Page 74 of Fat Sold Mate
The absurdity of it hits me all at once—months of pain and withdrawal, all because of a misunderstood conversation about a cat. A laugh bubbles up from my chest, unexpected and slightly hysterical.
“A cat,” I repeat, the laughter quickly dissolving into tears. “All this time...”
James gathers me closer, his arms secure around me as I cry—for the misunderstanding, for the lost time, for all the wounds that can finally begin to heal now that truth sits between us.
“I thought you were beautiful then,” he murmurs against my temple. “I think you're beautiful now. The most beautiful woman I've ever known, Ruby Mulligan. Probably on the whole planet.”
The words should sound like a line, like something practiced or performative. Instead, they carry the unmistakable weight of absolute truth, conviction flowing through our bond like sunlight breaking through clouds.
“I should have talked to you,” I admit, sniffling against his shirt. “Asked you what I heard instead of assuming the worst.”
“And I should have had the courage to tell you how I felt years ago,” he counters, fingers gently combing through my hair. “I was the one who let people make you feel small first. We've both made mistakes. But we're here now. Together.”
The simplicity of it settles over me, bringing peace I thought impossible just days ago. We're here now. Together. Not because a lottery forced us, not because enemies coerced us, but because beneath all the fear and misunderstanding, something real has been growing between us all along.
“I'm still scared,” I confess, tracing patterns on his chest with hesitant fingers. “Of what happens next. Of whether this—us—can survive outside of crisis and danger.”
James catches my hand, bringing it to his lips with tender reverence. “I'm not,” he says simply. “Because I know what I feel, Ruby. What I've felt for longer than I've been brave enough to admit. And it's not going anywhere.”
The bond between us pulses with shared emotion, with certainty that transcends words. I lean up to kiss him again, slow and sweet and full of promise. His response is gentle but thorough, leaving no doubt about the depth of his feelings.
When we part, both slightly breathless, I settle against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. His arms around me feel like a sanctuary, like home in a way Silvercreek itself never quite managed to be.
“So,” I say after a comfortable silence, “about that fat orange cat... Maggie, that is…”
James laughs, the sound rumbling beneath my ear, vibrating through our bond with pure joy.
“I think she'll be jealous of me,” he confides, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “She's used to having you all to himself.”
“She'll have to learn to share,” I murmur, nestling closer, letting my eyes drift closed in contented exhaustion.
As sleep reclaims me, the last thing I'm aware of is James's whispered words against my hair—three simple syllables that follow me into dreams filled with light and promise rather than darkness and fear.
For the first time in memory, I feel not just safe, but cherished. Not just accepted, but chosen. Not just bound bycircumstance, but connected by something far more powerful than magic.
By love, freely given and joyfully received.
Epilogue - James
Two months after the night that nearly destroyed everything, Silvercreek pulses with new life. The summer evening air carries laughter from the town square where pack members gather for an impromptu celebration—no special occasion, just the simple joy of continued existence. From our porch, the sounds of community rebuilding itself reach us in pleasant waves, background music to the peace we've carved out for ourselves.
Our cottage sits at the edge of town, close enough to Ruby's bookshop for convenience but far enough from the pack center to grant us the privacy new mates crave. The small structure had been abandoned for years before we claimed it, but weeks of hard work have transformed it into something uniquely ours. Ruby's herbs hang from kitchen rafters, my woodworking tools occupy the small shed out back, and books—so many books—fill every available surface.
“You're brooding again,” Ruby observes, stepping onto the porch with two steaming mugs of tea. “I can feel it through the bond.”
I accept the offered mug with a smile, watching as she settles beside me on the porch swing, her body fitting against mine with familiar ease. “Not brooding. Reflecting.”
“Semantic difference,” she teases, but her eyes hold understanding.
Silvercreek has changed irrevocably since the confrontation with the Cheslem pack. Sera and Caleb, along with dozens of other cleansed Cheslem wolves, have integrated into our community—their presence initially met with wariness but increasingly with acceptance as the weeks pass. The transitionhasn't been smooth for all of them; many still wake from nightmares, flinching at sudden movements or sounds that trigger memories of corruption's hold. It’s going to be a long road to recovery for all of us, I know.
“Nic's been in meetings all day,” I mention, arm settling comfortably around Ruby's shoulders. “He and Thomas are interviewing potential new enforcers from the eastern packs. With our numbers nearly doubled, we need more security.”
Ruby nods, taking a sip of her tea. “Luna told me. She also mentioned that Marcus and Patricia stepped down from the elder council last night.”
“About time,” I say, though without malice. The older wolves had served Silvercreek faithfully for decades, but their traditionalist views had sometimes caused more harm than good. “Nic's bringing in younger voices. People who understand that Silvercreek needs to evolve.”
“While keeping some traditions,” Ruby points out with a small smile. “The lottery continues.”
