Page 31 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)
Silvercreek erupts with frenzied preparation as our time rapidly runs out.
Every available fighter checks weapons, reinforces armor, and receives hastily-applied protective sigils drawn by Luna despite her exhaustion.
The pack building—usually a place of deliberation and ceremony—has transformed into a war room, corridors filled with urgent voices and purposeful movement.
I've just finished briefing a group of younger fighters when Nic pulls me aside, his expression grave in the dimming light.
“You and Ruby,” he begins without preamble. “The ritual drained you both severely. Are you certain you can channel that kind of power again? On a larger scale?”
It's a fair question. The two cleansings we performed left Ruby barely conscious and me hollowed out, as if something essential had been scraped from my bones. But the alternative—allowing Matthias to complete his ritual—is unthinkable.
“We don't have a choice,” I answer simply. “We'll find the strength.”
Nic studies me for a long moment before nodding once. “The main force moves out in twenty minutes. Get what you need. Be ready.”
As he turns away, Thomas approaches with a leather satchel. “Luna’s staying behind with Fiona and Maisie, but she sent these,” he says, handing it over. “Additional components for the purification ritual. Said Ruby would know what to do with them.”
I take the bag, its weight a physical reminder of what we're attempting tonight. “Have you seen her?”
“East wing,” Thomas replies. “Preparing.” He hesitates, then adds, “She looked rough, James. That ritual took more from her than she's admitting.”
Concern pulses through me, accelerating my steps as I head toward the east wing.
Our bond has been muted since the rescue mission—not severed, but subdued, as if both of us are instinctively conserving energy.
Still, I can feel her presence like a compass needle finding north, drawing me through the labyrinthine corridors of the pack building.
The east wing is quieter, used mainly for storage and rarely-needed formal spaces. Shadows lengthen across the hardwood floors as the last daylight fades, marking the beginning of our final countdown. I follow the thread of our bond, turning down an abandoned hallway far from the main preparations.
And there she is. Ruby emerges from a side room, arms full of leather-bound books and small cloth pouches similar to what Luna sent. She doesn't notice me immediately, her focus inward as she mutters what sounds like incantations under her breath.
When she does look up, the sight of her nearly stops my heart. Exhaustion has left dark circles beneath her eyes; her skin is pale, except for two spots of color high on her cheekbones. But there's something else—a quiet determination, a fierce light that burns through the fatigue.
“James,” she says, her voice steady despite the weariness I feel pulsing through our bond. “Did Luna send you with the—”
I hold up the satchel in answer, and she nods, taking a step toward me. Something shifts in the air between us, the muted bond suddenly flaring with awareness, with the same current of need that's been building since that first forced connection.
“Ruby,” I begin, not sure what I'm going to say. What can words offer now, with sunset approaching and death waiting in the forest beyond?
She takes another step closer, close enough that I catch her scent—herbs and paper and something uniquely her that calls to something primal in me. The books and pouches in her arms create a barrier between us, one last defense against the inevitable.
“We should—” she starts, then stops, swallowing visibly. “The others are waiting.”
Neither of us moves. The hallway feels suspended in time, the frantic preparations elsewhere in the building fading to background noise beneath the thundering of my heartbeat.
Of hers, which I can hear as clearly as my own.
Every inch of her feels more real, more material, than it ever has, somehow.
It’s as if I can see her in colors I’ve never seen anywhere else before.
Every curve and scar, every line on her body and face. Every inch of her, I love, I realise.
I'm not sure who moves first. Perhaps we both do, pulled by the gravity that's been drawing us together since long before the lottery, before the forced bond, before all of this.
The books and pouches tumble forgotten to the floor as Ruby's hands find my shoulders, as mine circle her waist, pulling her against me with desperate need.
Our lips meet in a collision rather than a kiss—hungry, frantic, months of denial and days of fear culminating in this moment of connection.
Her mouth opens beneath mine, a soft sound escaping her throat that sends fire racing through my veins.
I back her against the wall, one hand cradling her head to protect it from the impact, the other splayed across her lower back, holding her against me as if she might disappear if I loosen my grip.
The bond between us explodes into full awareness, emotions, and sensations flowing freely between us for the first time since the cave.
Her desire, her fear, her confusion—all of it pours into me as my own floods into her.
There are no barriers now, no careful walls or deliberate distance.
Just us, stripped to our most essential selves.
Ruby's hands tangle in my hair, pulling me closer as if she could crawl inside my skin. I respond by lifting her, her legs wrapping around my waist as I press her more firmly against the wall. The kiss deepens, grows wilder, teeth catching on lips, tongues meeting in desperate exploration.
Time loses meaning. There is only this—her body against mine, her heartbeat matching my own, the bond between us pulsing with shared need, shared fear, shared determination to survive what comes next.
When we finally break apart, both gasping for breath, words hover unspoken between us. I open my mouth, trying to find language for what I feel, for what this means. Ruby's finger presses against my lips, stopping whatever inadequate phrase I might have offered.
Instead, she kisses me again, softer this time, but no less intense. Her lips move to my jaw, my neck, returning to capture my mouth in another breathless exchange that renders speech impossible, unnecessary.
Every time one of us tries to speak, to put into words what's happening between us, we're drawn back together as if by magnetic force.
Kisses replace conversation, touch substitutes for declaration.
Perhaps there are no words for this—for a connection that began in coercion but has grown into something neither of us fully understands or can control.
A distant howl breaks the spell—the signal that our forces are gathering for departure. Reality crashes back with brutal force. In minutes, we'll be facing Matthias and his corrupted wolves. In hours, Silvercreek's fate will be decided one way or another.
Ruby's forehead rests against mine, our breathing gradually slowing, though our hearts continue to race. The bond between us settles into something stronger than before, more solid, as if our physical connection has reinforced what magic began.
Still without speaking, she bends to gather the fallen books and pouches.
I help her, our hands brushing with electric awareness that hasn't diminished despite the interruption.
When everything is collected, we stand facing each other in the darkening hallway, the moment suspended between us like a held breath.
She steps forward, rises on tiptoe to press one last, gentle kiss to my lips. Then she's gone, moving with renewed purpose toward the main hall where our pack awaits.
I follow moments later, the taste of her still on my lips, the bond between us humming with shared strength, shared purpose. Whatever words remain unspoken between us—whatever truths, confessions, or promises—will have to wait.
First, we survive the night. First, we save our pack.
Then, perhaps, we find the words for what we've become to each other.