Page 57 of Fat Sold Mate
Her chanting intensifies, the glow beneath her palms brightening until it's almost blinding. The corruption retreats further, gathering under her hands like black smoke being pulled from my body. With a final, commanding phrase, Ruby draws it completely into her palms, then flings her hands outward as if casting away something filthy.
The black mist dissipates in the air with a sound like dying embers, leaving behind clean, unmarked skin where corruption had spread moments before.
Ruby slumps forward, exhausted by the effort, her forehead coming to rest against my chest. I catch her instinctively, my arms wrapping around her smaller frame as the bond between us continues to pulse with shared awareness and emotion.
“You did it,” I whisper, awe in my voice. “Ruby, that was—”
“Just magic,” she interrupts, but makes no move to pull away. Her breath is warm against my skin, her heart racing in time with mine.
The moment stretches between us, fraught with possibility. The bond hums with shared need, with the knowledge that what connects us goes deeper than either of us has been willing to admit.
I lift one hand to her face, tilting her chin up until our eyes meet. The question in mine is answered by the vulnerable hunger in hers. When our lips meet, it feels inevitable—a continuation of the energy still flowing between us rather than a new beginning.
Unlike the desperate clash in the cave, this kiss builds slowly, deepening by degrees as Ruby's hands slide up my chest to my shoulders. The bond amplifies every sensation—the softness of her lips, the small sound she makes in the back of her throat, the way her body fits against mine as if designed for it.
Time loses meaning as we lose ourselves in each other, in the connection that grows stronger with each passing second. My hands find her waist, drawing her closer until she's practically in my lap, the residual energy of the ritual still crackling between us like electricity.
It's Ruby who pulls away first, her breathing ragged, pupils dilated until only a thin ring of amber remains. Throughthe bond, I feel her confusion, her desire warring with something like fear.
“We shouldn't,” she whispers, though her body remains pressed against mine. “This is just... aftermath. The ritual. It's not real.”
The words sting more than they should. “Feels pretty real to me,” I counter, my voice rougher than intended.
She shakes her head, creating space between us with visible effort. “Last time was grief and adrenaline. This is magical backlash. Neither is a good foundation for... whatever this is.”
I want to argue, to tell her that what's growing between us existed long before the forced bond, before the lottery, before all of this. But the walls are already rebuilding in her eyes, and I've never been good with words.
“We should keep moving,” Ruby says, sliding back to the driver's side with careful precision. “Silvercreek is still hours away.”
I nod, not trusting my voice as the distance between us expands once more, both physically and emotionally. But the bond remains stronger than before, humming with awareness neither of us can fully suppress.
Something has changed between us, shifted in a fundamental way that can't be undone. Whether Ruby wants to acknowledge it or not, the connection is there, growing stronger with each shared experience, each moment of vulnerability.
And as she starts the truck and pulls back onto the empty highway, I find myself wondering if that connection might be the only thing that saves us—and Silvercreek—from what lies ahead.
Chapter 21 - Ruby
Morning arrives with its own brutality, sunlight streaming through the truck's windshield and directly into my eyes. We'd pulled over sometime around dawn, too exhausted to continue after driving through the night. Now, with consciousness comes awareness of cramped muscles, of hunger, and most problematically, of James.
He sleeps in the passenger seat, head tipped back against the headrest, one arm flung across his chest where the corruption had spread mere hours ago. Through our bond, I feel his peaceful dreams, his body's contentment at having been cleansed of dark magic. But beneath that runs a current of something more problematic—an awareness of me that persists even in sleep.
Last night's ritual changed things. Not just healing James, but altering the very nature of our connection. The bond between us pulses stronger now, more insistent, carrying emotions and sensations I'd rather not acknowledge.
Like the fact that simply watching him sleep makes heat pool low in my belly. Or that when he shifts position, stretching unconsciously in a way that highlights the muscles of his torso, my mouth goes dry with wanting.
This is ridiculous. We're fleeing for our lives, racing toward a pack that might be under siege, and my traitorous body can only think about climbing him like a tree. Again.
James stirs, amber eyes blinking open to find me staring. A flash of heat crosses his face before he schools his expression into something more neutral. Through the bond, though, I feel the spike of awareness, of desire, quickly suppressed.
“Morning,” he says, voice still rough with sleep in a way that does nothing to help my predicament.
“We should get moving,” I reply, turning the key perhaps more aggressively than necessary. “Silvercreek is still hours away.”
James straightens, wincing slightly as he rolls his shoulder—the one that had been bitten. “How are you feeling after the ritual? That was serious magic.”
“Fine,” I lie, ignoring the hollow exhaustion that comes from channeling more power than I'm accustomed to. “It worked, that's what matters.”
His gaze lingers on me, too perceptive by half. “You're a terrible liar, Ruby Mulligan.”
