Page 32 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)

The forest whispers warnings as we move through its shadows.

Ancient trees loom overhead, their branches weaving patterns against the star-strewn sky, the full moon a watchful eye illuminating our path.

Fifty Silvercreek wolves move as one entity, breath synchronized, footsteps carefully placed on soft earth.

The bond thrumming between James and me has become a tangible force, a tether I could follow blindfolded through the darkness.

We're close now. I feel the ritual site before I see it—a sickening pulse of wrongness that makes my stomach clench and my magic recoil. Dark energy radiates from somewhere ahead, tainting the natural flows of power that usually course through the forest like underground streams.

“There,” James whispers, pointing to a faint glow visible through the trees.

Nic signals a halt, gathering our lead fighters in a tight circle.

His voice is barely audible, even to shifter hearing.

“Thomas, take your team west. Create enough chaos to draw their outer guards away. Ethan, east flank, hold position until Thomas engages. Main force with me.” His gaze finds James and me.

“You two, stay centered on the ritual site. When we clear a path, move straight for Matthias.”

Simple words for what might be a suicide mission.

The reality of what we're attempting settles over me like a physical weight.

If we fail, Silvercreek falls. If we succeed, I'll have to channel more power than I've ever attempted, through a bond I'm still learning to navigate, to cleanse corruption that has festered for generations.

“You can do this,” James murmurs, his hand finding mine in the darkness. Through our bond flows his absolute conviction, steadying my nerves.

Thomas and his team melt into the shadows, moving to position. Minutes pass in tense silence as we wait for the signal, every sense hyperalert to the dangers lurking ahead.

When it comes, the diversion is unmistakable—howls of surprise and pain erupt from the western edge of the ritual site, followed by the distinctive sounds of combat.

Nic signals forward, and our forces surge through the underbrush toward the ancient stone circle now clearly visible in the clearing ahead.

What I see stops my breath in my lungs.

The stone circle—seven megalithic pillars arranged around a central altar stone—has been corrupted by Matthias's dark magic.

Black veins crawl across the ancient surfaces, pulsing with sickly light.

Elder Victoria and two other Silvercreek wolves are bound to separate pillars, silver chains cutting into their flesh.

Their life force visibly drains into the stones, golden threads of energy being slowly replaced by corrupted black.

And at the center stands Matthias—or what remains of him.

He's massive, half-shifted into a form that's neither fully wolf nor human but something monstrous.

Corruption crawls beneath his skin like living shadows, his eyes pools of darkness that reflect no light.

Power radiates from him in nauseating waves, each pulse drawing more life from the bound sacrifices.

“Now,” Nic commands, and our forces explode from the tree line.

Chaos erupts as Silvercreek wolves clash with corrupted Cheslem defenders. The night fills with snarls, howls, and the distinctive sound of claws against flesh. James keeps pace beside me as we weave through the combat, his body a shield between me and the worst of the fighting.

I clutch my mother's grimoire in one hand, Sera's grandmother’s journal in the other, the ritual components secured in the satchel at my hip. Every step closer to the center of the circle intensifies the wrongness in the air, magic that should feel natural and flowing instead congealed and putrid.

Nic reaches Matthias first, shifting mid-leap into his massive black wolf form. They collide with earth-shaking force, Matthias barely staggering despite Nic's considerable strength. James joins the assault seconds later, his russet fur a blur as he circles, looking for an opening.

With the alphas engaged, I dart toward the central altar stone, dropping to my knees to hastily arrange the ritual components. Herbs and crystals form a pattern matching the diagram in Sera's journal, each placement requiring absolute precision despite the battle raging around me.

A corrupted wolf lunges toward me, teeth bared, only to be intercepted by one of our fighters.

Blood spatters across my hands, across the arranged components, but I don't falter.

The incantation rises to my lips, words in an ancient language that resonate through my bones as if my body remembers what my mind never learned.

Through our bond, I feel James's pain as Matthias lands a vicious blow, feel his determination as he returns to the fight despite the injury.

The connection between us strengthens with each passing second, with each shared breath and heartbeat.

I draw on it now, pulling power through the bond like drawing water from a deep well.

The first stage of the counter-ritual ignites with a flash of amber light, the arranged components burning away to pure energy that rises in a spiraling column. I direct it outward with shaking hands, focusing first on weakening the corruption rather than cleansing it completely.

The effect is immediate. Matthias staggers, the corruption beneath his skin momentarily retreating like shadows fleeing from sudden light. The corrupted wolves throughout the clearing falter, their movements growing uncoordinated as the dark magic animating them weakens.

