Page 9 of Fat Sold Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #3)

The cabin appears suddenly after hours of driving in deliberate circles to throw off our trail, a weathered structure nestled between towering pines as if the forest itself had grown around it.

I slow the truck, gravel crunching beneath the tires as we pull into the narrow clearing.

Beside me, Ruby stirs from her uneasy half-sleep, amber eyes blinking open to take in our surroundings.

“Where are we?” Her voice is hoarse from hours of silence.

“Thomas's family hunting cabin.” I kill the engine, the sudden quiet overwhelming after the truck's persistent rumble. “About fifty miles north of Silvercreek. Far enough that the Cheslem wolves won't find us easily.”

Ruby says nothing, but I feel her skepticism pulsing through our new bond—an unwanted awareness I'm still struggling to navigate.

The connection isn't complete, not without the physical aspect we've both tacitly agreed to avoid, but it's strong enough that her emotions bleed into my consciousness like watercolors on wet paper.

“It's safe,” I add, unnecessarily. “Isolated. No one uses it outside of hunting season.”

She nods once, sharp and dismissive, before pushing open her door. The afternoon air carries the scent of pine and approaching rain, the sky above us heavy with darkening clouds. Perfect weather to match our mood.

I grab our meager supplies—a first aid kit from the truck's glove compartment, a few bottles of water, my jacket—and follow Ruby to the cabin's porch.

The key is hidden exactly where Thomas always keeps it, beneath a loose board on the third step.

Some things, at least, remain predictable in a world suddenly gone sideways.

The door creaks open to reveal a space both familiar and strange.

I've spent countless weekends here with Thomas and Nic, hunting trips and poker nights stretching back to our teenage years.

But seeing it through Ruby's eyes—through the lens of our current predicament—transforms the rustic comfort into something stark and confining.

“It's not much,” I say as Ruby surveys the main room with its stone fireplace, worn leather sofa, and kitchenette tucked into one corner. “But it's dry. Secure.”

“I don’t feel very secure, James,” she murmurs, wrapping her arms around herself as if warding off a chill that has nothing to do with temperature.

I ignore the barb, moving past her to check the generator housed in a small shed behind the cabin.

It starts on the second pull, the sudden electrical hum bringing the space reluctantly to life.

Lights flicker on, the ancient refrigerator begins its rattling protest, and the water pump clanks beneath the floorboards.

When I return, Ruby has positioned herself by the window, staring out at the gathering storm clouds.

The fading light catches in her dark hair, revealing hints of mahogany I've never noticed before.

My wolf stirs, pushing against my control with renewed interest despite—or perhaps because of—the bond humming between us.

“There's a bedroom through there,” I say, gesturing to the door on the right. “You should take it.”

She glances at me sidelong, suspicion evident in the tightness around her eyes. “And you?”

“Couch.” I drop my jacket on the worn leather cushions, staking my claim. “I've slept on worse.”

Something flickers across her face—relief, maybe, or disappointment. I can't tell, and the bond offers no clarity, just a confusing swirl of emotions too tangled to decipher.

“I'll check the perimeter,” I say when the silence stretches too long. “Make sure we weren't followed.”

Outside, the first fat raindrops begin to fall, splattering against the dry earth like tiny explosions. I inhale deeply, filtering through the petrichor for any hint of wolf—Cheslem or otherwise. Nothing but forest scents: pine, moss, the distant musk of deer. We're alone, at least for now.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, a miracle of technology that we have even a single bar of service this far from civilization. Nic's name flashes on the screen.

“You're alive,” he says when I answer, relief evident beneath his usual brusque tone. “Luna was worried sick. We all were.”

“We're okay.” I move further from the cabin, lowering my voice, though I know Ruby can likely hear me anyway. “Mostly.”

“What the hell happened, James? Luna suspected she ran—so, what, you went after her alone, no backup, no plan—”

“I know.” I cut him off, not needing the reminder of my recklessness. “It was stupid. But I had to find her before—” I swallow, the memory of Ruby bound and bloodied still raw. “The Cheslem pack had her, Nic. They were going to use her against us.”

Silence on the other end, then a low curse. “How did you get her out?”

I hesitate, unsure how to explain what we've done. What I've done.

“James?” Nic's voice sharpens with concern. “What happened?”

