Page 9 of Fat Sold Mate
Any woman but me, I think, remembering his laughter, the casual cruelty of his words.The fattest thing I've ever seen.
Victoria lifts a wooden box carved with ancient pack symbols, its hinges creaking softly as she opens it. It seems each time they do this, the whole thing becomes more ostentatious. Inside rest dozens of small scrolls, each bearing the name of an eligible unmated female pack member between twenty and thirty.
Including mine.
“May the spirits of our ancestors guide this selection,” Victoria intones, dipping her hand into the box.
The square falls so silent I can hear the whisper of paper as her fingers stir the scrolls. Time stretches, elastic and unbearable, as she selects one and draws it out.
Please, not me. Not me. Not me.
Victoria unfurls the scroll, her expression revealing nothing as she reads the name. Then her eyes find mine in the crowd.
“Ruby Mulligan.”
Immediately, my knees are weak. I have to lock them just to keep from collapsing to the ground. A collective gasp ripples through the gathering, followed immediately by whispers that wash over me in a wave of disbelief and thinly veiled derision.
My legs move of their own accord, carrying me forward through the parting crowd. Their faces blur together, a sea of shock and pity and poorly concealed amusement. Blood poundsin my ears, drowning out everything but the sound of my own heartbeat.
This can't be happening.
I reach the platform steps, my fingers trembling as I grasp the wooden railing. James stands at the top, his expression unreadable, though something flickers in his eyes when they meet mine—surprise? Disappointment? I can't tell, and it doesn't matter. Nothing matters except the humiliation burning through me like wildfire.
Victoria gestures for me to forward, placing my hand in James's much larger one. His skin is warm, calloused from hard work, so familiar it makes my chest ache despite everything.
“The lottery has spoken,” Victoria announces to the crowd. “James Morgan and Ruby Mulligan are matched by pack law and tradition.”
The words hang in the air, final and irreversible. A death knell for the fragile independence I've built.
Nic steps forward, nodding, something hard and unreadable in his eyes. “You’ll be bonded by the next full moon, then.”
The formal words sound hollow, his eyes concerned as they meet mine. Beside him, Luna looks shell-shocked, her earlier confidence replaced by wide-eyed distress. She knows how desperately I didn’t want this, knows it’ll kill me. But she can do nothing but watch.
“Let the celebration begin!” Victoria calls, and music swells from the band assembled near the refreshment tables.
James's fingers tighten around mine, preventing me from pulling away as the crowd begins to disperse toward the food and drinks.
“We need to talk,” he murmurs, his breath warm against my ear.
I nod stiffly, unable to form words through the tightness in my throat. Talk. As if words could fix this cosmic joke.
I know I have to let him pull me to the center of the Hollow before I can hope to flee, another ordeal to endure before I can escape. James leads me to the center of the square where space has been cleared, one hand at my waist, the other still gripping mine.
“Ruby,” he begins as we move to the music, our steps a mechanical mimicry of intimacy. “I know this isn't what you wanted—”
“Don't,” I interrupt, finally finding my voice. “Just... don't.”
His jaw tightens. “We can make this work.”
The audacity of his optimism stings worse than open cruelty would have. “I don’t want to.”
“Well, we don’t have a choice.”
“It doesn't matter.” I force a smile for the benefit of watching eyes. “None of this matters. Nothing fucking matters.”
“Of course it matters,” he insists, pulling me slightly closer as we turn. “This is our future.”
The word hits me like ice water. Future. A life bound to someone who found me laughable. Someone who kissed me one night and mocked me the next.
