Page 27 of Fat Sold Mate
Our argument grows heated again, circling the same points with increasing frustration. The bond between usamplifies everything, my anger feeding his, his fear bleeding into my consciousness until I can't separate my emotions from his.
The argument might have continued indefinitely if not for the sudden change in James's posture. He freezes mid-sentence, head tilting slightly, nostrils flaring.
“What?” I ask, instinctively lowering my voice.
“Wolves,” he whispers, moving to the window with silent grace. “Not ours.”
Cold fear washes through me, dousing the anger of moments before. “Cheslem?”
He nods once, eyes scanning the tree line. “At least three. Maybe more.”
“How did they find us?”
“Doesn't matter now.” James moves with sudden purpose, grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair. “We need to go. Now. The Jeep's in the garage behind the cabin.”
I don't argue, grabbing my own meager possessions—jeans, boots, the borrowed t-shirt I'm still wearing. There's no time for anything else.
We're halfway to the back door when the front windows explode inward, showering the room with glass. A massive dark shape hurtles through the opening—a wolf, but wrong somehow, its fur matted with an oily substance that gleams unnaturally in the morning light.
James shifts instantly, clothes tearing as his human form gives way to russet fur and gleaming teeth. He meets the corrupted wolf mid-lunge, the impact sending both crashing into the kitchenette.
“Run!” he shouts mentally through our bond—the first time he's used this aspect of our connection.
I hesitate for only a fraction of a second before bolting for the back door. Behind me, snarls and the sound of splintering furniture fill the cabin as James fights to buy me time.
Outside, the morning is deceptively beautiful—sunlight filtering through pine branches, dew sparkling on grass still wet from last night's rain. I sprint toward the small outbuilding that must be the garage, praying the keys are where Nic said they'd be.
I'm halfway there when a second wolf emerges from the trees to my right—larger than the first, its eyes gleaming with unnatural yellow light. The corruption is more evident in this one, black veins visible beneath patchy fur, ichor dripping from yellowed fangs.
I change direction, veering left toward the tree line. If I can reach the forest, I might be able to hide, to circle back when it's safe.
But the wolf is faster, cutting off my escape with frightening speed. It growls, the sound more mechanical than animal, vibrating with wrong magic that raises the hair on my arms.
“Another half-breed,” a voice says behind me.
I whirl to find a man standing where no one had been seconds before. Tall, painfully thin, his face a map of scars that form almost deliberate patterns across his skin. He smiles, revealing teeth filed to points.
The Cheslem Alpha. The new one, since Nic killed the last.
The corrupted wolf circles closer, its movements jerky, almost puppet-like. Through the cabin's broken window, I still hear the sounds of fighting—James against the first attacker.
“What do you want?” I ask, buying time, mind racing for any escape.
“Originally just to eliminate two Silvercreek wolves,” he says with a shrug. “Now I'm considering keeping pieces of you for my collection.”
From the cabin comes a yelp of pain that I feel echoed through the bond. James. Hurt.
The Alpha's unnatural eyes gleam. “Your mate won't survive much longer. Petra's wolves have orders to kill.”
“Why attack Silvercreek?” I demand, desperation making me reckless. “What do you gain?”
“Power. Territory.” He gestures at the wolf circling me. “And your pack members will provide excellent fuel for our final transformation.” His smile turns cruel. “Those evacuees your Alpha thinks are escaping to safety? My scouts are already tracking them.”
Rage blossoms hot and sudden in my chest. “You won't touch them.”
“I already have,” he says. “Your pack is scattered, vulnerable. And you and your mate will die here, unable to warn them of what's coming.”
He nods to the corrupted wolf. It lunges toward me, supernaturally fast.
