Page 5 of Fat Sold Mate
The wine turns to acid in my stomach. “I doubt that.”
“He does,” she persists. “Almost every time I see him.”
“Well, you can tell him I'm fine,” I snap, then immediately regret my tone. “Sorry. I just... I don't want to talk about your brother.”
Luna and Fiona exchange another glance, communicating silently in that annoying way of close friends—or, I suppose, pack members with a deeper connection than I'll ever understand.
“The lottery is important,” Fiona says finally, changing tactics. “After the attack, we need to show strength, unity.”
“And nothing says strength and unity like archaic forced mating rituals,” I mutter.
“It worked out for us,” Luna points out, her expression softening as it always does when she thinks of Nic.
I can't argue with that. The lottery that paired Luna with our Alpha has transformed my once-shy best friend. She's happier than I've ever seen her.
“I know I can’t stay home,” I sigh. “I’m just complaining. You know as well as I do that they’ll drag me there if I don’t come myself. And I have too much of a sense of dignity for that.”
Luna's relief is palpable. “It wouldn’t be an easy sight.”
“It wouldn’t be an easyexperience,” I grumble.
Fiona's expression shifts subtly, but before I can decipher it, she stands. “We should go. Early morning tomorrow.”
They leave with promises to pick me up before the ceremony, ensuring I can't conveniently “forget” to attend. The bell jingles as the door closes behind them, leaving me alone again with the gathering shadows and Maggie's judgmental stare.
“Don't look at me like that,” I tell the cat as I lock the front door and flip the sign to 'Closed.' “You'd avoid it too if you were me.”
Maggie yawns widely, displaying impressive fangs before leaping down from the windowsill. She follows me to the back of the shop, where I keep a small bowl and the expensive cat food she prefers. After setting down her dinner, I climb the narrow stairs to my apartment above the bookshop.
The space is small but mine—a studio with dormer windows overlooking Main Street, furnished with second-hand pieces I've lovingly restored. Bookshelves line every available wall, overflowing with volumes I couldn't bear to sell. Plants crowd the windowsills, many of them herbs with protective or healing properties—a habit inherited from my mother.
I move to the corner shelf where I keep her grimoire, bound in faded green leather and worn soft at the corners from years of use. The book feels warm under my fingers as I carefully lift it down, the sensation so subtle most would miss it. But I've always been sensitive to the magic contained in these pages, even if I can't access it properly.
Sitting cross-legged on my bed, I open the grimoire to a simple illumination spell—the first my mother taught me when I was barely seven years old.
“Magic isn't just in our blood, Ruby,” she had said, her amber eyes—so like mine—crinkling at the corners as she smiled. “It's in our breath, our bones, our belief.”
I close my eyes, trying to remember the exact cadence of her voice as I whisper the incantation. My palm tingles slightly, a faint warmth spreading through my fingers, but when I open my eyes, there's only darkness where light should bloom.
A familiar disappointment settles in my chest. My mother died before she could teach me more than the basics, and without guidance, my meager abilities have never developed properly. Another way I've failed to fulfill my potential.
I close the grimoire, carefully returning it to its shelf. From below, I hear Maggie's demanding meow—she wants out now that she's had her dinner. I trudge downstairs to let her through the cat flap, watching as her orange bulk squeezesthrough with surprising grace before disappearing into the gathering dusk.
Back upstairs, I go through the motions of my evening routine mechanically. Shower. Pajamas. A cup of herbal tea. The ordinary rituals that usually comfort me feel hollow tonight, my mind circling back to tomorrow's ceremony, no matter how I try to distract myself.
When I finally slide under the covers, sleep refuses to come. I stare at the ceiling, watching shadows from passing cars dance across it.
Despite everything, I miss him. Miss the way he listened when I spoke about books. Miss his unexpected gentleness. Miss the brief, shining moment when I thought someone might see past the labels that have defined me for so long.
But then I remember his voice, the laughter that followed.She's massive, honestly. The fattest thing I've ever seen.
I roll onto my side, pulling the covers tighter around me. Tomorrow will be excruciating, but I'll endure it for Luna's sake. I'll stand in the shadows, invisible as always, while the beautiful, perfect shifters pair off according to some mystical compatibility the elders claim to detect.
And then—mercifully—it will be over. Life will return to normal. Me in my bookshop. James is rebuilding the community center and patrolling with the other enforcers, bonding with his new mate. Separate worlds that briefly, mistakenly intersected.
As I drift toward uneasy sleep, one final, terrifying thought surfaces: What if, by some impossible cosmic joke, James and I were paired together in the lottery?
The absurdity of it almost makes me laugh. As if the universe would be that cruel.
