Page 25 of Fat Sold Mate
James stands at the small kitchenette, his back to me as he stirs something in a pot. He's found clothes somewhere—probably Thomas's forgotten hunting gear—worn jeans and a flannel shirt that stretches across his shoulders. His dark hair is still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the nape of his neck.
“Morning,” he says without turning, and I wonder if he sensed my presence through the bond or simply heard the door open.
“Is there coffee?” My voice comes out hoarse from disuse and unshed tears.
He nods toward a chipped mug on the counter. “Milk's powdered. Sugar's in the jar.”
I take the coffee black, needing its bitter strength. The first sip burns my tongue, but I welcome the pain, the grounding reality of it.
“Oatmeal,” James says, nodding toward the pot. “It's all I could find that wasn't canned meat or beans.”
“I'm not hungry.” The lie tastes sour, but accepting food from him feels too much like accepting our situation.
James sighs, running a hand through his hair—a gesture I recognize from before, from those weeks after the League attack when something was growing between us. Before I overheard his mockery. Before everything fell apart.
“You need to eat,” he says, not looking at me. “We need to be ready to move if necessary.”
“Move where?” I ask, cradling the mug between my palms, letting its heat seep into my bones. “Back to Silvercreek?”
“Not yet.” He dishes out oatmeal into two bowls, placing one in front of me despite my protest. “Nic advised we stay away for a few days.”
I set down my coffee more forcefully than necessary, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “So, we just hide here while the Cheslem pack regroups? While they potentially threaten our home?”
“Ourhome?” James raises an eyebrow. “The one you were running from when they caught you?”
The jab lands precisely, and I feel heat rising in my cheeks. “That was different.”
“Was it?” He sits across from me, his amber eyes—so like mine, like all witch-born—searching my face. “You were willing to abandon Silvercreek completely two days ago.”
“To get away from you,” I snap, the words escaping before I can stop them.
James flinches slightly, the first crack in his controlled façade. Through our bond, I feel a flash of something—hurt? anger?—before he walls it off.
“Eat your breakfast,” he says, his voice deliberately neutral. “We need to discuss our options.”
I push the bowl away. “Our options are simple. We go back.”
“It's not safe.”
“According to who? Nic?” I challenge. “The same Nic who's spent his entire life in Silvercreek, who has every reason to be overprotective?”
James sets down his spoon with careful precision. “Nic is the Alpha. He knows what he's talking about.”
“Or maybe he's being cautious at the expense of what's right,” I counter. “The pack needs everyone right now, especially with the Cheslems testing boundaries. You're third in command, James. Your place is there.”
“And yours isn't?” Something flashes in his eyes—too quick to interpret.
I look away, unable to hold his gaze. “I'm not essential personnel.”
“The Cheslems disagree.” James pushes his own bowl aside, leaning forward. “They’d happily kidnap and ransom you again. Anything to hurt the pack.”
“As leverage,” I say bitterly. “As a pawn.”
“I’m not stupid,” James snaps. “You only want me distracted and back in Silvercreek so you can run again.”
He’s half-right. A childish part of me wishes things could just go back to how they were before the lottery even started. But they can’t. I know that.
“They need you,” I say. “And since the bond was forced—there could be a way to break it, some law, or… or something.”