“They forced a bond,” I say finally, the words tasting like ashes. “An old ritual. Blood exchange.”

More silence, heavier this time. “They forced you to mate with Ruby?”

“It was that or leave her there.” The defense sounds hollow even to my ears. “They had her captive, Nic. They were hurting her.”

“Jesus.” Nic exhales slowly. “I didn't even know that was still done. Selling brides? It’s a new low, even for them.”

“Apparently, the Cheslem pack keeps the old ways alive,” I say bitterly. “They made me pay for her, Nic. Fifty thousand dollars, like she was property. I had to take it out of the pack accounts. And then they tried to keep us both anyway.”

“But you got away.”

“Barely.” Rain soaks through my shirt, plastering it to my skin, but I make no move to seek shelter. “They'll come after us. They know who we are, what we mean to the pack.”

“Where are you now?”

“Thomas's hunting cabin. Far enough north that we should have some breathing room, but I don't know for how long.”

Nic is quiet for a moment, thinking. I can almost see him pacing his office, plotting strategy as he always does.

“Stay there,” he says finally. “At least for a few days.

We've detected Cheslem scouts at three breach points along our borders. Luna is working on strengthening the boundary wards her parents set up.”

“The wards?” I ask, thinking of the protective magic our mother established years ago—the same barriers that helped prevent the Cheslem attack after Luna's lottery. “Have they weakened that much since Luna reinforced them a few months ago?”

“They're still holding,” Nic confirms, “but Luna detected several attempts to breach them in the last twelve hours. She's working with our mother's grimoire again to strengthen the weak points.”

Hope flickers briefly. If anyone can maintain those protective boundaries, it's my sister.

Where I inherited our father's shifting abilities, Luna got our mother's magical talent—a division that led us down very different paths in Silvercreek.

The reminder of her witchcraft sends my thoughts immediately to Ruby, to her own witch mother, and the magical heritage she has, as far as I know, never accessed.

“How long?” I ask.

“A few days, at least. Thomas is tracking suspected Cheslem spies within our territory. Once we secure the borders and flush out any infiltrators, we'll send someone for you.”

“We'll need another vehicle,” I say, glancing at the stolen truck. “This one's too recognizable.”

“There should be an old Jeep in the garage,” Nic confirms. “Keys in the usual place.”

Rain falls harder now, thunder rumbling in the distance like the growl of an approaching predator. Despite the discomfort, I'm reluctant to end the call—to return to the tense silence of the cabin and Ruby's justified anger.

“Nic,” I say, the question escaping before I can stop it, “how did you and Luna... after the lottery... how did you make it work?”

My friend has been quiet for so long, I wonder if the call has dropped. Finally, he sighs. “We were lucky, James. What we have—it was there from the beginning, beneath the surface. The lottery just gave us permission to find it.” He pauses. “Your situation is different.”

“That's one way to put it,” I mutter.

“Give her time,” Nic advises. “This bond wasn't her choice. Wasn't yours either, not really. But it's done now.”

“Yeah.” I stare up at the darkening sky, letting rain wash over my face. “It's done.”

We end the call with promises to check in as often as we can, and security protocols are established in case communications are compromised. Practical matters, easier to focus on than the emotional minefield waiting inside.

When I re-enter the cabin, Ruby is exactly where I left her, a sentinel at the window. She's found a towel from somewhere, and she holds it out wordlessly as I drip on the worn floorboards.

“Thanks,” I say, surprised by the small gesture.

She shrugs, returning to her vigil. “You'll catch pneumonia, and then I'll be stuck here alone.”

“Your concern is touching.”

Her mouth tightens, but she says nothing.

I dry off as best I can, acutely aware of her presence across the room. The bond pulses between us, a persistent reminder of our unwanted connection. Through it, I sense her exhaustion, her pain, though she hides both behind rigid posture and sharp words.

“You're hurt,” I say, moving toward the kitchenette where a basic first aid kit hangs beside the sink. “Let me look at those cuts.”

“I'm fine.” The words snap like brittle twigs.

“You're not.” I open the kit, laying out antiseptic wipes and bandages. “And I can feel it, Ruby. Whether you admit it or not.”

Her eyes widen slightly at this reminder of our bond before narrowing in defiance. “So what? You think playing nurse will make up for what happened today?”