“It's working,” I gasp, hardly believing what I'm seeing.

For a precious moment, hope surges through me. Nic and James press their advantage, driving Matthias back toward the altar stone where my magic can reach him most effectively. The tide of battle shifts, Silvercreek fighters gaining ground against the disoriented Cheslem forces.

And then everything changes.

A howl cuts through the night—not a sound of pain or rage, but a summons. A command that carries power in its timbre. From the northern edge of the clearing, shadows move with purpose, emerging from the trees in a coordinated formation that sends ice through my veins.

Petra leads them, her form even more corrupted than when we last saw her.

Behind her come at least fifteen more Cheslem wolves, all bearing the marks of advanced corruption but moving with disturbing coordination.

They haven't been affected by my counter-ritual—either too distant when it activated or somehow shielded from its effects.

“Reinforcements!” someone shouts, the warning rippling through our forces.

I meet James's gaze across the chaos, our bond pulsing with shared recognition of the danger. We're outnumbered now, our fighters already exhausted from the initial assault. And I've used too much of the ritual components on this first stage, leaving precious little for what must come next.

Matthias laughs—a sound like grinding stone that raises the hair on my arms. “Did you think I wouldn't be prepared?” he taunts, addressing Nic directly. “That I wouldn't have contingencies?”

With renewed strength, he throws off Nic's next attack, sending our Alpha crashing into one of the stone pillars with bone-jarring force.

James moves to intercept Matthias's follow-up strike, but Petra is suddenly there, her corrupted form a blur of unnatural speed as she slams into him from the side.

Our forces are being driven back, surrounded on all sides by fresh corrupted wolves.

Thomas and his team are nowhere to be seen—either cut off from reaching us or already fallen.

The silver chains binding Elder Victoria and the other hostages pulse with darker energy as Matthias draws more deeply on their life force, accelerating his ritual despite our interference.

I frantically check Sera's journal, looking for alternatives, for some way to amplify the counter-ritual with fewer components. The corruption is stronger than we anticipated, the cleansing more difficult than the small-scale versions we performed earlier.

“Ruby!” James calls, fighting free of Petra long enough to create space between them. “The bond—use it now!”

He's right. Our only chance lies in channeling the full power of our mate bond, in drawing on the connection between us more deeply than we ever have before.

But doing so in the midst of battle, without proper preparation, risks both our lives.

If I take too much, if I channel more than either of us can withstand. ..

No time for hesitation. No time for fear. I close my eyes, reaching through the bond with desperate need, with absolute trust. James responds instantly, his consciousness meeting mine halfway, our energies intertwining with an intimacy that transcends the physical.

Power floods through me—raw, primal, overwhelming. The second stage of the counter-ritual ignites beneath my hands, amber light flaring brighter, spiraling higher. I direct it toward Matthias, toward the corruption that has consumed him so completely.

The magic strikes him like a physical blow, driving him to his knees. For one brilliant moment, victory seems within reach. The corruption visibly retreats from his skin, black veins receding as the cleansing takes effect.

Then Petra is there, throwing herself between Matthias and my magic. The purification hits her instead, and she staggers but doesn’t fall.

“Foolish witch,” she hisses, her voice distorted beyond recognition. “We’ll kill every last one of you…!”

Horror fills me as I realize it’s still not enough. Somehow, despite it all, my power isn’t enough—even the bond isn’t enough. It’s all my worst fears, realised at once.

Through our bond, I feel James's desperate rush toward me, feel his determination to reach me before Petra can. But he's too far, the distance between us suddenly insurmountable as corrupted wolves close ranks around him, cutting off his approach.

Matthias rises, strength returning to his malformed body. His corrupted form seems larger now, darkness flowing around him like a living shadow. With a gesture, he increases the drain on the hostages, their cries of pain cutting through the sounds of battle.

“The moon reaches its zenith,” he announces, voice carrying unnatural power. “The ritual completes. And Silvercreek falls.”

As Petra advances toward me, her twisted form blocking any escape, I frantically search for options, for some way to salvage what's rapidly becoming a catastrophic failure.

The bond between James and me pulses with shared fear, shared desperation—and beneath it all, a fierce determination that refuses to surrender.

We may be outmatched. We may be surrounded. But as long as that bond remains, as long as we both draw breath, the fight isn't over.

Even if, in this moment, I have no idea how we can possibly win.