Page 34 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)

The first thing I notice is the absence of pain.

After weeks of fear, of running, of channeling more magic than my body was ever meant to hold, the gentle floating sensation is so unfamiliar it almost frightens me.

My eyes remain closed, consciousness returning in slow waves that bring sensory awareness with them—clean sheets beneath my fingers, the antiseptic smell of Silvercreek's medical building, soft breathing beside me that isn't my own.

I know that breathing. Know the scent that accompanies it, forest and leather, and something uniquely his. The bond between us pulses gently, muted by exhaustion but undeniably present. Alive. We're both alive.

When I finally open my eyes, sunlight streams through half-drawn curtains, casting the small private room in warm afternoon light.

My body feels impossibly heavy, limbs weighted with the aftermath of magical depletion.

But the heaviness holds no fear, only the peaceful certainty that I can rest now. That it's over.

James sleeps in a chair pulled close to my bed, his large frame awkwardly folded into the too-small space.

His head rests near my hand, dark hair tousled, face relaxed in sleep despite the bandages visible beneath his t-shirt.

Even wounded, even exhausted, he positioned himself to protect me—his body between me and the door, one hand resting on the edge of my bed as if to maintain contact even in sleep.

I study him unobserved, this man who has become essential to me in ways I'm only beginning to understand.

The sharp line of his jaw softened slightly in sleep.

The long lashes that rest against his cheeks.

The strength in his shoulders, the gentleness in his hands that I've come to know so intimately.

My fingers move of their own accord, brushing lightly against his forearm. Through our bond, I feel the moment consciousness returns to him—a gradual brightening, like dawn breaking over the horizon.

His eyes open, amber depths immediately finding mine with laser focus. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves or speaks, the reality of survival washing over us in shared wonder.

“Ruby,” he breathes, my name emerging as something between a prayer and a confession.

Then he's moving, rising from the chair to sit on the edge of my bed, hands cupping my face with such careful tenderness it brings tears to my eyes. Our foreheads touch, breath mingling in the small space between us.

“You're okay,” he murmurs, wonder in his voice. “You're really okay.”

I nod, unable to speak past the tightness in my throat. My hands reach for him, needing to confirm his solidity, his presence. When my palm rests over his heart, feeling its strong, steady beat, something breaks loose inside me.

The kiss begins with salt—tears falling freely now, mine or his or both, I can't tell.

His lips find mine with gentle urgency, the contact sending ripples of awareness through our bond.

Relief and joy and something deeper, something neither of us has named aloud, flow between us in a current stronger than any magic.

When we part, both breathing unsteadily, I can't stop touching him—fingers tracing his jaw, his neck, the curve of his shoulder, as if to reassure myself that he's truly here, truly whole.

“How bad?” I ask, gesturing to the bandages visible beneath his shirt.

“Not as bad as it looked,” he assures me, though our bond carries the echo of remembered pain. “Shifter healing took care of the worst of it. You're the one who had us worried.”

“How long have I been out?”

“A full day,” he says, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear with gentle fingers. “Magical exhaustion, Luna said. You channeled more power than anyone thought possible.”

Memories flood back—the ritual, the corrupted wolves, Matthias falling to his knees as the cleansing magic tore through him. “Did it work? Is he—”

“It worked,” James confirms, his expression solemn but relieved.

“Matthias survived, though he'll never be what he was. The corruption has left him and most of the others. Those who fought with us, anyway. The ringleaders have been arrested, but most of their wolves are… well, they’re confused, honestly, and lost a lot of time. They really weren’t in control.

We’re… trying to figure out what to do with them now. ”

“And our people? Thomas? Nic?”

“All alive,” he says, though something in his tone tells me there's more. “Some injuries, but nothing that won't heal. Except...” He hesitates, pain flickering across his features. “We lost Elder Victoria. She died saving us, Ruby. Giving us the distraction we needed.”

Grief tightens my chest, though I hadn't known the Elder well personally. She had been a fixture of Silvercreek longer than I'd been alive—sometimes harsh, always fair, a matriarch in every sense of the word.

“The others will be devastated,” I murmur, thinking of Nic especially, who had lost his grandmother in the most brutal way.

James nods, thumb gently wiping away fresh tears from my cheek. “They are. But they also know her sacrifice saved us all. Saved Silvercreek.”

We sit in silence for a moment, honoring her memory in the quiet way of wolves. Then James shifts position, carefully arranging himself beside me on the narrow bed, his arm a warm weight across my waist, our bodies fitting together as if designed for this proximity.

“I was so afraid,” he confesses against my hair, voice barely above a whisper. “When you collapsed after the ritual... I thought I'd lost you.”

