Page 28 of Fat Sold Mate
I drop and roll, pure instinct guiding me beneath its attack. My hand closes around a fallen branch—not much of a weapon, but better than nothing.
As the wolf turns for another attack, a russet blur explodes from the cabin's back door. James, bleeding but still fighting, tackles the corrupted wolf mid-lunge.
“The Jeep!” he shouts through our bond. “Go!”
I sprint for the garage, hearing the Alpha's curse behind me. Inside, I find the ancient vehicle, keys dangling from the ignition as promised. The engine roars to life just as something heavy lands on the roof, claws scrabbling for purchase.
I floor the accelerator, crashing through the wooden garage doors rather than waiting for them to open. The impact dislodges whatever was on the roof, and in the rearview mirror, I see a third corrupted wolf tumble to the ground.
James races toward the Jeep, still in wolf form, two pursuers close behind. I swerve alongside him, throwing open the passenger door. He leaps in, immediately shifting back to human form, bloodied but alive.
“Drive!” he gasps, pulling the door closed as I accelerate away from the cabin.
In the mirror, I see the Alpha watching our escape, making no move to follow. His casual confidence is more terrifying than any pursuit.
We tear down the mountain road, the Jeep bouncing violently over ruts and potholes. Neither of us speaks until we've put several miles between us and the cabin.
“Are you hurt?” James asks finally, his voice ragged.
“No.” I keep my eyes on the treacherous road. “You are, though. I felt it.”
He touches a deep gash on his shoulder, already beginning to heal with shifter speed. “It's nothing.”
“They were waiting for us,” I say, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “They knew exactly where we were.”
“And now they're tracking the evacuees,” James adds grimly. “We need to warn Nic.”
He checks his phone.
“Still no signal.” His palm slams against the dashboard. “Dammit!”
“So we go back,” I insist, slowing as we approach a fork in the road. “We warn them in person.”
“It's too dangerous,” James argues. “You heard him. The borders are compromised.”
“All the more reason to go back!” I turn to face him. “I don’t care how the pack treated me—there arekidsevacuating—”
“And we're no good to them dead,” he counters, his frustration pulsing through the bond. “Nic ordered us to stay away.”
“Since when do you follow orders blindly?” I challenge. “The James Morgan I know would be racing back to fight.”
His expression hardens. “The James Morgan you know? You made it clear two months ago that you don't know me at all.”
The accusation lands like a physical blow. “That's not fair.”
“Isn't it?” His amber eyes flash. “You decided who I was without giving me a chance to explain. Now you're doing it again.”
“This isn't about us,” I say, though the bond makes a lie of the words.
“It's about responsibility,” he says, voice lowering. “To the pack, yes. But also, to each other now. I won’t let you kill yourself in an attempt to disobey me.”
I slow the Jeep at the fork. Left leads toward Silvercreek. Right continues away.
“We can't abandon them,” I say softly.
“We're not abandoning them,” he insists. “We're staying alive to help when the time is right.”
“When will that be?” I demand. “After they're dead?”
