Page 41 of Knox's Fate

Knox moved through the throng with an authority that made space where there was none, his hand possessive at the small of her back. The thrum of the music resonated within her, echoing the tumultuous arousal that Knox's proximity always elicited. And then, without warning or word, he swept her up in his arms, cradling her to his chest as he strode toward their lodge.

"Knox!" she protested with a laugh that betrayed her anticipation, her hands smacking playfully against his powerful chest.

"Time to claim my mate," he threw back over his shoulder, his voice thick with promise, as their clan laughed and applauded.

Upstairs, away from the revelry, the door closed behind them with a definitive click. The silence was sudden, intimate—a stark contrast to the noise below. Knox set her down, and Ruby turned to face him, her breath catching at the intensity in his gaze.

“I love you,” she offered, knowing it was true.

"I love you more. Are you ready?" he asked, the question holding more than one meaning.

"Aren’t I always?" she quipped, feeling the magnetic pull between them.

The raw hunger in his eyes ignited her own desire. Clothes became trivial barriers, discarded hastily, as skin met skin with a desperate urgency. Their bodies entwined, a carnal dance that knew only the rhythm of primal need. Knox worshipped her flesh with a fervor that left no room for doubt or past grievances—only the searing pleasure of their joining.

Ruby was lost in the sensation, in the claiming and surrendering that bound them more tightly than any scarf. Each thrust was a word in the language of their bodies, each caress a sentence of undying intent. Knox took her to the edge andbeyond, time and again, until they lay spent, a tangle of limbs and satiated lust, breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath.

As dawn's light crept across the sky, painting the room in hues of gold and pink, Ruby nestled closer to Knox, her head resting on his chest. His heart beat strong under her ear, a reassuring drum that spoke of forever.

"Knox," she murmured, her voice soft but certain. "I found something at the bed and breakfast. It might be a clue to the treasure."

He shifted beneath her, propping himself up on one elbow to look down at her. His expression was tender yet serious, the mantle of leadership never far from his thoughts.

"Even if the silver exists," he said, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead, "we have found a greater treasure here together."

Ruby's heart swelled with love, understanding dawning with the morning light. This man, this connection, the life they would build—it surpassed any fabled riches.

"Let someone else chase legends," Knox continued, his kiss sealing the sentiment. "We'll renovate the bed and breakfast and make it our haven."

Ruby smiled against his lips, filled with a newfound purpose. Together, they would create something more precious than any treasure—a home, a family, a legacy intertwined with love.

Colorado Silver Rush

Latter part of the Nineteenth Century

The year was 1879, the height of the Colorado Silver Rush, and the Rockies were alive with restless men and echoing gunfire,the mountains shimmering with promise. In the twilight hours, miners and prospectors huddled around campfires, their faces ghostly in the flickering light, telling tales of fortune and doom. But one story always brought a hush, one whispered legend that struck fear even into the bravest hearts—the story of the hidden treasure of Silver Falls.

A man known only as Old Garvin, a grizzled prospector with eyes clouded by secrets, was the first to speak of it. He’d been a ghost of a figure, huddled in the corner of The Broken Spade Saloon, a place thick with smoke and desperate men. They said he’d come down from the mountains after weeks without sleep, his face pale as the moon, his hands shaking as he clutched his whiskey. “That mountain’s alive, boys,” he muttered, his voice barely more than a rasp. “She don’t want us there.”

In his worn fingers, Garvin held a nugget of silver the size of a child’s fist, raw and glittering. The men around him leaned closer, eyes wide with hunger. But Garvin’s hand shot up, and his eyes, dark as river stones, flickered with fear.

“This ain’t no ordinary silver,” he warned. “Found it in a cave up past Silver Falls, tucked behind boulders like a secret. Felt like it was calling to me, luring me closer. But I wasn’t alone. Shadows were watching, moving in the darkness, and I swear I heard voices, low and mournful, whispering my name.”

The men laughed, but there was an unease in their eyes. “What are you sayin’, Garvin?” someone sneered. “The mountain’s haunted?”

But Garvin only shook his head. “It ain’t haunted. It’s cursed. That silver—it's the blood of the mountain, spilled from a wound. Some call it ‘ghost silver.’ Found it where the tribes say their ancestors walked, where spirits guard their land. You take from it, and it takes something back. I was a fool to bring this piece down—had to get it away from there before it took me, too.”

Whispers followed Old Garvin's words, rumors that couldn’t be ignored. Some said the spirits of those who had died in search of the treasure guarded it. Their greed cursing the treasure and any who sought it for all eternity—a warning to any who dared to plunder what didn’t belong to them.

But avarice had a stronger pull than fear. The following week, four men from the saloon went up the mountain, vanishing into the mist. They called themselves “The Iron Four,” fearless prospectors who laughed at Garvin’s story. But when days turned into weeks with no sign of their return, folks began to worry.

Then, on the third full moon after their disappearance, a storm unlike any other swept through Silver Falls. Thunder crashed, and lightning cracked the sky open, illuminating strange, shifting shapes in the clouds. And from the heart of that storm, a single figure stumbled into town, drenched and half-mad. It was Isaiah Blakiston, one of the Iron Four, his eyes hollow, his hands raw from clawing at the earth.

“They’re gone,” he whispered, voice broken. “The mountain took ’em. We found the silver, but it was guarded. Things…things that weren’t human, things with eyes like fire and teeth like knives. The others—they didn’t make it.”

His fingers clutched a small leather pouch, his last possession. When he opened it, silver dust spilled out, glinting in the firelight like stars.

“We dug too deep,” he said, his voice trailing into a shiver. “Broke a pact older than any of us. They said they’d let me go if I carried the story back. Tell the others: the silver stays buried. The spirits of the mountains will watch over it till the end of days. Anyone who tries to claim it will pay the price.”

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