Page 39 of Fat Sold Mate
I soften. She didn’t mean anything by it, I know. “It’s okay. Just… a sore spot.” And, because I don’t want her to look so guilty: “It was going to happen anyway. We’d been paired in Silvercreek’s mating lottery. I didn’t have a choice, really.”
Admitting it even to myself—that James’ betrayal, hispurchasingof me, changed very little in reality—is both a balm and a new dash of salt in the wound. Sera nods silently, looking thoughtful and somewhat sympathetic. I can appreciate that for what it is, at least.
James, returning from scouting ahead, clears his throat from above us.
“We need to keep moving,” he says, pointedly ignoring the subject of our bond. “There's a steep incline ahead. We'll need to be careful.”
The trail narrows as we begin to climb, forcing us into a single file. The terrain grows increasingly treacherous—loose shale and exposed roots creating natural hazards that demand constant attention. Despite the danger, or perhaps because of it, I'm acutely aware of James ahead of me, the breadth of his shoulders, the controlled power in his movements.
We're nearing the crest of the ridge when it happens. A rock shifts beneath my foot, sending me stumbling backward with a startled cry. There's a heart-stopping moment of vertigo as I begin to fall—then strong hands catch me, pulling me against a solid chest with reflexive speed.
James steadies me, his body curved protectively around mine, his breath warm against my hair. The bond flares between us at the contact, a surge of awareness that leaves me dizzy in a way that has nothing to do with the near-fall.
“Careful,” he murmurs, his voice rougher than usual.
I should pull away immediately. Should establish distance, maintain the walls I've built so carefully. Instead, I remain frozen in his grip, my body registering every point of contact with embarrassing clarity—the strength of his arms around my waist, the solid warmth of his chest against my back, the way his heart pounds a rhythm that matches my own.
Through the bond, I feel his response—a mirror to my own confused desire, a hunger neither of us wants to acknowledge. His hands tighten fractionally before he forces himself to release me, stepping back as if burned.
“Watch your step,” he says, the words clipped and impersonal, at odds with the emotion still pulsing between us.
I nod stiffly, unable to form a coherent response, irritated by my body's betrayal and his apparent ability to dismiss the moment so easily. The bond tells a different story—his control is paper-thin, his reaction to our contact as visceral as my own—but his expression reveals nothing as he turns to continue up the trail.
Sera, who had moved ahead during our brief interaction, glances back with a knowing look that only intensifies my frustration. I follow James up the incline, forcing my attention to the path beneath my feet rather than the man before me.
The forced bond between us grows more complicated with each passing day, blurring lines between obligation and desire, between resentment and something dangerously close to longing. And as we make our way deeper into enemy territory, I can't shake the feeling that the greatest threat to my equilibrium isn't the Cheslem pack at all, but the growing connection to a man I never chose but can't seem to escape—not just because of blood magic, but because of the treacherous heart beating in my chest.
Chapter 14 - James
The cabin appears through the trees like a mirage—weathered logs and a sagging porch that somehow still stands despite years of neglect. After a full day of hiking through increasingly hostile terrain, the sight of shelter triggers an almost embarrassing wave of relief.
“There it is,” Sera announces, her voice bright with triumph despite her lingering injuries. “My grandmother's hunting cabin.”
I scan our surroundings, cataloging details with the practiced efficiency of a pack enforcer. Single room structure. One door. Two windows are visible from this angle. Dense forest on three sides. A small clearing to the south that offers too little warning of approach. Defensively speaking, it's far from ideal.
“It's not much,” Sera admits, reading my expression, “but it's warded. And no one in the Cheslem pack comes out this far anymore.”
Ruby steps forward, her amber eyes narrowed as she studies the cabin. The fading afternoon light catches in her dark hair, turning the edges copper. I force my attention back to our surroundings.
“Those wards better be strong,” I mutter, unable to shake the prickling sensation between my shoulder blades. “Because we're being followed.”
Ruby's head snaps toward me. “You're sure?”
I nod, inhaling deeply to confirm what my instincts have been screaming for the last hour. “Corrupted wolves. At least two, maybe three. They're keeping their distance, but they're there.”
Sera pales, her fingers instinctively moving to touch the healing wound on her shoulder. “How did they find us so quickly?”
“Let's get inside,” Ruby says, already moving toward the cabin with the grimoire clutched to her chest. “Then we can figure out our next move.”
The cabin's interior matches its exterior—spartan and neglected. A stone fireplace dominates one wall, its hearth cold and filled with ancient ash. A rough-hewn table, two chairs, and a narrow cot with a threadbare mattress constitute the only furniture. Dust coats every surface, undisturbed for what must be months.
“Your grandmother lived here?” Ruby asks, skepticism evident in her tone as she surveys the space.
“No,” Sera replies, running her fingers along the mantle with something like reverence. “She came here to work. To be alone with her magic.”
I set down my pack and move to the window, watching the tree line with growing unease. The corrupted wolves aren't attacking—not yet—but their presence is undeniable. They're waiting for something. Reinforcements, maybe. Or nightfall.
“We need to set up perimeter defenses,” I announce, already mentally cataloging what we have available. “Sera, is there anything here your grandmother left behind that might help? Supplies? Weapons?”
