cabin. The fading afternoon light catches in her dark hair, turning the edges copper. I force my attention back to our surroundings.

“Those wards better be strong,” I mutter, unable to shake the prickling sensation between my shoulder blades. “Because we're being followed.”

Ruby's head snaps toward me. “You're sure?”

I nod, inhaling deeply to confirm what my instincts have been screaming for the last hour. “Corrupted wolves. At least two, maybe three. They're keeping their distance, but they're there.”

Sera pales, her fingers instinctively moving to touch the healing wound on her shoulder. “How did they find us so quickly?”

“Let's get inside,” Ruby says, already moving toward the cabin with the grimoire clutched to her chest. “Then we can figure out our next move.”

The cabin's interior matches its exterior—spartan and neglected.

A stone fireplace dominates one wall, its hearth cold and filled with ancient ash.

A rough-hewn table, two chairs, and a narrow cot with a threadbare mattress constitute the only furniture.

Dust coats every surface, undisturbed for what must be months.

“Your grandmother lived here?” Ruby asks, skepticism evident in her tone as she surveys the space.

“No,” Sera replies, running her fingers along the mantle with something like reverence. “She came here to work. To be alone with her magic.”

I set down my pack and move to the window, watching the tree line with growing unease. The corrupted wolves aren't attacking—not yet—but their presence is undeniable. They're waiting for something. Reinforcements, maybe. Or nightfall.

“We need to set up perimeter defenses,” I announce, already mentally cataloging what we have available. “Sera, is there anything here your grandmother left behind that might help? Supplies? Weapons?”

Sera moves to a loose floorboard near the cot, prying it up with practiced ease to reveal a small cache. “Just these,” she says, pulling out a cloth bundle. Inside are dried herbs, a silver knife with a blackened blade, and a small leather pouch.

Ruby kneels beside her, examining the items with interest. “What are they for?”

“Protection mostly,” Sera explains. “Mountain ash, wolfsbane, silver—basic witch tools.”

I turn from the window, frustrated by the scanty offerings. “That's not enough. We need physical barriers, trip wires, something to slow them down when they come.”

“If they come,” Ruby corrects, though the doubt in her voice betrays her own concern.

“When,” I insist. “They're out there, Ruby. And they're not leaving.”

She rises to her feet, brushing dust from her jeans in a gesture that somehow manages to convey irritation. “Then we'll deal with them. But panicking won't help.”

“I'm not panicking,” I snap. “I'm planning. Someone has to.”

The bond between us pulses with tension, amplifying the friction that seems to spark whenever we're forced to make decisions together.

Her stubbornness both frustrates and fascinates me—the way she lifts her chin slightly, eyes flashing, refusing to yield even when the evidence is stacked against her.

“I'll check the perimeter,” I say abruptly, needing distance from the confines of the cabin and the woman whose scent fills my nostrils with each breath. “See what we're working with.”

Outside, the forest is quietening as evening approaches.

Birds settle into roosts, their daytime chatter giving way to the occasional lonely call.

I circle the cabin methodically, noting potential defensive positions and vulnerabilities.

A fallen tree twenty yards west could provide cover.

The slight rise to the north offers a vantage point.

The undergrowth to the east is thick enough to hide tripwires or snares.

I'm kneeling to examine the ground when Ruby's scent reaches me seconds before her footsteps.

“Need help?” she asks, her voice carefully neutral.

I glance up, momentarily caught off guard by how the dying light softens her features, lending warmth to her olive skin. I clear my throat.

“I'm setting up some basic alarms,” I explain, showing her the arrangement of twigs and stones that will create noise if disturbed. “We should put them at regular intervals around the clearing.”

She nods, kneeling beside me to study the simple trap. “Show me how.”

For the next hour, we work together in near silence, communicating through brief gestures and nods as we encircle the cabin with primitive but effective alarm systems. Ruby moves through the forest with surprising confidence, her familiarity with the terrain and techniques evident in each deliberate movement.

“You're good at this,” I observe, watching as she efficiently secures a tripwire between two saplings.

She doesn't look up from her work. “Being an outcast teaches you things.”

The words land like a slap—not because of how she says them, but because of the truth they contain. How many times had she been forced to fend for herself while the pack that should have protected her turned away? How many skills had she developed out of necessity rather than choice?

“Ruby—” I begin, though I'm not sure what I intend to say.

“Don't,” she cuts me off, rising to her feet with fluid grace. “Just don't, James. We don't need to do this now.”

The bond between us tightens like a wire pulled taut, humming with unspoken words and emotions neither of us is willing to acknowledge. In the fading light, her eyes seem to glow, witch-born amber that holds me in place more effectively than any physical restraint.

“Fine,” I say finally. “But we should talk about what happens when they attack.”

“If,” she corrects automatically.

“When,” I insist. “They're not just going to walk away, Ruby.”

She sighs, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture I've come to recognize as a sign of reluctant acquiescence. “What's your plan?”

“We ambush them,” I say, the strategy already forming in my mind. “Hit them before they reach the cabin. I can take them in wolf form while you and Sera—”

“No,” Ruby interrupts, crossing her arms. “That's not a plan. That's suicide.”

“It's tactically sound,” I counter, irritation flaring. “They're expecting us to hide. To defend. Not to attack.”

“There are at least three of them,” she argues, “and one of you. Those aren't odds I like.”

