Page 5 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)

My wolf churns beneath my skin, restless and demanding. He doesn't understand why we're here instead of with her—our mate by pack law, if not by choice. I don't have a good answer.

I stop at the window, staring out at the slice of moon hanging in the velvet sky.

The lottery. Of all the eligible women in Silvercreek, fate or chance or whatever cruel deity controls these things chose Ruby.

The same woman who kissed me like she meant it two months ago, then cut me from her life without explanation the very next day.

The same woman whose amber eyes haunt my dreams.

“Dammit,” I mutter, running a hand through my already disheveled hair.

I should be relieved. The lottery could have paired me with anyone—someone I couldn't stand, someone whose scent repelled my wolf, someone whose touch would feel like sandpaper against my skin.

Instead, it gave me the one woman who's consumed my thoughts since that evening in her bookshop, the taste of cinnamon still lingering on my tongue.

But her expression when Victoria called her name... Pure horror. As if being matched with me was the worst possible outcome.

I resume pacing, my bare feet silent against the hardwood floor. What the hell happened between us? One perfect kiss, promises of tomorrow, and then—nothing. Radio silence. Avoidance so deliberate it had to be intentional.

And now we're supposed to be mates.

My wolf growls, frustrated by my inaction. Find her , he insists, the command growing stronger with each passing minute. Claim her .

“She doesn't want to be claimed,” I argue aloud, though the words taste like ash.

Unbidden, my mind conjures images that make my body tighten with want—Ruby beneath me, her dark hair spread across my pillow, those amber eyes heavy-lidded with desire. Her generous curves pressed against me, skin to skin. The sounds she might make when pleasure overtakes her.

I shake my head violently, dispelling the fantasy. This isn't helping.

The clock ticks over to midnight, and something in me snaps. I can't stay here, prowling my cabin like a caged animal. We need to talk, Ruby and I. Clear the air. Figure out what the hell happened between us and what we're going to do about this mess the lottery has created.

Decision made, I grab a jacket and head out into the night.

The temperature has dropped, and a hint of autumn's approach is carried on the breeze that rustles through the trees surrounding my cabin.

My wolf stirs, eager to be released into the cool darkness, but I keep him leashed.

This isn't a night for running on four legs.

Silvercreek sleeps around me as I walk the familiar path to Mystic Page.

A few windows still glow with lamplight, but most of the pack has retired after the excitement of the ceremony.

Tomorrow, gossip about the Alpha's right hand being paired with the outcast witch will spread like wildfire, but for now, there's peace.

The bookshop sits dark and silent on the corner, its windows reflecting the moonlight. No light burns in the apartment above. I hesitate at the door, suddenly unsure. It's midnight—too late for a social call, even one as necessary as this.

But my wolf won't be denied any longer, his impatience bleeding into my human consciousness. Before I can reconsider, I knock, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet street.

No response.

I knock again, harder this time. “Ruby? It's James. We need to talk.”

Nothing.

The unease that's been simmering in my gut all evening crystallizes into something sharper. Something's wrong. I can feel it in the air, in the unusual stillness surrounding the normally welcoming bookshop.

I try the door, surprised to find it unlocked. The interior lies in darkness, the familiar scent of old books and Ruby's distinctive lavender-and-rain perfume greeting me as I step inside.

“Ruby?” I call, my voice echoing in the empty space.

I navigate through the shelves to the back of the shop, where the staircase leads to her apartment. The steps creak beneath my weight as I climb, an intruder in a space I've only visited once before.

The door at the top stands partially open. I push it wider, the hinges protesting softly.

“Ruby, it's James. I know it's late, but—”

The words die in my throat as I take in the scene before me. Drawers pulled open, their contents clearly rifled through in haste. The closet door was ajar, revealing half-empty hangers. A familiar orange tabby curled on the unmade bed, watching me with unblinking amber eyes.

She's gone.

The realization hits like a physical blow. I move through the small apartment, looking for some sign that I'm wrong, that she's just stepped out temporarily. But the evidence is clear—a hastily packed bag, missing essentials, a note left behind.

I pick up the folded paper from the kitchen counter, recognizing Ruby's elegant handwriting:

Luna, I'm sorry. I need time to figure things out. Please look after the shop. I'll be in touch when I can. I might never come back—if I don’t, thank you for everything.—R

No explanation. No destination. Just gone.

My wolf roars to life, clawing at my control with sudden ferocity.

FIND HER , he demands, no longer a suggestion but an imperative I can't ignore.

I shove the note in my pocket and race back down the stairs, out into the night. At the edge of the street, I pause, drawing deep breaths through my nose, filtering the scents around me.

There—faint but unmistakable—Ruby's scent trail leading away from the bookshop. Not toward the town square or the pack house, but toward the forest at the edge of our territory.

She's running.

The realization sends a surge of both anger and fear through me. The forest isn't safe, especially at night. Especially for someone who can't shift. Does she intend to run to our borders? To cross them? To keep running until she’s far enough from me that I can’t find her?

No. I won’t allow it.

I follow her trail at a jog, keeping to shadows out of habit. She has maybe a two-hour head start, but on foot, she can't have gone far. As her scent grows stronger near the tree line, my decision is made.

