Page 6 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)
Blood trickles from the cut on my temple, a warm trail snaking down to my jaw. I yank against the handcuffs for the hundredth time, metal biting into already raw wrists. The ancient wooden chair creaks beneath me, sturdy enough to withstand my futile struggles.
“She's got spirit,” says the lanky shifter lounging by the cabin's grimy window. His name is Damon, I've gathered. “I like that.”
“Shut up,” I spit, earning a chuckle from my captor.
Across the room, Petra—this contingent of the Cheslem Pack’s leader—paces with predatory grace, her body coiled with latent violence. Even in human form, she exudes the aura of the massive black wolf I glimpsed before a blow to the head brought darkness.
“This is a waste of time,” grumbles the third shifter, a mountain of a man whose name I haven't caught. “She's not worth the trouble. Just a half-breed who can't even shift.”
“And yet,” Petra says, stopping to examine me with cold calculation, “she reeks of Silvercreek's third-in-command. She has value to someone.”
I force a laugh, ignoring the pain it causes in my bruised ribs. “You overestimate my importance.”
Petra's lips curve into a smile that never reaches her eyes. “Do I? Then why were you running, little witch? What drives a woman to flee her pack in the dead of night?”
The question hangs in the musty air of the abandoned hunting cabin.
Outside, morning sunlight filters through pine branches, casting dappled shadows across the rough-hewn floor.
We're somewhere in Cheslem territory, though I couldn't say how far.
After my capture, I drifted in and out of consciousness as they dragged me here.
“Maybe I just got tired of the company,” I say, meeting her gaze with defiance I don't entirely feel.
Petra laughs, the sound like broken glass. “Oh, I doubt that. No one leaves their pack without reason.” She crouches before me, her face inches from mine. “Especially not on the night of a lottery ceremony.”
My surprise must show, because her smile widens. “Yes, we know about that. Our scouts watch your quaint little rituals. Tell me, Ruby Mulligan—were you there?”
The question twists like a knife. “None of your business.”
“I think it is my business,” she says, gripping my chin with bruising force. “Considering you're now my property.”
I wrench my face away. “I'm nobody's property.”
“You're whatever I say you are.” She straightens, addressing her companions. “We may have missed our target, but this one might still serve our purpose.”
The mountain man snorts. “What purpose? She can't even access her magic properly, by the looks of it, or she would have broken free. She’s defective.”
My cheeks burn with humiliation. Even here, among enemies, my inadequacies are common knowledge.
“Magic isn't everything,” Petra says, thoughtful. “Sometimes leverage is more valuable. The question is, who values her most?”
“We could ransom her back to Silvercreek,” Damon suggests.
“Or we could just kill her,” the mountain man counters. “Send a message.”
They continue debating my fate as if I'm not even here, a piece of furniture rather than a person. Rage builds in my chest, hot and choking.
“You won't get away with this,” I snarl, straining against my bindings until fresh blood slicks my wrists. “Silvercreek will—”
“Silvercreek will what?” Petra interrupts. “Come charging to your rescue? Please. Who would bother, for something like you?”
The truth in her words stings more than my injuries. I think of all the years of sideways glances and whispered comments. The isolation. The constant reminders that I don't quite belong.
She sees the doubt in my eyes and presses her advantage. “They won't risk war for an outcast witch who can't even shift.”
“Maybe not,” I concede. “But that doesn't mean I'll make this easy for you.”
“I'm counting on it,” Petra says with that terrible smile. “The difficult ones are always more entertaining to break.”
A sudden crash interrupts whatever threat might have followed. The cabin door splinters inward, wood fragments exploding across the room. In the doorway stands a figure backlit by morning sun, tall and radiating fury.
James.
His amber eyes burn with primal rage, his body poised on the edge of shifting. He takes in the scene in an instant—me, bloodied and bound; the three Cheslem shifters, now alert and hostile.
“Let her go.” His voice is barely human, his wolf so close to the surface I can almost see it shimmering beneath his skin.
Petra recovers first, her surprise melting into calculating interest. “Well, well. Silvercreek's enforcer, all alone in enemy territory. How reckless.”
James's gaze never leaves me, cataloging every injury with growing fury. “I won't ask again.”
Damon and the mountain man move to flank him, blocking the exit. Three against one, with me unable to help. The odds are impossible.
“James, get out of here,” I call, fear for him overriding everything else. “They'll kill you.”
“Shut up, Ruby,” he growls, still not looking away from me.
