Page 67 of Fat Sold Mate
No time left for words. Only action now.
The attack begins with calculated precision. A thunderous explosion rocks the eastern boundary—Luna's magic combined with more conventional explosives, creating a diversion that draws half the Cheslem forces away from their main encampment. As howls and shouts fill the night, our team moves silently through the shadows, approaching from the west where the forest provides cover almost to the edge of their makeshift camp.
The scent of corruption grows stronger as we approach—a sickly-sweet rot that coats the back of my throat. Through our bond, I feel James's revulsion mirroring my own, his protective instincts surging as he positions himself between me and potential threats.
We reach the edge of the clearing where crude cages hold our captured packmates. Elder Victoria is immediately visible, her silver hair gleaming in the moonlight despite the dirt and blood marring her dignified features. Beside her, three other Silvercreek wolves crouch in various states of injury. Elder Amelia is noticeably absent, and dread pools in my stomach at what that might mean.
“On my signal,” James whispers, the words barely audible even to shifter hearing.
The diversionary forces have done their job well—only four corrupted guards remain at the prison site. As we watch, Thomas's team engages from the north, drawing the attentionof two guards with a direct assault. The moment the remaining guards turn toward the commotion, James signals the attack.
What follows is chaos—silver blades flashing in moonlight, the snarls of shifting wolves, the stench of corruption growing stronger as blood is spilled. James stays at my side as promised, a lethal shadow clearing a path toward the cages where our packmates wait.
We've almost reached them when a young Cheslem wolf lunges from the shadows, teeth bared in a snarl that lacks the mindless rage of the fully corrupted. His eyes hold awareness, fear, the unmistakable struggle of someone fighting the darkness inside them.
“Help me,” he gasps, black veins visibly pulsing beneath his skin. “Please.”
James positions himself to strike, but I catch his arm. “Wait,” I urge, feeling something different about this wolf. “He's fighting it.”
The young man falls to his knees, trembling with the effort of resisting the corruption's pull. “Sera said there was a way,” he chokes out. “A cleansing.”
At Sera's name, I make my decision. Ignoring James's protest, I pull the ritual components from my satchel, working quickly to arrange the herbs and crystals in the pattern Luna taught me.
“What are you doing?” James hisses, eyes constantly scanning for threats. “This isn't the plan.”
“Plans change,” I reply, already beginning the incantation. “Hold him still.”
James complies with obvious reluctance, gripping the young wolf's shoulders as I place my palms against hiscorruption-marked chest. The bond between James and me flares instantly, power surging through it like electricity seeking ground. I channel it through the incantation, through the ritual components, into the corrupted wolf's body.
The resistance is immediate and terrible, like pushing against a wall of ice that burns to touch. The corruption fights back, sensing the threat to its existence. Black tendrils seem to reach for me, seeking to spread their taint.
I falter, nearly losing the thread of the incantation as pain lances through me.
“Ruby,” James's voice reaches me through the haze of agony. “Draw deeper. I'm here.”
Our eyes lock, and I do as he says—reaching through our bond with desperate need, pulling on the connection between us with everything I have. Power floods through me, raw and primal and overwhelming. The incantation gains strength, forcing the corruption to retreat inch by excruciating inch.
With a final surge of energy that leaves me gasping, the cleansing completes. The young wolf collapses forward, black veins receding visibly from his skin as the corruption is expelled in a noxious cloud that dissipates in the night air.
“It worked,” I breathe, scarcely believing what I've accomplished.
“Later,” James urges, already pulling me toward the cages where Thomas and the others have subdued the remaining guards. “We need to move.”
We free the captives quickly, providing support to those too injured to walk unaided. As we prepare to retreat, another corrupted wolf approaches—this one a woman barely older than me, her eyes clear despite the corruption marking her skin.
“Please,” she begs, seeing what happened to her packmate. “Help me, too.”
I hesitate, already feeling the drain from the first cleansing. James's hand finds mine, strength flowing through our bond like a transfusion.
“Together,” he says simply.
The second cleansing nearly destroys us both. By the time the corruption releases its hold on the woman, I'm barely conscious, supported entirely by James, whose own face is gray with exhaustion. But it works—another Cheslem wolf freed from Matthias's control.
Our victory is short-lived. As we begin our retreat, a piercing howl cuts through the night—a sound of such malevolent rage that it freezes the blood in my veins. Matthias emerges from the largest structure in the camp, his form twisted almost beyond recognition by advanced corruption.
“Leaving so soon?” he taunts, voice distorted by the darkness that has consumed him. Behind him, three figures are dragged into view—Elder Victoria, who'd been separated from our rescuers in the chaos, and two other Silvercreek wolves I don't immediately recognize.
Nic steps forward, shifting to wolf form in preparation for battle, snarling at the sight of his grandmother captured, but Matthias merely laughs—a sound like breaking glass that sends shivers down my spine.