The accusation stings, all the more because there's truth in it. “No,” I admit. “Nothing makes up for that. But infection won't improve the situation.”

For a moment, I think she'll refuse out of pure stubbornness. Then, with visible reluctance, she approaches the small table where I've laid out the supplies. She sits stiffly, extending her injured hand.

I unwrap the makeshift bandage from her palm, revealing the deep cut from Petra's knife. The wound is angry, crusted with dried blood, but doesn't show signs of infection yet. Small mercies.

“This will sting,” I warn unnecessarily before cleaning the cut.

Ruby doesn't flinch, though I feel the sharp spike of pain through our bond. Her endurance only adds to my guilt. When I've bandaged her hand properly, I reach for the cut on her temple, but she jerks away.

“I can do the rest myself.”

I back off, giving her space. “There's food in the pantry,” I say, changing subjects. “Canned stuff, mostly. And the shower works, if you want to clean up.”

She nods once, accepting this information without comment.

“Nic says we should stay here for a few days,” I continue, filling the silence. “The Cheslem pack has breached our borders at three points. Luna is working on strengthening the boundary wards.”

This catches her attention.

“Huh—I guess that makes sense.” There's no surprise in her voice, just a flicker of something else—perhaps envy. After all, both she and my sister share similar backgrounds: daughters of witches, though Luna's magic manifested while Ruby's remained frustratingly elusive.

“She's reinforcing our mother's wards again,” I explain. “Like she did after the attack during her lottery. The barriers need strengthening at the breach points.” “And what about the Cheslems? You think they're just going to forget about us?”

“No.” I see no point in lying. “They'll hunt us. That's why we're safer here for now, away from pack territory. They'll expect us to run straight back to Silvercreek.”

“So we're just supposed to hide? Wait?”

“Unless you have a better suggestion.”

She falls silent again, her frustration pulsing through the bond like a second heartbeat. After a moment, she stands abruptly. “I'm going to shower.”

I watch her disappear into the bathroom, the door closing with pointed precision rather than a satisfying slam. Even in anger, Ruby maintains control. It's admirable, if maddening.

Left alone, I rummage through the pantry, assembling a makeshift meal from canned soup and crackers that are only slightly stale. By the time Ruby emerges, hair damp and wearing what appears to be one of Thomas's old t-shirts found in a drawer, I've set the table with our paltry feast.

“Dinner,” I say, gesturing to the steaming bowls.

She hesitates before joining me, her movements cautious as if approaching a wild animal. We eat in silence, the only sounds the clink of spoons against ceramic and the steady drumming of rain on the roof.

Through the bond, I sense her exhaustion growing, the adrenaline of the day finally wearing off to leave bone-deep weariness in its wake. But beneath that, something else simmers—questions, uncertainties, fears she won't voice.

I open my mouth, then close it. What is there to say? Everything I might offer feels hollow against the weight of what's happened. So, we continue to eat in silence, the space between us vast despite the small table.

Ruby finishes first, setting down her spoon with careful precision. “I'm going to bed,” she announces, gathering her barely-touched dinner dishes. “It's been a long day.”

I nod, watching as she retreats to the bedroom, the door closing softly behind her.

Alone again, I clear the table mechanically, my thoughts circling like birds of prey around the day's events.

The bond thrums steady and insistent, carrying echoes of Ruby's emotions even through the closed door—grief, anger, confusion, and beneath it all, a bone-deep exhaustion that mirrors my own.

Hours later, stretched out on the too-small couch with rain still drumming against the windows, I stare at the ceiling and try to ignore the pull of the bond.

It wants more than we're willing to give, this thing between us.

It's like a phantom limb, aching for something I can't name, tugging me toward the closed bedroom door with invisible threads I can almost see when I close my eyes.

In the darkness, my wolf paces restlessly beneath my skin, equally unsatisfied. Mate , he insists, the concept is primal and uncomplicated in his consciousness. Find a mate.

“She doesn't want that,” I whisper to the empty room. “She doesn't want us.”

But the bond pulses stubbornly, and I wonder if Ruby lies awake too, fighting the same invisible pull, building walls against the connection neither of us chose but both must now endure.

Outside, the storm rages on, wild and untamed. Inside, us two unwilling mates dream separately of freedom that might never come.