Page 13 of Fat Sold Mate
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.
Chapter 5 - Ruby
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.”
