Page 40 of Fat Sold Mate
Sera moves to a loose floorboard near the cot, prying it up with practiced ease to reveal a small cache. “Just these,” she says, pulling out a cloth bundle. Inside are dried herbs, a silver knife with a blackened blade, and a small leather pouch.
Ruby kneels beside her, examining the items with interest. “What are they for?”
“Protection mostly,” Sera explains. “Mountain ash, wolfsbane, silver—basic witch tools.”
I turn from the window, frustrated by the scanty offerings. “That's not enough. We need physical barriers, trip wires, something to slow them down when they come.”
“If they come,” Ruby corrects, though the doubt in her voice betrays her own concern.
“When,” I insist. “They're out there, Ruby. And they're not leaving.”
She rises to her feet, brushing dust from her jeans in a gesture that somehow manages to convey irritation. “Then we'll deal with them. But panicking won't help.”
“I'm not panicking,” I snap. “I'm planning. Someone has to.”
The bond between us pulses with tension, amplifying the friction that seems to spark whenever we're forced to make decisions together. Her stubbornness both frustrates and fascinates me—the way she lifts her chin slightly, eyes flashing, refusing to yield even when the evidence is stacked against her.
“I'll check the perimeter,” I say abruptly, needing distance from the confines of the cabin and the woman whose scent fills my nostrils with each breath. “See what we're working with.”
Outside, the forest is quietening as evening approaches. Birds settle into roosts, their daytime chatter giving way to the occasional lonely call. I circle the cabin methodically, noting potential defensive positions and vulnerabilities. A fallen tree twenty yards west could provide cover. The slight rise to thenorth offers a vantage point. The undergrowth to the east is thick enough to hide tripwires or snares.
I'm kneeling to examine the ground when Ruby's scent reaches me seconds before her footsteps.
“Need help?” she asks, her voice carefully neutral.
I glance up, momentarily caught off guard by how the dying light softens her features, lending warmth to her olive skin. I clear my throat.
“I'm setting up some basic alarms,” I explain, showing her the arrangement of twigs and stones that will create noise if disturbed. “We should put them at regular intervals around the clearing.”
She nods, kneeling beside me to study the simple trap. “Show me how.”
For the next hour, we work together in near silence, communicating through brief gestures and nods as we encircle the cabin with primitive but effective alarm systems. Ruby moves through the forest with surprising confidence, her familiarity with the terrain and techniques evident in each deliberate movement.
“You're good at this,” I observe, watching as she efficiently secures a tripwire between two saplings.
She doesn't look up from her work. “Being an outcast teaches you things.”
The words land like a slap—not because of how she says them, but because of the truth they contain. How many times had she been forced to fend for herself while the pack that should have protected her turned away? How many skills had she developed out of necessity rather than choice?
“Ruby—” I begin, though I'm not sure what I intend to say.
“Don't,” she cuts me off, rising to her feet with fluid grace. “Just don't, James. We don't need to do this now.”
The bond between us tightens like a wire pulled taut, humming with unspoken words and emotions neither of us is willing to acknowledge. In the fading light, her eyes seem to glow, witch-born amber that holds me in place more effectively than any physical restraint.
“Fine,” I say finally. “But we should talk about what happens when they attack.”
“If,” she corrects automatically.
“When,” I insist. “They're not just going to walk away, Ruby.”
She sighs, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear in a gesture I've come to recognize as a sign of reluctant acquiescence. “What's your plan?”
“We ambush them,” I say, the strategy already forming in my mind. “Hit them before they reach the cabin. I can take them in wolf form while you and Sera—”
“No,” Ruby interrupts, crossing her arms. “That's not a plan. That's suicide.”
“It's tactically sound,” I counter, irritation flaring. “They're expecting us to hide. To defend. Not to attack.”
