Page 52 of Fat Sold Mate
“Up near Silvercreek,” the first one finally answers. “You know it?”
“Passed through once or twice,” I lie. “Heard it was a nice country.”
“Not anymore,” the second man says grimly. “Whatever's up there, it ain't natural. Dead shifters.”
Dead shifters. Dead shifters.Our evacuees? Our people? My friends—the men I consider my brothers?
I thank them and retreat into the station, locating the payphone near the bathrooms. My cell died days ago, and I haven't seen Ruby use hers. Our only connection to Silvercreek is this ancient piece of technology and the quarters I scrounge from the truck's center console.
Nic answers on the third ring, his voice taut with stress. “Who is this?”
“It's James,” I say, relief washing through me at the sound of my Alpha's voice. “We're alive.”
“James.” The single word contains a world of emotion—relief, concern, command. “Jesus, you’ve scared the shit out of me, you know that? Where are you? Is Ruby with you?”
“Yes, she's here. We're about three hours out, coming in from the west.” I pause, unsure how much to say over an unsecured line. “We found something. Information that might help.”
“Good,” Nic says tersely. “We need it. The situation here is...” He trails off, and I can picture him running a hand through his hair, a gesture he makes when choosing his words carefully. “Complicated.”
“The Cheslem pack is attacking,” I say, making it a statement rather than a question.
“They've surrounded us on three sides,” he confirms. “Luna's working on strengthening the wards, but they're testing the boundaries daily. Looking for weak points.”
I close my eyes briefly, imagining Silvercreek under siege. “We heard about bodies being found.”
“Distractions,” Nic says grimly. “So far, we’re pretty sure it’s none of ours. They want to draw us out, divide our forces. So far, we've held our ground, but it's only a matter of time before they make a serious push or track down the people we evacuated. Either way, we’re sitting ducks right now, and they’re happy to starve us out here.”
Ruby emerges from the restroom, spotting me on the phone and moving to stand close enough to hear both sides ofthe conversation. Her scent—herbs and paper and something uniquely her—fills my nostrils, momentarily distracting me from Nic's words.
“—captured one of them,” he's saying. “Young male, barely corrupted. Says he was forced into the rituals, that a lot of the pack members are unwilling participants.”
Ruby's eyes widen at this confirmation of Sera's claims. “Ask him if he knows about a counter-ritual,” she whispers urgently.
I relay the question, and there's a pause on the other end of the line.
“Not specifically,” Nic finally answers. “But he mentioned something about the Alpha's fear of witch-born wolves. Said Matthias had all the grimoires in the territory destroyed except one that he keeps locked away.” Another pause. “Does that mean something to you?”
“Maybe,” I hedge, not wanting to give too much away. “We'll explain when we arrive.”
“Come in from the south,” Nic instructs. “They haven't established a presence there yet. And James... be careful. Thomas is tracking suspected Cheslem spies inside our territory. We don't know who to trust anymore.”
The line goes dead, leaving me holding a silent receiver and a growing sense of dread.
“How bad?” Ruby asks quietly.
“Bad,” I admit, hanging up the phone. “But they're holding. For now.”
Back in the truck, the confined space feels even smaller after hours of driving. Ruby's thigh occasionally brushes mine as she shifts gears, each contact sending a jolt through the bondthat becomes increasingly difficult to ignore. By the time we decide to stop for a few hours' rest, the tension between us is thick enough to cut with a knife.
The motel is the kind of place that doesn't ask questions when two exhausted, dirt-smeared travelers request a room at three in the afternoon. The clerk barely looks up from his ancient television, just slides a key across the counter with a bored “Checkout's at eleven.”
It's only when we open the door to room 114 that I realize my mistake. One room. One bed. No sofa, not even a chair comfortable enough to sleep in.
Ruby freezes in the doorway, her eyes fixed on the queen-sized mattress that suddenly seems both enormous and far too small.
“I can sleep on the floor,” I offer immediately.
She sets her pack down with deliberate care. “Don't be ridiculous. We're adults. We can share a bed without...” She trails off, color rising in her cheeks.
