Page 4 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)

The Hollow pulses with anticipation, strings of fairy lights casting everything in a soft golden glow that does nothing to ease the knot in my stomach.

I tug at the hem of my burgundy dress, the only formal thing I own, trying to ignore the stares burning into my back.

All around me, the other eligible women chat excitedly, their voices a symphony of nervous laughter and whispered speculation.

This is the third time I've stood in this very circle, this group of women, watching fate's cruel game play out. First for Nic's lottery, then Thomas's. Each time, I prayed my name wouldn't be called. Each time, luck was on my side.

But luck, like all fickle things, eventually runs out. That fact terrifies me more than anything.

“You look like you're waiting for execution,” Emily Porter, a girl I knew in school, whispers beside me, her blonde perfection making me feel even more out of place. “It's just a ceremony.”

I don't bother responding. Emily, with her pure shifter bloodline and flawless control of her wolf, could never understand what it's like to be the pack's living reminder of what happens when magic and shifter blood mix unsuccessfully. At least my eternal shame used to be shared with Luna, who was in the same boat. Now, she’s ascended, and I’m still here, in the same dirt I grew up in.

From the raised platform where the Alpha's inner circle and the Elders stand, Luna catches my eye.

She gives me an encouraging smile, radiant in emerald green beside Nic, whose hand rests possessively on the small of her back.

Beside them, Fiona leans into Thomas, both watching the proceedings with the satisfaction of those safely paired.

I envy them. Not their mates—though any woman would be lucky to have men like Nic or Thomas—but their certainty. The knowledge that they belong.

Elder Victoria steps forward, her silver hair gleaming in the lantern light, commanding silence with nothing more than her presence.

“Silvercreek has endured,” she begins, her voice carrying across the hushed gathering. “Through attacks and threats, through changing times and outside pressures, we have remained strong because of our traditions—because of our bonds.”

My eyes drift involuntarily to James, standing rigid beside the other elders. The formal gray jacket stretches across his broad shoulders; his dark hair is swept back from a face that haunts my dreams despite my best efforts. He looks like everything I've ever wanted and can never have.

“Tonight,” Victoria continues, “we strengthen those bonds once again through the sacred lottery, a tradition that has served our pack for generations.”

Sacred. As if random chance deserves reverence. I swallow the bitter laugh threatening to escape.

“James Morgan,” Victoria calls, “step forward.”

He moves with the fluid grace of a born shifter, the confidence of a man secure in his place within the pack hierarchy. Third in command. The Alpha's head of security and best friend since childhood. Nothing like the uncertain, vulnerable man who kissed me in the soft lamplight of my bookshop.

“James has served Silvercreek with distinction,” Victoria announces to the crowd. “His strength, loyalty, and courage make him a valuable mate for any woman of our pack.”

Any woman but me, I think, remembering his laughter, the casual cruelty of his words. The fattest thing I've ever seen.

Victoria lifts a wooden box carved with ancient pack symbols, its hinges creaking softly as she opens it.

It seems each time they do this, the whole thing becomes more ostentatious.

Inside rest dozens of small scrolls, each bearing the name of an eligible unmated female pack member between twenty and thirty.

Including mine.

“May the spirits of our ancestors guide this selection,” Victoria intones, dipping her hand into the box.

The square falls so silent I can hear the whisper of paper as her fingers stir the scrolls. Time stretches, elastic and unbearable, as she selects one and draws it out.

Please, not me. Not me. Not me.

Victoria unfurls the scroll, her expression revealing nothing as she reads the name. Then her eyes find mine in the crowd.

“Ruby Mulligan.”

Immediately, my knees are weak. I have to lock them just to keep from collapsing to the ground. A collective gasp ripples through the gathering, followed immediately by whispers that wash over me in a wave of disbelief and thinly veiled derision.

My legs move of their own accord, carrying me forward through the parting crowd. Their faces blur together, a sea of shock and pity and poorly concealed amusement. Blood pounds in my ears, drowning out everything but the sound of my own heartbeat.

This can't be happening.

I reach the platform steps, my fingers trembling as I grasp the wooden railing.

James stands at the top, his expression unreadable, though something flickers in his eyes when they meet mine—surprise?

Disappointment? I can't tell, and it doesn't matter.

Nothing matters except the humiliation burning through me like wildfire.

Victoria gestures for me to forward, placing my hand in James's much larger one. His skin is warm, calloused from hard work, so familiar it makes my chest ache despite everything.

“The lottery has spoken,” Victoria announces to the crowd. “James Morgan and Ruby Mulligan are matched by pack law and tradition.”

The words hang in the air, final and irreversible. A death knell for the fragile independence I've built.

Nic steps forward, nodding, something hard and unreadable in his eyes. “You’ll be bonded by the next full moon, then.”

The formal words sound hollow, his eyes concerned as they meet mine. Beside him, Luna looks shell-shocked, her earlier confidence replaced by wide-eyed distress. She knows how desperately I didn’t want this, knows it’ll kill me. But she can do nothing but watch.

“Let the celebration begin!” Victoria calls, and music swells from the band assembled near the refreshment tables.

James's fingers tighten around mine, preventing me from pulling away as the crowd begins to disperse toward the food and drinks.

“We need to talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.

I nod stiffly, unable to form words through the tightness in my throat. Talk. As if words could fix this cosmic joke.

