Page 2 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)

Two Months Later

The bookshop is silent save for the whisper of pages as I reshelve a stack of forgotten romances.

Mystic Page should have closed an hour ago, but I've invented tasks to keep myself busy—anything to avoid going home to an empty apartment and thoughts of tomorrow's lottery ceremony. James's lottery ceremony.

Dust motes dance in the last rays of the sunset, filtering through the windows and catching in the honey-colored light.

I run my fingers along the spines of leather-bound grimoires in the small occult section tucked in the back corner.

Most are benign—kitchen witchery cookbooks and basic crystal guides for curious humans—but a few hold real knowledge, preserved for the handful of witch-born in Silvercreek who still practice.

Not that I'm among them. Not really.

The thought sends a familiar pang of inadequacy through me. I push it away and focus on straightening a display of local history books. The bell above the door jingles, and I look up, ready to inform whoever it is that we're closed—but the words die on my lips when I see Luna and Fiona.

“We brought reinforcements,” Luna announces, holding up a bottle of red wine.

Her curly, red hair is pulled into an elegant twist; her face glows with vitality, making my chest ache with both happiness and envy.

Two months as the Alpha's mate has transformed her from the quiet, cautious girl I grew up with into someone who radiates confidence.

“You'll need this for courage before my brother's lottery tomorrow.”

Beside her, Fiona looks equally radiant, pale skin luminous against her emerald blouse. Two months since she and Thomas ironed things out, and I’ve never seen her happier.

“I'm busy,” I say, though we all know it's a lie.

Luna ignores me, moving toward the small sitting area near the window where I keep mismatched armchairs for customers. “Perfect timing—you're done for the day. Now you can have wine with us and stop pretending tomorrow isn't happening.”

I grimace, continuing to arrange books that don't need arranging. “I'm not pretending anything. I'm working.”

“Ruby.” Fiona's voice is gentle but firm. “The ceremony is mandatory. You can't hide in here forever.”

“Watch me,” I mutter, but there's no real fight in it.

Luna uncorks the wine, the rich scent of blackberries filling the air as she pours three glasses.

“You have to come. Not just because it's mandatory, but because...” She hesitates, exchanging a glance with Fiona.

“Because the pack needs to see us united after everything that happened with the League attack. And, hey, you got drunk at the last two lotteries. You can get drunk at this one, too. Nothing like free booze.”

A scratching at the cat flap installed in the back door interrupts whatever I might have said. Moments later, a massive orange tabby saunters in, tail high like royalty, expecting tribute.

“Hello, your majesty,” I say dryly as Maggie winds between my ankles once before moving to investigate the newcomers. “You're late for your dinner.”

“That cat gets bigger every time I see her,” Fiona remarks as Maggie headbutts her hand, demanding pets.

“She belongs to the café down the street, allegedly,” I explain for the hundredth time. “But she's convinced every business on this block that they're her rightful owners. I'm just one of her many subjects.”

Luna smiles, but her eyes remain serious. “About tomorrow...”

I sigh, accepting the wine glass she offers and sinking into the armchair opposite them. “Fine. Talk. But I make no promises.”

“James will be there,” Fiona says casually, watching me over the rim of her glass.

The name hits me like a physical blow. I keep my expression neutral through years of practice, but my hand tightens on the stem of my glass. “And? Of course he’ll be there—it’s his lottery.”

“And nothing,” Luna says quickly, shooting Fiona a warning glance. “It’s nothing.”

“Why would I care?” I ask, the lie bitter on my tongue.

“No reason,” Luna says, too innocently.

My mind betrays me, flashing back to that morning two months ago despite my best efforts to keep the memory locked away.

The coffee cups are warm in my hands as I approach the reconstruction site. My lips still tingle from last night's kiss, a smile threatening to break free every time I think of it. For the first time in years, I feel a spark of hope that maybe—just maybe—I could belong here after all.

I’m desperate to see him again, despite myself. I crave it. God knows what that means.

James's voice carries from around the corner, and I slow, surprised by the laughter in his tone. He sounds relaxed, happy.

“She's massive, honestly.” His voice is clear in the morning air. “The fattest thing I've ever seen.”

Male laughter joins his. I recognize Thomas's distinctive bark.

“Dude, it’s not okay,” Thomas mutters, still chuckling. “That’s so mean.”

But he sounds like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Ice creeps down my spine.

“Dude, it’s fine,” James replies. “She just keeps following me around, I can’t get away from her… and, I mean… look at her!”

More laughter. My hands go numb. The coffee cups slip from my fingers, splashing hot liquid across my boots, but I barely feel it. All I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears, the shattering of something fragile I'd foolishly allowed myself to nurture.

I turn and flee before they can see me, before the humiliation burning my cheeks can be witnessed.

“Ruby?” Luna's voice pulls me back to the present. “Where did you go just now?”

I blink, forcing away the memory. “Nowhere. Just thinking about inventory.”

Fiona raises an eyebrow but doesn't challenge the blatant lie. Maggie has curled up on the windowsill, grooming herself with imperial disinterest in our conversation.

“The point is,” Luna continues, “everyone will be at James' lottery ceremony. The whole pack. You can’t just… pretend to be sick or something.”

“I can try,” I counter. “No one wants the outcast witch-girl there anyway.”

