Page 50 of Fat Sold Mate
“Nothing,” I lie, tucking the journal into my pack. “Just... complex magical theory. I'll need time to study it properly.”
James looks unconvinced, but doesn't press the issue. “We should go. Now.”
Outside, the corrupted creatures continue their aimless wandering, oblivious to our presence as we slip back into the forest. We're nearly clear of the compound when James suddenly freezes, his posture shifting to high alert.
“What?” I whisper, instantly on guard.
“Wolves,” he replies tersely. “Two of them, watching from the treeline to the east. Not corrupted.”
I follow his gaze and catch a glimpse of movement—a flash of gray fur quickly concealed behind a massive oak. “Cheslem?”
“Yes,” James confirms. “But they're not attacking. Just observing.”
“Why?”
He shakes his head. “I don't know. But I don't want to find out. Let's move.”
We retreat deeper into the forest, maintaining a grueling pace until the compound is far behind us. Only then does James allow us to rest, choosing a small clearing beside a stream where we can refill our water bottles.
“We need to get back to Silvercreek,” I say, breaking the silence that's stretched between us for hours. “Luna might understand these notes better than I do.”
James's jaw tightens. “It's too dangerous. The Cheslem pack is clearly focused there. We'd be walking into a war zone.”
“We're already in a war zone,” I counter, gesturing to encompass the corrupted territory around us. “At least in Silvercreek, we'd have allies.”
“If any are left,” he says darkly.
The words hit like a physical blow. “Don't say that.”
“I'm being realistic,” he argues. “We don't know what's happening there. Charging in blindly could get us both killed, and then what good are those notes?”
“So your plan is what?” I demand, anger flaring hot and sudden. “Keep running forever? Hide in caves while our pack is destroyed?”
James steps closer, frustration evident in every line of his body. “My plan is to keep you safe until we understand what we're dealing with!”
“I don't need your protection!” I snap, even as part of me acknowledges the lie. Without him, I'd already be dead several times over.
“The hell you don't,” he growls, closing the distance between us to grasp my shoulders. “You think I don't feel your fear through this bond? Your exhaustion? Your pain?”
The contact sends a jolt through me, awareness crackling between us like electricity. His hands are warm even through the fabric of my shirt, his grip firm but careful, as if he's afraid of hurting me again. Our faces are inches apart, his amber eyes darkening as his gaze drops briefly to my lips.
For one breathless moment, I think he might kiss me. Worse, I think I might let him.
I pull away sharply, putting a safe distance between us. “We need Luna,” I insist, my voice shakier than I'd like. “Her magic is stronger than mine. She might understand the counter-ritual better.”
And I wouldn't have to rely on our bond, on James, on this confusing, terrifying connection that makes me feel both stronger and more vulnerable than I've ever been.
James stares at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering across his features. Through our bond, I sense his frustration, his concern, and beneath it all, a longing that mirrors my own despite everything.
“Fine,” he says finally, the word clipped and hard. “Silvercreek. But we approach carefully, scout the situation before making contact.”
I nod, relief mixing with trepidation. “Thank you.”
He turns away, already plotting our route in his head, the line of his shoulders rigid with tension. I clutch the journal to my chest, the weight of its secrets heavy between us.
The counter-ritual might save our pack, might stop the corruption before it spreads further. But using it would mean acknowledging what James and I are to each other—not just reluctant mates bound by blood and circumstance, but something more complex, more frightening.
Something I'm not ready to face, especially when every instinct tells me he's already regretting the one moment of weakness we shared in that cave. The memory of his touch lingers on my skin like a brand, unwanted and undeniable, whilethe truth in the journal burns a hole in my conscience with each step toward home.