I know I have to let him pull me to the center of the Hollow before I can hope to flee, another ordeal to endure before I can escape. James leads me to the center of the square where space has been cleared, one hand at my waist, the other still gripping mine.

“Ruby,” he begins as we move to the music, our steps a mechanical mimicry of intimacy. “I know this isn't what you wanted—”

“Don't,” I interrupt, finally finding my voice. “Just... don't.”

His jaw tightens. “We can make this work.”

The audacity of his optimism stings worse than open cruelty would have. “I don’t want to.”

“Well, we don’t have a choice.”

“It doesn't matter.” I force a smile for the benefit of watching eyes. “None of this matters. Nothing fucking matters.”

“Of course it matters,” he insists, pulling me slightly closer as we turn. “This is our future.”

The word hits me like ice water. Future. A life bound to someone who found me laughable. Someone who kissed me one night and mocked me the next.

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” I reply, so softly only his shifter hearing could catch it.

The song ends, and I step back immediately, breaking contact. “I need some air.”

Before he can respond, I turn and weave through the crowd toward the edge of the square. Faces blur as I pass—some offering congratulations, others watching with naked curiosity. I acknowledge none of them, focused only on escape.

I reach the perimeter, gulping cool night air that does nothing to soothe the panic rising in my chest. From here, I can see the whole celebration spread before me—the dancing couples, the clusters of conversation, the elders watching it all with satisfaction.

A tradition preserved. A pack strengthened. A prison sentence delivered with a smile.

“Ruby.”

I turn to find Luna beside me, her expression a mixture of concern and confusion. “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” My voice comes out sharper than intended.

She winces. “I didn’t think… I mean… Jesus, Ruby. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too.” I glance back at the square where James stands with Nic and Thomas, his posture tense despite his neutral expression. “I’m really, really sorry.”

“Maybe it's not as bad as you think,” Luna offers, laying a gentle hand on my arm. “James is... he's a good man, Ruby.”

“Is he?” I pull away from her touch. “You don't know everything, Luna.”

“Then tell me,” she pleads. “What happened between you two? One day you were getting closer, and the next you wouldn't even speak his name.”

The memory rises unbidden—his voice, the laughter that followed. I push it down, unwilling to reveal that particular humiliation even to my best friend.

“It doesn't matter,” I repeat. “None of this—” I gesture at the celebration—”changes anything.”

Luna's eyes narrow. “What are you planning, Ruby?”

I force a smile. “Nothing. I'm just... overwhelmed. I need to go home.”

“The celebration just started,” she protests. “Tradition—”

“I don't give a damn about tradition,” I snap, then immediately regret it at the hurt in her eyes. “I'm sorry. I just... I can't be here right now. Please understand.”

After a moment, she nods reluctantly. “I'll tell Nic you weren't feeling well. But, Ruby... don't do anything rash.”

“Me? Never.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue.

I slip away from the square, the sounds of celebration fading behind me as I walk quickly toward Mystic Page. The night wraps around me like a familiar blanket, stars scattered across the velvet sky in careless beauty.

By the time I reach the bookshop, my decision is made.

Upstairs, I move with purpose, pulling a duffel bag from under my bed.

Clothes, toiletries, my mother's grimoire.

The small savings I've kept hidden in a hollowed-out copy of Jane Eyre.

Enough to start over somewhere new. Somewhere, I won't be the outcast witch-girl.

Somewhere without James Morgan and his amber eyes that see too much.

I change out of the burgundy dress, donning jeans, a dark sweater, and sturdy boots. Practical clothes for a practical escape.

As I stuff the last of my essentials into the bag, Maggie appears at the window, tapping imperiously with one massive paw.

“Not now,” I mutter, but she continues her insistent pawing until I relent and open the window.

She slinks in, immediately winding between my ankles, her rumbling purr filling the quiet apartment. For a moment, I consider taking her with me—but she's not really mine, never has been. Like everything in Silvercreek, she belongs to many people, just passing through my life temporarily.

“I'm sorry, your majesty,” I whisper, scratching behind her ears one last time. “You'll have to find a new subject to command.”

Her amber eyes—so like my own—seem to see right through me, judging and understanding in equal measure. She headbutts my hand once more before settling on my pillow, clearly planning to stay regardless of my imminent departure.

With a final glance around the apartment that has been my sanctuary, I shoulder my bag and descend the stairs. The bookshop waits in darkness, shelves of stories offering silent farewells as I pass.

I leave a note for Luna pinned to the register—not explaining where I'm going (I don't know myself), just assuring her that I'm safe and asking her to look after the shop until I figure things out, potentially forever. It's cowardly, but I can't face her or anyone else right now.

Outside, the night has deepened, a sliver of moon providing just enough light to navigate by. The sounds of the lottery celebration still echo from the Hollow, but they feel like they belong to another world entirely—one I'm leaving behind.

I skirt the edge of town, staying in shadows until I reach the tree line. The forest opens before me, dark and mysterious, promising both danger and freedom.

Behind me lies Silvercreek, the only home I've ever known. Before me stretches the unknown—terrifying but infinitely preferable to a life shackled to a man who sees me as a joke.

With one last look at the twinkling lights of the town, I step into the embrace of the forest, letting darkness swallow me whole.

I don't look back.