Petra circles him slowly, like a predator assessing prey—though James is anything but prey. “This is interesting. The third-in-command himself, coming alone to rescue the pack reject? I'm almost touched by the romance of it.”
“This isn't about romance,” James says flatly. “She's under my protection. Pack law.”
“Ah, yes,” Petra purrs. “The lottery. Congratulations on your match.” She glances between us with malicious amusement as it clicks, as she comes to understand what perhaps she already suspected. “Though from the looks of things, your bride wasn't exactly thrilled with the arrangement.”
James says nothing, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.
“What will you give us for her return?” Petra asks, all pretense of pleasantries abandoned.
“What do you want?” His voice remains steady, controlled, despite the rage I can feel emanating from him.
“No!” I shout, renewed struggles making the chair legs scrape against the wooden floor. “Don't negotiate with them, James. Just go.”
The mountain man backhands me, the blow snapping my head sideways. “Quiet.”
James moves so fast that he's almost a blur, slamming the mountain man against the wall with supernatural strength, his forearm pressed against the man's throat. “Touch her again and I'll tear your head off.”
Damon tenses, ready to attack, but Petra holds up a hand, stopping him. “Enough. We're negotiating, not fighting. Yet.” She smiles thinly. “Release Verne, enforcer. Let's discuss this like civilized wolves.”
For a moment, I think James will ignore her, will crush Verne's windpipe, and damn the consequences. But gradually, he steps back, though his eyes promise violence if provoked again.
“Name your price,” he says to Petra.
She pretends to consider. “Money, of course. Say... fifty thousand?”
James doesn't even blink. “Fine.”
“James, no,” I protest, earning a warning glare from Verne.
“But there's a complication,” Petra continues as if I hadn't spoken. “We can't simply hand her over for cash. That would constitute trafficking under human law, and even we have standards.”
James's expression doesn't change. “What are you suggesting?”
Petra's smile widens, revealing too-sharp teeth. “There is one legal way to transfer a pack member between territories. An ancient law, but still binding. A mating bond.”
The blood drains from my face as I understand what she's proposing. “No.”
“The law recognizes the sale of a mate from one pack to another, provided the bond is initiated immediately,” Petra explains, clearly enjoying my horror. “It's quite traditional, really. A bride price.”
“You're insane,” I spit, my voice shaking with rage and humiliation. “This isn't the dark ages.”
“On the contrary,” Petra says. “Shifter law is quite clear on this point. Isn't that right, enforcer? I'm sure you studied all the ancient codes when you took your position.”
James's face remains impassive, but I see the muscle in his jaw twitching. He knows she's right. The old laws, rarely invoked but never formally revoked, allowed for such transfers in times of treaty negotiation.
“So those are my terms,” Petra continues, circling back to stand behind my chair, her hands coming to rest possessively on my shoulders. “Fifty thousand dollars and the immediate initiation of a mating bond, right here, right now. Or we keep her.”
“You can't be serious,” I breathe, a cold dread settling in my stomach.
“Deadly serious,” Petra whispers near my ear. “And really, you should be thanking me. I'm giving you exactly what your lottery already decided. Just... expediting the process.”
I look to James, silently pleading. His expression is carved from stone, unreadable. The room feels airless suddenly, the walls closing in.
“James,” I say, my voice breaking. “Don't do this. Please.”
His eyes finally meet mine, and the conflict there is clear, even as he masks it from our captors. But he says nothing to me, turning instead to Petra.
“The bond would make her legally mine under shifter law?” he asks, his voice neutral, as if discussing a business transaction rather than my life.
“James!” I cry, unable to believe what I'm hearing. “You can't—”
“Yes or no, Petra?” he presses, ignoring my outburst.
She smiles, triumphant. “Yes. Once the bond is initiated, she's yours to take back to Silvercreek. No legal complications.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then she stays with us,” Petra says simply. “And I doubt she'll enjoy Cheslem's hospitality.”
I can't breathe. Can't think. This can't be happening.
“James, listen to me,” I plead, desperation making my voice raw. “Don't do this. Not like this. Please. I'd rather take my chances with them.”
It's a lie—the thought of remaining with these monsters terrifies me—but the alternative... Being bought. Bonded against my will, even if it's to James. The humiliation burns worse than any injury they've inflicted.
“Please,” I whisper, tears blurring my vision. “Don't buy me like property.”
James finally looks at me, something flashing in his eyes that I can't interpret.
But he doesn't respond to my plea, turning back to Petra instead.
He doesn’t care. He’s about to buy me as a bride, and James Morgan, I realise with a thrill of horror that almost makes me sob, doesn’t care.