Page 45 of Fat Sold Mate
Once inside, James shifts back to human form, his body appearing through the fur in a fluid transformation that still takes my breath away despite everything.
“We should be safe here,” he says, his voice rough, as if he’s scraped it up badly. “For now.”
I say nothing, sinking to the cave floor as the events of the night crash over me in waves. Sera's face, her determined sacrifice, the purple flames consuming her, and Petra—images that will haunt me forever.
“She's gone,” I whisper, the words inadequate for the weight they carry. “She killed herself to save us.”
James kneels before me, his expression unreadable in the darkness. “She made a choice.”
“A choice?” I repeat, something hot and dangerous is building in my chest. “And now she's dead because of your stupid, reckless plan!”
“My plan?” He rocks back as if I've slapped him. “I wanted to ambush them before they reached the cabin. You're the one who insisted we stay and fight on their terms.”
“And you're the one who got pinned down immediately!” I shout, grief transforming into fury that burns through my veins. “If you had listened to me in the first place—”
“If I had listened to you, we'd all be dead,” he snaps, rising to his feet. “Your wards failed, Ruby. Your magic failed. Again.”
The words hit like a physical blow, silencing me momentarily with their cruelty. “My shield spell worked,” I say finally, my voice dangerously quiet. “When it mattered most, my magic worked. But it wasn't enough to save her.”
James runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. “I didn't mean—”
“Yes, you did,” I interrupt, exhaustion suddenly replacing anger. “I don’t want to talk to you, James. I don’t want to fucking—I don’t want to look at you right now.”
I turn away, unable to bear the conflicted emotions flickering across his face, bleeding through our bond in waves too complex to interpret. Anger, regret, grief, and beneath it all, a constant pull that neither of us wants to acknowledge.
“She died for us,” I say to the cave wall, my voice barely audible. “The least we can do is make it count.”
Behind me, James sighs, the sound heavy with resignation.
“Get some rest,” he says finally. “I'll take first watch.”
On a thin blanket procured from beneath the old painters’ table, I curl onto my side toward the back of the cave, back to him, my mother’s grimoire clutched against my chest like a shield. Through our bond, I feel his watchful presence—alert, protective, conflicted. Outside, the forest falls silent, as if in mourning for the young woman who gave everything to save two strangers bound by blood and circumstance.
In the darkness, I finally allow the tears to fall, silent and burning, for Sera, for James, for myself, and for the impossible task that now falls to us alone.
Chapter 16 - James
Moonlight filters through the vine curtain hanging over the cave entrance, casting strange, shifting patterns across the stone floor. We've been here for hours, neither speaking, the silence between us heavier than the mountain itself. Ruby lies huddled against the far wall, knees drawn to her chest, eyes fixed on nothing. Through our bond, I feel the chaotic swirl of her emotions—grief, rage, guilt—mirroring my own internal storm.
Sera's face haunts me. The determined set of her jaw as she stepped into the clearing. The acceptance in her eyes as she ignited the deadly mixture. The way she crumpled, taking Petra down with her in one final, devastating act of defiance. She was barely twenty, and now she's gone—another casualty in a war that seems endless and increasingly pointless.
I should have protected her. Should have found another way. The responsibility settles on my shoulders like a physical weight, crushing in its intensity.
“I don’t think anyone’s coming tonight. We should try to sleep,” I say, my voice rough from disuse.
Ruby doesn't respond, doesn't even acknowledge that I've spoken. Her silence is somehow worse than her earlier accusations. At least anger is something I can push against, something solid and real. This emptiness feels bottomless.
As the night deepens, the temperature drops. The cave, initially a welcome shelter, now feels like an icebox, the stone leaching warmth from our bodies. Ruby's shivering starts subtly—a slight tremor in her shoulders that gradually intensifies until her entire body shakes with cold and delayed shock. Even beneath the blanket she’s found, she’s freezing.
I move toward her cautiously, as one might approach a wounded animal. “Ruby. You're cold.”
She turns her face away. “I'm fine.”
“You're not fine,” I counter, close enough now to see the blue tinge to her lips. “None of this is fine.”
Through our bond, I feel her resistance, her stubborn pride warring with physical need. Without waiting for permission I'll never receive, I strip off my shirt and shift forms, the change rippling through me in a wave of heat and reconstruction. My wolf emerges, russet fur thick and warm, designed by nature to withstand the harshest conditions.
Ruby stiffens as I pad toward her, amber eyes narrowing in suspicion. “What are you doing?”
