Page 16 of Fat Sold Mate
“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’tcare.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.
Chapter 6 - James
“Ten minutes,” I say, looking directly at Petra rather than at Ruby's tear-streaked face. “Alone. We need to discuss this privately.”
Petra's lips curl into that smug smile I'm already fantasizing about ripping off her face. “How considerate of you to consult your purchase.” She gestures toward a door at the back of the cabin. “The bedroom. Ten minutes, not a second more.”
One of the Cheslem shifters—Verne—unlocks Ruby’s handcuffs roughly. I want to kill him, I realize with a thrill of rage. I want him dead.
My wolf snarls beneath my skin, bristling, angry, howling. I force him down with practiced control, though it takes more effort than usual. This isn't the time for his primal solutions.
“Ruby,” I say, finally looking at her. “Come on.”
She doesn't move, her amber eyes burning with fury and something deeper—a wounded, raw emotion I can't quite name.
“I'm not going anywhere with you,” she spits.
Verne shoves her forward, his massive hands rough on her shoulders. “You heard the man. Go talk to your new owner.”
I barely restrain myself from attacking him again. One wrong move and this fragile negotiation collapses, leaving Ruby trapped here. Instead, I swallow my rage and extend my hand to her.
“Please,” I say, the word strained through clenched teeth.
Ruby ignores my outstretched hand, stalking past me toward the bedroom, her back rigid with dignity despite her tornclothes and the blood dried on her temple. I follow, hyper-aware of the three pairs of predatory eyes tracking our movements.
The bedroom is barely that—a narrow space with a sagging twin mattress on a rusted metal frame, a cracked window letting in weak morning light, and the musty scent of abandonment hanging in the air. Ruby positions herself against the far wall, arms crossed over her chest, as far from me as the small room allows.
I close the door, knowing full well the Cheslem wolves can hear every word with their enhanced senses. Still, the illusion of privacy is better than nothing.
“Are you hurt?” I ask immediately, my eyes cataloging the visible injuries—the cut on her temple, the bruising on her wrists, the way she favors her left side slightly.
“What do you care?” Ruby's voice is razor-edged.
“Of course I care,” I snap, frustration sharpening my tone. “I'm here, aren't I?”
