Page 25 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)

Howls erupt behind us, my senses locked on the truck parked two blocks away. Ruby keeps pace beside me, her breath coming in controlled bursts, grimoire and journal clutched to her chest.

“They'll cut us off before we reach it,” I say, already calculating odds that grow worse by the second. “I need to slow them down.”

Ruby's steps falter. “James—”

“Get to the truck,” I interrupt, already pulling off my shirt. “Start it. Be ready to move the instant I reach you.”

“I'm not leaving you,” she argues, stubborn even with death on our heels.

“You're not.” I toss her the keys. “You're giving us a fighting chance.”

The shift ripples through me before she can protest further, bones cracking and reforming as my human skin gives way to russet fur. The wolf emerges with a growl, senses sharpening, instincts surging to the forefront.

Protect mate. Fight threats. Survive.

Through the bond, I feel Ruby's fear and reluctance war with pragmatism. She nods once, tight-lipped, and veers toward the road while I turn to face our pursuers.

They emerge from the shadows like nightmares—three corrupted wolves, their forms twisted by dark magic, yellow ichor dripping from elongated fangs. The stench of wrongness rolls off them in waves, triggering every primal warning my wolf possesses.

I position myself between them and Ruby's retreating form, hackles raised in clear challenge. The leader—larger than the others, with patches of fur missing to reveal blackened skin beneath—sizes me up with unnatural intelligence in its yellow eyes.

The attack comes without warning—not from the leader, but from one of the flanking wolves lunging from the left.

I sidestep, teeth finding purchase in its shoulder, tasting the foul corruption that taints its blood.

The creature yelps, twisting in my grip with unnatural flexibility, claws raking my flank.

Pain sears across my side, sharper and hotter than normal wounds. No time to dwell on it. The second wolf is already circling, looking for an opening, while the leader watches with calculated patience.

I release the first wolf with a vicious twist that sends it stumbling, then wheel to meet the second attacker.

This one moves with jerky, unpredictable motions—newer to the corruption, perhaps, not yet fully adapted to its changed form.

I use its awkwardness against it, feinting right before lunging left, teeth closing around its throat.

The taste is revolting—rot and sulfur and something metallic that doesn't belong in living flesh. I fight the urge to release it, instead shaking violently until something gives with a wet snap. The corrupted wolf goes limp, but there's no time for victory.

Claws rake across my back, the leader finally joining the fray with devastating effectiveness. I whirl, snarling, but it's already danced back out of reach, yellow eyes gleaming with something almost like amusement.

In the distance, an engine roars to life—Ruby, reaching the truck. The sound distracts me for a fraction of a second, and it's all the opening the leader needs. It lunges, a blur of motion too fast to counter, jaws closing around my foreleg with crushing force.

Pain explodes up my limb, but it's the burning that follows that truly terrifies. Like acid in my veins, spreading from the wound with unnatural speed. I twist free, leaving fur and flesh in the creature's teeth, then launch a desperate counter-attack.

We collide in mid-air, a tangle of teeth and claws and murderous intent. I fight with the knowledge that Ruby is waiting, that every second buys her distance, that if I fall here, she faces these monsters alone.

The smaller wolf rejoins the fight, darting in to snap at my hindquarters while I grapple with the leader. I kick out, connecting with a satisfying crunch of bone, but the movement leaves me open to the leader's next attack.

Teeth sink into my shoulder, directly over the nearly-healed wound from our previous encounter. The pain is blinding, immediate, but it's the wrongness that follows that truly terrifies—a cold burning that seeps deeper than physical damage.

Corruption. They're trying to infect me.

Rage gives me strength I didn't know I possessed. With a roar that's more primal than conscious, I throw off the leader, sending it crashing into a tree trunk with bone-jarring force. The smaller wolf hesitates, clearly reconsidering its options now that its companion is temporarily stunned.

I seize the opportunity, lunging for the tree line where the truck's headlights illuminate Ruby's tense face behind the wheel. The corrupted wolves give chase, but I have desperation on my side, stretching the distance between us with each stride despite the burning agony spreading from my wounds.

Ruby throws the passenger door open as I approach. I shift mid-leap, the transformation excruciating as human form reasserts itself over damaged wolf flesh. I tumble into the cab, gasping, “Go!”

She floors the accelerator before the door is fully closed, tires spitting gravel as we fishtail onto the road. In the side mirror, I glimpse our pursuers breaking from the tree line, their howls of frustration fading as Ruby pushes the old truck to speeds it was never designed to reach.

“You're hurt,” she says, eyes flicking between the road and my bloodied torso.

“I'll heal,” I manage, though the burning spreading from the bite suggests otherwise. Shifter healing is remarkable, but corruption is something else entirely—a magical infection that our bodies aren't equipped to fight.

Ruby drives like a woman possessed, taking back roads seemingly at random, doubling back occasionally to ensure we've lost pursuit. I focus on breathing through the pain, watching the darkness that edges my wounds slowly spread like ink in water.

“Something's wrong,” Ruby says finally, glancing at my shoulder where the bite marks now surround a patch of skin mottled with black corruption.

“Just need time,” I lie, knowing full well this isn't a normal injury. The burning has intensified, spreading down my arm and across my chest in a network of black lines visible beneath my skin.

Ruby pulls over abruptly, a roadside turnout hidden from the main highway by a stand of pines. Before I can protest, she's out of the driver's seat and circling to my side, pulling open the door to examine me properly in the dome light.

“James,” she breathes, horror evident in her voice as she traces the air above the corruption without touching it. “This isn't healing. It's spreading.”

The concern in her eyes cuts deeper than any physical wound. “It's fine,” I insist, though we both know it's not. “We need to keep moving.”

“Not until I fix this,” she says with surprising firmness. “I've seen this before—in Sera's journal. It's how the corruption spreads.”