Luna flinches slightly. Even after all these years, she hates that word—outcast. Maybe because she knows how easily it could have been applied to her, too, if her parents hadn't been respected pack members before their deaths. If she hadn't been able to shift, unlike me.

And we all know I can’t skip it. My hands are tied. It’s wishful thinking, believing I could escape.

“That's not true anymore,” Luna insists. “Things are changing, Ruby. Nic is changing things.”

I take a long sip of wine to avoid responding. What can I say? That a lifetime of sideways glances and whispered comments doesn't disappear because the Alpha has a progressive streak? That being tolerated isn't the same as being accepted?

“James asks about you, you know,” Luna says quietly.

The wine turns to acid in my stomach. “I doubt that.”

“He does,” she persists. “Almost every time I see him.”

“Well, you can tell him I'm fine,” I snap, then immediately regret my tone. “Sorry. I just... I don't want to talk about your brother.”

Luna and Fiona exchange another glance, communicating silently in that annoying way of close friends—or, I suppose, pack members with a deeper connection than I'll ever understand.

“The lottery is important,” Fiona says finally, changing tactics. “After the attack, we need to show strength, unity.”

“And nothing says strength and unity like archaic forced mating rituals,” I mutter.

“It worked out for us,” Luna points out, her expression softening as it always does when she thinks of Nic.

I can't argue with that. The lottery that paired Luna with our Alpha has transformed my once-shy best friend. She's happier than I've ever seen her.

“I know I can’t stay home,” I sigh. “I’m just complaining. You know as well as I do that they’ll drag me there if I don’t come myself. And I have too much of a sense of dignity for that.”

Luna's relief is palpable. “It wouldn’t be an easy sight.”

“It wouldn’t be an easy experience, ” I grumble.

Fiona's expression shifts subtly, but before I can decipher it, she stands. “We should go. Early morning tomorrow.”

They leave with promises to pick me up before the ceremony, ensuring I can't conveniently “forget” to attend. The bell jingles as the door closes behind them, leaving me alone again with the gathering shadows and Maggie's judgmental stare.

“Don't look at me like that,” I tell the cat as I lock the front door and flip the sign to 'Closed.' “You'd avoid it too if you were me.”

Maggie yawns widely, displaying impressive fangs before leaping down from the windowsill. She follows me to the back of the shop, where I keep a small bowl and the expensive cat food she prefers. After setting down her dinner, I climb the narrow stairs to my apartment above the bookshop.

The space is small but mine—a studio with dormer windows overlooking Main Street, furnished with second-hand pieces I've lovingly restored.

Bookshelves line every available wall, overflowing with volumes I couldn't bear to sell.

Plants crowd the windowsills, many of them herbs with protective or healing properties—a habit inherited from my mother.

I move to the corner shelf where I keep her grimoire, bound in faded green leather and worn soft at the corners from years of use.

The book feels warm under my fingers as I carefully lift it down, the sensation so subtle most would miss it.

But I've always been sensitive to the magic contained in these pages, even if I can't access it properly.

Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I open the grimoire to a simple illumination spell—the first my mother taught me when I was barely seven years old.

“Magic isn't just in our blood, Ruby,” she had said, her amber eyes—so like mine—crinkling at the corners as she smiled. “It's in our breath, our bones, our belief.”

I close my eyes, trying to remember the exact cadence of her voice as I whisper the incantation. My palm tingles slightly, a faint warmth spreading through my fingers, but when I open my eyes, there's only darkness where light should bloom.

A familiar disappointment settles in my chest. My mother died before she could teach me more than the basics, and without guidance, my meager abilities have never developed properly. Another way I've failed to fulfill my potential.

I close the grimoire, carefully returning it to its shelf.

From below, I hear Maggie's demanding meow—she wants out now that she's had her dinner.

I trudge downstairs to let her through the cat flap, watching as her orange bulk squeezes through with surprising grace before disappearing into the gathering dusk.

Back upstairs, I go through the motions of my evening routine mechanically. Shower. Pajamas. A cup of herbal tea. The ordinary rituals that usually comfort me feel hollow tonight, my mind circling back to tomorrow's ceremony, no matter how I try to distract myself.

When I finally slide under the covers, sleep refuses to come. I stare at the ceiling, watching shadows from passing cars dance across it.

Despite everything, I miss him. Miss the way he listened when I spoke about books. Miss his unexpected gentleness. Miss the brief, shining moment when I thought someone might see past the labels that have defined me for so long.

But then I remember his voice, the laughter that followed. She's massive, honestly. The fattest thing I've ever seen.

I roll onto my side, pulling the covers tighter around me. Tomorrow will be excruciating, but I'll endure it for Luna's sake. I'll stand in the shadows, invisible as always, while the beautiful, perfect shifters pair off according to some mystical compatibility the elders claim to detect.

And then—mercifully—it will be over. Life will return to normal. Me in my bookshop. James is rebuilding the community center and patrolling with the other enforcers, bonding with his new mate. Separate worlds that briefly, mistakenly intersected.

As I drift toward uneasy sleep, one final, terrifying thought surfaces: What if, by some impossible cosmic joke, James and I were paired together in the lottery?

The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh. As if the universe would be that cruel.

Sleep finally claims me, but my dreams are haunted by amber eyes that match my own and the phantom sensation of a kiss that tasted like possibilities.