Page 22 of Fat Sold Mate
“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 thethird 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?”
