Page 29 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)

Silvercreek hums with preparations for war.

Every able-bodied shifter has been assigned duties—reinforcing defenses, crafting weapons, organizing strike teams. Even the youngest pack members contribute, rolling bandages and preparing herbal poultices under the supervision of our few healers.

The full moon looms just three days away, a deadline none of us can afford to ignore.

I've thrown myself into training, my muscles burning with satisfying exhaustion as I drill combat formations with Thomas and the other enforcers.

Physical pain is a welcome distraction from the emotional turmoil that lurks at the edges of my consciousness, pulsing through the bond I share with Ruby.

“Your left guard is sloppy,” Thomas observes, landing another hit to my ribs that will bruise despite shifter healing. “That's the third time I've tagged you there.”

“Just keeping you confident,” I mutter, rolling my shoulder to ease the ache.

Thomas snorts, unconvinced. “Sure. Nothing to do with you being completely distracted by whatever's happening between you and your mate.”

The word 'mate' still causes a complicated twist in my gut.

Not because I reject the connection—if anything, the opposite is true.

The bond with Ruby has become something I guard fiercely, protect instinctively, despite its forced beginnings.

What troubles me is the knowledge that she doesn't feel the same—that for her, our connection represents a prison rather than a possibility.

“Focus, Morgan,” Thomas barks, launching another strike that I barely block in time.

Across the training field, Ruby emerges from the pack house with Luna, both women carrying armfuls of books and herbs.

Even at this distance, I'm acutely aware of her—the grace in her movements, the determined set of her shoulders, the way sunlight catches in her hair.

The bond between us hums with awareness, with a need I've stopped trying to deny to myself.

This morning, she told me about the counter-ritual's requirements—how our completed mate bond must serve as the conduit for the cleansing magic. How our connection, forced and conflicted as it began, might be the salvation of unwilling Cheslem wolves and, ultimately, our pack.

“I understand if you don't want to,” she'd said, her voice carefully neutral. “It's asking a lot, after everything.”

As if I could refuse her anything at this point. As if the bond between us isn't the most real thing I've felt in years, regardless of how it began.

“I'm in,” I'd told her simply, and the relief in her eyes had been worth any risk.

Now, watching her work with my sister, I wonder if she feels the weight of what we're attempting. If she understands that using our bond this way will change it—deepen it, strengthen it, and test it all at once, beyond what either of us might be prepared to handle.

“Earth to James Morgan,” Thomas waves a hand in front of my face. “We're done here. You're useless like this. I won’t waste my time on you anymore.”

I glare at him, but there's no real heat behind it. He's right, and we both know it.

“Sorry,” I mutter, grabbing a towel to wipe sweat from my face. “Just a lot on my mind.”

Thomas glances toward Ruby, then back at me with exasperated understanding. “Come on,” he says, jerking his head toward the tree line. “Let's check the northern perimeter. You clearly need to talk.”

We shift to wolf form for the patrol, the familiar rush of transformation momentarily clearing my head of everything but instinct and sensation.

Running alongside my oldest friend through familiar territory feels like the first normal thing I've experienced in weeks.

For a few precious minutes, I'm just a wolf, not a reluctant mate or a soldier preparing for war.

When we reach the northernmost boundary of Silvercreek, we shift back, settling on a rocky outcropping that offers a clear view of both our territory and the Cheslem patrols beyond the invisible line of Luna's wards.

“Spill it,” Thomas demands without preamble.

“What's going on with you and Ruby? You get matched, she runs away, you run right after her, and the only thing we hear is they—what, force you into a bond? Force you to buy her? And now you’ve got a completed bond, but you barely talk… I’m no gossip, James, but it’s gossip-worthy—even Nic is wondering about it all. ”

I consider deflecting, but what's the point? Thomas has known me since we were cubs tumbling in the dirt together. He can read my silences as easily as my words.

“It's complicated,” I begin, wincing at how inadequate that sounds.

“No shit,” he replies dryly. “'Complicated' doesn't begin to cover it.”

Despite everything, I laugh—a short, surprised sound that feels foreign after so much tension. “We’re a mess.”

“The question is,” Thomas continues, undeterred, “what are you going to do about it?”

“What can I do?” I counter, frustration bleeding into my voice. “She's been clear from the beginning—this isn't what she wanted. Not me, not the bond, none of it.”

Thomas studies me with unexpected seriousness. “Bullshit.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said bullshit,” he repeats calmly. “You've been dancing around each other for years, James. Everyone sees it except apparently you two idiots.”

Heat creeps up my neck. “That's not—”

“It absolutely is,” he interrupts. “You've been watching her since you were teenagers. Following her with your eyes across pack gatherings. Finding excuses to patrol near her bookshop.”

Put so bluntly, it's hard to deny. The truth is, Ruby has fascinated me since we were kids—her quiet strength, her stubborn independence, the way she carved out a place for herself despite the pack's treatment of her.

But I'd never acted on that interest, never pushed beyond the careful boundaries of being Luna's brother, of being part of the pack that had made her an outcast.

“Even if that's true,” I concede reluctantly, “it doesn't change anything. I went along with how the pack treated her. I never stood up for her. And she heard me say something months ago that hurt her, even if I can't remember what.”

Thomas sighs with the exaggerated patience of someone explaining basic concepts to a particularly slow child. “So, apologize. Talk to her. Clear the air.”

“Just like that?” I ask skeptically.

“Just like that,” he confirms. “Before you both have to channel your supposedly non-existent feelings through a magical bond that might kill you both.”

It seems absurdly simple. And yet the thought of facing Ruby, of laying bare feelings I've barely acknowledged to myself, sends cold fear through my veins—a sensation far more terrifying than facing corrupted wolves.

“I wouldn't know where to start,” I admit quietly.

Thomas claps me on the shoulder, his expression softening. “Start with the truth, brother. Everything else follows from there.”

Below us, movement catches my eye—a flash of orange in the underbrush. For a moment, I think it's a Cheslem scout, but the scent is wrong. As I watch, a massive orange tabby cat slinks through the tall grass, its bottle-brush tail held high with casual feline confidence.

The cat from Ruby's bookshop. Maggie. Somehow, she’s survived all this chaos just as round and contented as always.

I open my mouth to share this observation with Thomas, but a howl from the east cuts me off—the alert signal from Nic's patrol. Something's happening at the boundary.

Every five minutes, I almost whine, but quash the urge. No use complaining. This is what I was made for. Enforcing. Protecting. Keeping me and mine safe, no matter the cost.

The cat disappears into the undergrowth as we both leap to our feet, conversation forgotten in the face of more immediate threats.

As we race toward the disturbance, my thoughts remain tangled around Ruby, around the conversation we desperately need to have, around the truths that might set us both free, if only I could find and voice them.

If only we survive long enough for me to find the right words.