Page 29 of Fat Sold Mate
James closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, determination has replaced uncertainty.
“Right,” he says, pointing away from Silvercreek. “We go right.”
“James—”
“It's a trap, Ruby,” he interrupts. “He wanted us to rush back in a panic. They’ll pick us off. I won’t let you die.”
I hate that his logic makes sense. Hate even more that I can feel his certainty steadying my own chaotic emotions.
“Then what do we do?” I ask, voice cracking. “Just run while our pack fights without us?”
“We find another way to help,” James says firmly. “But we don't walk straight into their trap.”
With a heavy heart, I turn the Jeep right, away from Silvercreek.
“I don't trust easily,” I say after a mile of silence. “But I'm trusting you now, James.”
He says nothing, but through the bond, I feel his silent promise—to find a way back, to make this forced connection between us mean something beyond survival.
As we drive deeper into the wilderness, I wonder if we're making the right choice. If there even is a right choice anymore in a world where blood binds unwilling mates and corruption stalks our people.
Only time will tell. And time, I fear, is the one thing our pack doesn't have.
Chapter 10 - James
A day later, the forest floor crunches beneath our feet as we trek deeper into a wilderness that grows wilder with each mile. Ruby walks three paces ahead, her dark hair catching the dappled sunlight that filters through pine branches. We abandoned the Jeep six hours ago when the gas gauge hit empty, and now we're on foot, two unwilling mates fleeing through territory that belongs to neither Silvercreek nor the Cheslem pack—that belongs to no pack, as far as I can scent.
“We should stop soon,” I say, watching the sky darken toward evening. “Find somewhere to hunker down for the night.”
Ruby doesn't slow her determined stride. “Not yet. We need more distance.”
She's been like this since we left the cabin yesterday—driven, focused, speaking only when necessary. The bond between us pulses with her determination, a steady rhythm beneath my skin that I'm still learning to interpret.
“You're exhausted,” I point out, sensing her fatigue through our connection despite her efforts to hide it. “We both are.”
She finally stops, turning to face me with that stubborn tilt to her chin I've come to recognize. “Fine. But not here. Too exposed.”
She's right, of course. We're in a clearing now, the trees thinning enough to leave us visible from multiple angles. My wolf approves of her caution, even as I bristle at her tone.
“There.” I nod toward a ridge to the east. “Higher ground, better vantage point. More defensible.”
For a moment, I think she'll argue simply because the suggestion came from me, but she just nods and changes direction without comment. Small victories.
We hike in silence for another hour, the late afternoon sun slanting through the trees. The ridge is steeper than it looked from a distance, forcing us to use our hands at times to navigate the rocky incline. When Ruby slips on loose shale, I instinctively reach for her, my hand closing around her upper arm to steady her.
The contact sends a jolt through the bond—her surprise, my concern, and beneath it all, that constant hum of awareness that comes from being connected to another person against your will. She pulls away as soon as she's stable, but I feel the aftershock of the touch lingering between us like static electricity.
“Thanks,” she mutters, the first concession of the day.
I nod, not trusting my voice. My wolf stirs restlessly beneath my skin, agitated by her proximity and the bond's constant reminder that she is—technically, legally, magically—my mate. He doesn't understand the complexities, the coercion, the anger. He only knows she smells like home, danger, and possibility all at once.
We reach the ridge just as the sun begins to set, painting the western sky in violent streaks of orange and crimson. From this height, we can see for miles—the dark carpet of forest stretching in all directions, broken only by the occasional glint of water and the distant smudge of mountains to the north.
“No signs of pursuit,” Ruby says, scanning the landscape with narrowed eyes. “Yet.”
“They'll be coming,” I reply, because we both know it's true. The Cheslem Alpha won't give up so easily. “But we've bought some time.”
Ruby nods, her shoulders finally slumping as she allows herself to acknowledge her exhaustion. “We need shelter. Food. A plan that isn't just running.”