Before I can argue, she's retrieving her pack from the backseat, pulling out the leather-bound journal with urgent purpose. I watch as she flips through pages, her expression transitioning from worry to focused determination.

“Here,” she says finally. “A cleansing ritual. Smaller version of the main counter-ritual, designed for early-stage corruption.”

“Will it work?” I ask, the burning now crawling up my neck toward my jaw.

“It has to,” she says simply.

Ruby works quickly, clearing the truck's bench seat to make room, positioning me in the center. She pulls out her mother's grimoire as well, cross-referencing something between the two books with a concentration that momentarily transcends our situation.

“I need to channel energy into you,” she explains, setting the books aside. “Draw out the corruption before it spreads further.”

“You can do that?” I ask, remembering her failed attempts at magic back at Sera's cabin.

“I have to try,” she repeats, meeting my gaze with steely resolve. “The ritual requires... physical contact. Skin to skin.”

Something shifts in her expression—uncertainty warring with determination. Through our bond, I feel her conflict, her reluctance to initiate the kind of intimate contact that led to our night in the cave.

“Ruby,” I begin, not sure what I'm going to say.

“It's fine,” she cuts me off. “It's just magic. Just a ritual. It’s what I was born to do.”

In that moment, to me—despite everything, her trembling, her fear, her uncertainty—she has never seemed so powerful.

She positions herself on the seat beside me, close enough that her thigh presses against mine. “I need to touch the infection directly,” she explains, her clinical tone belied by the flutter of pulse I can see at her throat.

I nod, unable to form words as she places one palm directly over the bite on my shoulder, the other over my heart. The contact sends a jolt through our bond, awareness sharpening between us like a live wire suddenly completing its circuit.

“Clear your mind,” Ruby instructs, her voice steadier than I expected. “Focus on the connection between us. Let it open.”

I do as she asks, closing my eyes and concentrating on the bond that hums between us, always present but rarely acknowledged. It responds immediately, pulsing stronger with each heartbeat, growing from a thread to a rope to a current that flows between us.

Ruby begins to chant, words in a language I don't recognize flowing from her lips with surprising confidence. Her hands warm against my skin, the heat building not just physically but through the bond itself, like sunlight spreading through my veins.

The corruption fights back, a cold burning that clashes with Ruby's warmth. I grit my teeth against the pain, focusing on her voice, on the connection between us that strengthens with each word she speaks.

Through half-closed eyes, I watch in astonishment as her hands begin to glow—a soft amber light that matches her eyes, seeping into my skin where the corruption spreads. The black lines recede slowly, drawn toward her touch like poison being extracted from a wound.

The bond between us flares brighter, stronger than it's ever been, and suddenly I'm aware of Ruby in a way that transcends physical proximity. I feel her determination, her fear, her strength—and beneath it all, a current of something deeper, something neither of us has been willing to name.

Her chanting intensifies, the glow beneath her palms brightening until it's almost blinding.

The corruption retreats further, gathering under her hands like black smoke being pulled from my body.

With a final, commanding phrase, Ruby draws it completely into her palms, then flings her hands outward as if casting away something filthy.

The black mist dissipates in the air with a sound like dying embers, leaving behind clean, unmarked skin where corruption had spread moments before.

Ruby slumps forward, exhausted by the effort, her forehead coming to rest against my chest. I catch her instinctively, my arms wrapping around her smaller frame as the bond between us continues to pulse with shared awareness and emotion.

“You did it,” I whisper, awe in my voice. “Ruby, that was—”

“Just magic,” she interrupts, but makes no move to pull away. Her breath is warm against my skin, her heart racing in time with mine.

The moment stretches between us, fraught with possibility. The bond hums with shared need, with the knowledge that what connects us goes deeper than either of us has been willing to admit.

I lift one hand to her face, tilting her chin up until our eyes meet. The question in mine is answered by the vulnerable hunger in hers. When our lips meet, it feels inevitable—a continuation of the energy still flowing between us rather than a new beginning.

Unlike the desperate clash in the cave, this kiss builds slowly, deepening by degrees as Ruby's hands slide up my chest to my shoulders.

The bond amplifies every sensation—the softness of her lips, the small sound she makes in the back of her throat, the way her body fits against mine as if designed for it.

Time loses meaning as we lose ourselves in each other, in the connection that grows stronger with each passing second. My hands find her waist, drawing her closer until she's practically in my lap, the residual energy of the ritual still crackling between us like electricity.

It's Ruby who pulls away first, her breathing ragged, pupils dilated until only a thin ring of amber remains. Through the bond, I feel her confusion, her desire warring with something like fear.

“We shouldn't,” she whispers, though her body remains pressed against mine. “This is just... aftermath. The ritual. It's not real.”

The words sting more than they should. “Feels pretty real to me,” I counter, my voice rougher than intended.

She shakes her head, creating space between us with visible effort. “Last time was grief and adrenaline. This is magical backlash. Neither is a good foundation for... whatever this is.”

I want to argue, to tell her that what's growing between us existed long before the forced bond, before the lottery, before all of this. But the walls are already rebuilding in her eyes, and I've never been good with words.

“We should keep moving,” Ruby says, sliding back to the driver's side with careful precision. “Silvercreek is still hours away.”

I nod, not trusting my voice as the distance between us expands once more, both physically and emotionally. But the bond remains stronger than before, humming with awareness neither of us can fully suppress.

Something has changed between us, shifted in a fundamental way that can't be undone. Whether Ruby wants to acknowledge it or not, the connection is there, growing stronger with each shared experience, each moment of vulnerability.

And as she starts the truck and pulls back onto the empty highway, I find myself wondering if that connection might be the only thing that saves us—and Silvercreek—from what lies ahead.