Bond Yet Untouched, My Mate Regretted His Affair

For six years, I've been bound to Christopher Hale, my mate, but we've never shared the kind of closeness most mates do. Not once. He's the youngest senior healer at the pack's medical institute, a wolf with a pristine reputation and a severe aversion to touch. "I don't like physical contact," he told me once, his voice as cold as the steel instruments he wields. But on our fifth anniversary, I flew half around the globe to surprise him, exhaustion clinging to me like damp fur. I stood outside the Ilmaris Town Medical Institute, clutching a bouquet of roses, only to see him kneeling before another she-wolf, gently slipping off her soaked shoes and socks. "How are you still such a pup, not taking care of yourself?" he said, his tone soft, almost playful. Rain poured down, drenching me until I looked like a half-drowned stray. In the distance, the she-wolf wore a tailored suit, her face tilted toward Christopher as they laughed together. I'd never seen him like this-his sharp edges softened, his eyes warm and unguarded. He watched her every word, never looking away. Seven years ago, I rear-ended his car by accident. The moment he stepped out, tall and composed, I was smitten. Christopher, the pack's top surgeon, was all stoic reserve, while I've always been the outgoing one, relentless in my pursuit. It took a full year of my stubborn charm to win him over, to form our sacred bond. Only then did I realize how deep his aversion to touch ran-it was practically a sickness. In six years, we've only touched once. I kissed his lips, a bold move on my part. His reaction? He bolted to the bathroom and retched, like I'd poisoned him. He later swore it was just a reflex, not about me, but the sting lingered for months. This trip was my last attempt to bridge the gap between us. We've been living apart for a year, ever since he was sent to Elthenia to lead a pack-wide medical project. As his mate, I've sent him messages, but they mostly go unanswered. He only responds when I mention his parents, and even then, it's curt: "Thanks for the update. I'll send this month's funds." I planned to surprise him today, to rekindle our bond. Instead, I found him with her. I don't know how long I stood there, frozen in the rain, before he noticed me. His smile faded slightly, and he murmured something soft to the she-wolf before walking toward me, umbrella in hand. "What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone edged with irritation, like I was an unwelcome intruder. I forced a smile, holding out the roses. "Happy anniversary." Before he could take them, her voice cut through the rain. "Chris, the meeting's starting." His expression stayed flat. "Come with me," he said, turning away. I hesitated, then followed, my paws heavy. The she-wolf fell into step beside him, their shoulders brushing as they walked ahead of me. Their low murmurs about work-medical jargon I couldn't follow-drifted back, each word a claw in my chest. I caught her name: Brittany Monroe. They were close. Too close. I tried to get a moment alone with Christopher, but Brittany always interrupted, her timing too perfect to be accidental. At the meeting room door, she finally turned to me, speaking in Shalorian, a language she assumed I didn't know. "Is this your mate from back home? She doesn't seem like your type." Christopher replied in the same tongue, his voice calm. "Type doesn't matter. It's about what fits." They thought I was clueless, but I'd learned Shalorian six years ago, back when I was chasing him, desperate to understand every part of him. Their words cut deeper than the rain. He glanced at me, his tone as cold as ever. "I've got a meeting. Wait here." I nodded, throat tight. "Okay." He disappeared into the room. I stared at the roses in my arms, their petals wilting like our bond. six years of holding on, fueled by my stubborn hope, and it was all slipping away. I wiped the rain from my face and tossed the flowers into a nearby trash bin, non-recyclable, like our connection. I wanted to leave, to head back to the pack lands, but I needed to face him first, to say what had to be said. So I waited, soaked clothes clinging to my skin, the chill seeping into my bones. Two hours later, I was shivering, my lips pale, when he finally emerged. I tried to speak, but others spilled out of the meeting room, their voices loud. "Who's this?" one asked, eyeing me. Christopher didn't answer, so I spoke up, my voice trembling from the cold. "I'm Lauren, his mate." The group froze, shocked. "Wait, you're not unbound?" one said. "I thought you and Brittany were a pair." "Yeah," another chimed in. "You two were together back in training, right? How's this-" Christopher cut them off, his voice steady. "Brittany and I are history. Lauren and I formed our bond six years ago." The pack murmured, piecing it together, their whispers like a low growl. Someone suggested dinner, and my legs, numb from standing, wouldn't move. I watched as Christopher and Brittany walked past me, their steps in sync. I was left trailing behind. When I reached the van-a sleek Toyota Alphard-the only seat left was the front passenger side. Christopher and Brittany sat in the back, their voices low as they discussed the meeting. I stole a glance, then climbed in, feeling like an outsider in my own mate's world. On the way to the restaurant, the pack chatted in Shalorian, assuming I couldn't follow. "I thought Chris and Brittany had been bound for years," one said. "That confession of his-'A century in this world, I'll be loyal to healing and to you'-it's still legendary at the institute." "Remember when Chris decked that creepy mentor for harassing Brittany?" another added. "Nearly got held back for it." "And when they signed those body donation pledges together, vowing to stay bound even in death?" My heart sank. Brittany wasn't just a colleague. She was his first mate, his past. I'd only ever known Christopher as distant, like a still lake. I couldn't picture him confessing love or fighting for someone. Not for me. Lost in thought, I barely noticed we'd reached the restaurant. One of Christopher's packmates opened my door, startled. "Lauren, your clothes are soaked!" Before I could respond, he called to Christopher. "Chris, maybe hit the mall next door and grab her something dry. She'll catch a cold otherwise." Only then did Christopher notice my state. "Wait in the van," he said. "I'll get you clothes." The others headed to the restaurant, leaving me alone in the van. Fifteen minutes later, Christopher returned with a fancy bag. The clothes were expensive, soft, but they didn't fit right-too tight in some places, too loose in others. Just like our bond. Always wrong. When I stepped out, changed but still uncomfortable, the parking lot was empty. They'd all gone inside without me.