Eventually, I surrender to the shift. It’ll be faster that way. Bones crack and reform, muscles stretch and contort as my human form gives way to wolf. The transformation, familiar as breathing after years of practice, takes only seconds.

On four legs, the world transforms. Scents sharpen into a complex map that tells stories human senses could never decipher. Ruby's trail blazes like a beacon—fear, determination, and underneath it all, a bone-deep sadness that makes my wolf whine in distress.

I follow at a run, paws silent on the forest floor, my night vision piercing the darkness between trees. She's moving with surprising speed for someone on foot, her path winding deeper into the woods, away from Silvercreek.

Away from me.

The thought drives me faster, pushing my wolf body to its limits. Time loses meaning as I track her through the night, moon and stars my only witnesses. She's not making it easy—crossing streams, doubling back, taking unexpected turns. Almost as if she's trying to lose anyone who might follow.

Anyone like me.

Hours pass. The forest grows denser, wilder, the boundaries of Silvercreek territory far behind us now.

I should stop, alert Nic, or the patrol about a packmate beyond our borders.

But the thought dissolves as quickly as it forms, overwhelmed by the driving need to find Ruby before anything happens to her.

The eastern sky begins to lighten, the first pale fingers of dawn reaching through the canopy. I pause at the crest of a small ridge, catching my breath, reassessing the trail.

That's when I catch it—a new scent cutting across Ruby's path. My hackles rise instantly, a growl rumbling in my chest.

Wolf. But wrong somehow. Corrupted. The scent carries the distinctive rotten-egg undertone I've encountered only once before, during a border skirmish not long ago at all.

Cheslem.

The rival pack whose territory borders ours, whose twisted magic and brutal customs make them feared throughout the region. The pack that's been suspiciously quiet since the League's attack, as if waiting for something. The pack whose last attack almost killed Luna.

Fear clutches at my heart with icy fingers as I detect not one but three distinct Cheslem scents, all intersecting with Ruby's trail. Fresh. Recent. Within the last hour.

Nic was right to be paranoid. They were lingering close to our territory after all, searching for weaknesses.

My wolf takes over completely, driving us forward with desperate speed, all caution abandoned. Ruby's scent mingles with theirs now, the fear in her trail spiking sharply. She knows she's being followed. By me or by them, I don’t know.

The terrain grows steeper, rockier, the trees thinning as the ridge rises toward a series of cliffs I know mark the true boundary between Silvercreek and Cheslem territories. No one from our pack ventures this far without backup, without permission.

No one except Ruby, who's walking straight into danger with every step.

The scents strengthen suddenly, pulling me to a small clearing beneath an overhanging rock face. Here, the story written in scents and subtle signs becomes clear—Ruby stopped here, perhaps to rest. The Cheslem wolves caught up, surrounding her.

And then they moved on together, her trail now bracketed by theirs, heading straight toward Cheslem land.

Did they force her? Is she their prisoner? Or worse—did she go willingly, seeking asylum with our enemies?

The possibilities torment me as I push onward, my wolf's stamina beginning to flag after hours of relentless pursuit. We need to catch up before they cross fully into Cheslem territory. Before she's lost to me—to us—completely.

The first direct rays of sunlight spear through the trees as I crest another ridge. The scents suddenly intensify—they can't be more than half a mile ahead now. My heart pounds against my ribs, fear and protectiveness surging through me in equal measure.

I should go back for reinforcements. Should alert Nic. Should do anything but what I'm doing—charging alone toward three Cheslem wolves who could tear me apart if they catch me outnumbered.

But the thought of Ruby in their clutches overrides all rational thought. My wolf drives us forward, his primitive instincts focused on a single imperative: protect mate.

The ground slopes upward again, leading toward the craggy cliffs that mark Cheslem territory. Ruby's scent grows stronger with each stride, laced with fear that stings my nostrils and floods my body with adrenaline.

I push harder, muscles burning, breath coming in ragged pants. Just ahead. They're just ahead. I can almost—

A new scent slams into me, stopping me cold in my tracks. Blood. Ruby's blood.

The world narrows to a pinpoint of rage and terror. My wolf surges forward with renewed strength, caution abandoned entirely as we race toward the source of that scent.

Morning light glints off the rocky terrain ahead, the forest thinning as the elevation increases. I strain my ears for any sound—voices, footsteps, anything—but hear only the pounding of my own heart and the whisper of wind through the pines.

The trail veers sharply upward, leading toward a narrow pass between two towering rock formations. The perfect place for an ambush. Every instinct screams warning, but I can't stop. Won't stop.

Not when Ruby's blood scents the air. Not when she's so close. Not when everything that matters lies just beyond that pass.

I charge forward, a silent prayer forming in the human part of my mind still capable of thought: Please be alive. Please be safe. Please.

The pass looms before me, a dark slash between sun-drenched stones. Ruby's scent grows overpowering—she's there, just beyond my sight. The Cheslem wolves' scents mingle with hers, their wrongness making my hackles rise involuntarily.

I gather myself for one final sprint, muscles coiling, instincts screaming both caution and urgency in a deafening chorus. One chance. I'll have one chance to get this right.