The vulnerability in his tone reaches something deep inside me, some wounded part that has never believed myself worthy of such concern. Of such care.

“You can't get rid of me that easily,” I try to joke, but it falls flat, too much raw emotion behind the words.

James pulls back slightly, just enough to meet my eyes. “I don't want to get rid of you at all,” he says with quiet intensity. “Not ever, Ruby Mulligan. I don’t want to live in a world without you in it.”

Something breaks open between us—the last barrier, the final resistance. Words long buried rise to the surface, demanding to be spoken.

“I've always thought you were too good for me,” I admit, the confession burning my throat. “Even before the lottery, before all of this. You were Luna's golden-child brother, and I was... nobody. The witch-born outcast who couldn't even shift.”

Pain flashes across his face. “Ruby, no—”

“Let me finish,” I interrupt gently. “All those years of being bullied, of being treated as less than.

.. it convinced me I couldn't be loved. Not really. Not for myself.” I swallow hard, forcing myself to maintain eye contact despite the vulnerability of the moment.

“I had such a crush on you, even back then. But I knew someone like you would never look twice at someone like me.”

James makes a wounded sound, his hand tightening at my waist. “I looked,” he says roughly. “Gods, Ruby, I looked. All the time. But I was a coward. I went along with how the pack treated you because it was easier than standing up to them than standing out.”

Our foreheads touch again, both of us breathing through emotions too big for our bodies to contain.

“And then there was what I heard,” I say quietly.

“That day, after we kissed. Hearing you laugh about someone's size, calling them 'enormous' and 'the fattest thing'... it confirmed every fear I'd ever had. I was so, so sure it was about me, but even if it wasn’t, it—it didn’t matter. It hurt all the same.”

James goes very still, comprehension finally dawning in his eyes.

“The cat,” he breathes, pulling back to stare at me in disbelief. “You thought I was talking about you? Ruby, I was complaining to Thomas about that massive orange tabby that lives in your bookshop! The one that kept getting underfoot every time I came to see you.”

The absurdity of it hits me all at once—months of pain and withdrawal, all because of a misunderstood conversation about a cat. A laugh bubbles up from my chest, unexpected and slightly hysterical.

“A cat,” I repeat, the laughter quickly dissolving into tears. “All this time...”

James gathers me closer, his arms secure around me as I cry—for the misunderstanding, for the lost time, for all the wounds that can finally begin to heal now that truth sits between us.

“I thought you were beautiful then,” he murmurs against my temple. “I think you're beautiful now. The most beautiful woman I've ever known, Ruby Mulligan. Probably on the whole planet.”

The words should sound like a line, like something practiced or performative. Instead, they carry the unmistakable weight of absolute truth, conviction flowing through our bond like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“I should have talked to you,” I admit, sniffling against his shirt. “Asked you what I heard instead of assuming the worst.”

“And I should have had the courage to tell you how I felt years ago,” he counters, fingers gently combing through my hair. “I was the one who let people make you feel small first. We've both made mistakes. But we're here now. Together.”

The simplicity of it settles over me, bringing peace I thought impossible just days ago. We're here now. Together. Not because a lottery forced us, not because enemies coerced us, but because beneath all the fear and misunderstanding, something real has been growing between us all along.

“I'm still scared,” I confess, tracing patterns on his chest with hesitant fingers. “Of what happens next. Of whether this—us—can survive outside of crisis and danger.”

James catches my hand, bringing it to his lips with tender reverence. “I'm not,” he says simply. “Because I know what I feel, Ruby. What I've felt for longer than I've been brave enough to admit. And it's not going anywhere.”

The bond between us pulses with shared emotion, with certainty that transcends words. I lean up to kiss him again, slow and sweet and full of promise. His response is gentle but thorough, leaving no doubt about the depth of his feelings.

When we part, both slightly breathless, I settle against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. His arms around me feel like a sanctuary, like home in a way Silvercreek itself never quite managed to be.

“So,” I say after a comfortable silence, “about that fat orange cat... Maggie, that is…”

James laughs, the sound rumbling beneath my ear, vibrating through our bond with pure joy.

“I think she'll be jealous of me,” he confides, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “She's used to having you all to himself.”

“She'll have to learn to share,” I murmur, nestling closer, letting my eyes drift closed in contented exhaustion.

As sleep reclaims me, the last thing I'm aware of is James's whispered words against my hair—three simple syllables that follow me into dreams filled with light and promise rather than darkness and fear.

For the first time in memory, I feel not just safe, but cherished. Not just accepted, but chosen. Not just bound by circumstance, but connected by something far more powerful than magic.

By love, freely given and joyfully received.