“I can handle three corrupted scouts,” I say, bristling at the implied doubt in my abilities.

Ruby steps closer, close enough that I can see the faint freckles across her nose, smell the wild herbs and paper scent of her skin. “You barely handled one the other night. And that was with my help.”

The reminder stings more than it should. “This is different. I'll have the element of surprise on my side.”

“And what if there are more than three?” she challenges. “What if they're expecting an ambush? What if—”

“What if we just hide and hope they go away?” I interrupt, frustration boiling over. “Is that your plan? Because it's not a plan, Ruby. It's a prayer.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously. “Don't patronize me, James. I survived just fine before you came along.”

“And now we're bonded,” I snap, gesturing sharply between us. “Which means if you die, I feel every second of it. So forgive me for wanting to be proactive.”

The mention of our bond shifts the tension between us, transforming it into something more complicated than simple disagreement. Ruby's gaze drops briefly to my mouth before she catches herself, taking a deliberate step back.

“We should be smart about this,” she says, her voice softer now but no less stubborn. “Use Sera's knowledge. Use the wards around the cabin. Maybe even try my grimoire—”

“Your spells don't work,” I say, instantly regretting the words as hurt flashes across her face.

“Screw you, James,” she says quietly, the calm delivery somehow worse than if she'd shouted.

“Ruby, I didn't mean—”

“Save it,” she cuts me off. “Go be a hero if you want. Get yourself killed. See if I care.”

She turns to leave, but I catch her wrist before she can take a step. The contact sends a jolt through the bond, awareness crackling between us like static electricity. Her pulse races beneath my fingers, matching the sudden acceleration of my own heart.

“Let go,” she says, but makes no move to pull away.

“I'm trying to protect you,” I say, my voice rougher than intended.

“I don't need your protection,” she replies, finally meeting my eyes again. “I need you not to die and leave me alone out here.”

The admission hangs between us, its implications too dangerous to examine closely. I release her wrist, but the sensation of her skin against mine lingers like a brand.

Before either of us can speak again, a crash from the direction of the cabin shatters the moment. We turn in unison to see Sera sprinting toward us, panic evident in every line of her body.

“They're coming,” she gasps, reaching us with surprising speed for someone still recovering from injuries. “From the north. Three scouts, just like you said.”

“How close?” I demand, instantly alert.

“Too close,” Sera replies, her breathing ragged. “Maybe half a mile. Moving fast.”

Ruby and I exchange glances, our earlier argument temporarily forgotten in the face of immediate danger.

“We need to get back to the cabin,” Ruby says. “Now.”

I hesitate, torn between the strategy I believe will work and the need to keep them safe. “The ambush—”

“There's no time,” Sera interjects. “And they're moving in formation. Like they know exactly where we are.”

That decides it. “Back to the cabin,” I agree reluctantly. “We'll use the wards, whatever defenses we can muster.”

We move quickly through the darkening forest, the last light of day fading rapidly between the trees. At the cabin, Ruby immediately retrieves her grimoire, flipping through pages with desperate focus while Sera arranges her grandmother's herbs in patterns that make no sense to my untrained eye.

“What can I do?” I ask, hating the feeling of uselessness as they work with tools I don't understand.

Ruby glances up, her expression softening slightly. “Guard the door. We need time.”

I nod, moving to position myself at the cabin's entrance. Through the bond, I feel her concentration—intense and focused in a way that's almost tangible. Whatever she's attempting, she's putting everything into it.

Outside, the forest has gone completely silent. No birds. No insects. Even the wind seems to have stilled, as if nature itself is holding its breath in anticipation of the coming violence.

I strip off my shirt for an easier transformation, preparing to shift at the first sign of threat. My wolf stirs beneath my skin, eager for the fight, for the chance to protect what's mine. I force that possessive thought away, focusing instead on the tactical situation.

Behind me, Ruby murmurs words in a language I don't recognize, her voice growing in confidence with each syllable. The air in the cabin seems to thicken, pressure building like the moment before a storm breaks—and then it breaks again. And again. None of the wards hold.

Through the open door, I watch the tree line, every sense straining for the first indication of our pursuers. The corrupted scouts are close now—I can smell their wrongness on the breeze, feel their approach like a shadow falling across my consciousness.

“I can do this,” Ruby calls, her voice shaking. “Just need a few more minutes… come on…”

I'm not sure we have minutes. Beyond the perimeter we set, something moves in the underbrush—too deliberate to be wildlife, too silent to be anything but a predator stalking its prey.

“Ruby,” I say, her name a warning and a question all at once.

She glances up at me from her place on the floor, forehead shining with sweat, eyes exhausted as her spells fail over and over.

“If this doesn't work,” she begins, breathless.

“It will,” I interrupt, unwilling to contemplate alternatives.

For once, she doesn't argue, just nods and surges to her feet, likely retreating to Sera’s position to help her with whatever protections she’s setting up.

The bond between us pulses with shared adrenaline, shared purpose, and beneath it all, the constant awareness that hums between us like a live wire.

At the edge of the clearing, a branch snaps—deliberately, a challenge rather than a mistake. I shift my weight, ready to transform at the first sign of attack.

“Let’s go,” I murmur to myself, as darkness descends completely around us, and somewhere in the shadows, yellow eyes begin to gleam.