My Mate Blocked Our Bond While I Was Dying

The kitchen was silent except for the scratch of my pen against paper. I hunched over the counter, carefully tallying our grocery receipts, making sure every cent was accounted for. Three years of marriage had taught me to be meticulous—Travis demanded nothing less.

"Olivia." His voice sliced through my mind, cold and abrupt. "Mind-link."

I flinched, my pen slipping and making a small ink blot on the ledger. Travis rarely mind-linked me during the day unless it was important—or he wanted something.

"Yes, Travis?" I responded, trying to keep my mental voice steady.

"I need you to transfer fifteen dollars and fifty cents to the pack treasury. Immediately." His tone was clipped, businesslike.

"For what?" I asked, though I already knew better than to question him.

"That healing salve you used on your finger three days ago. The one you cut while chopping vegetables." His displeasure radiated through the link. "Pack resources are for everyone, Olivia. You know our policy."

Of course I did. Fifty-fifty resource split. Everything meticulously tracked and accounted for. The "fairness" he constantly touted.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, though I wasn't sure what I was apologizing for. Being hurt? Needing healing? Existing?

"Don't apologize. Just transfer the money." A pause. "We have to set an example for the pack. Even if you're...different."

The unspoken words hung heavy between us. Even if you're wolfless. Even if you're nothing but a burden.

I closed the link and stared at our household ledger. The column marked "Olivia's Expenses" was already dangerously close to zero. With trembling fingers, I opened my banking app and made the transfer, watching my meager savings dwindle further.

"There," I whispered to the empty kitchen. "Happy now?"

---

The Silverfang Pack's monthly moon gathering was in full swing. Crystal glasses clinked, conversation flowed, and I—as always—sat at the Omega table, far from my husband.

"Olivia," Beta James called, "we need help serving the main course."

I nodded, rising from my seat. Despite being the Beta's wife, I was always assigned to serve. Another reminder of my place.

In the kitchen, I carefully ladled soup into silver bowls. The rich aroma made my stomach growl—I'd been too busy to eat today.

"Take these to table four," the cook instructed, handing me a tray.

I balanced it carefully as I weaved through the crowded hall. At table four, I set down the bowls, my hands shaking slightly from exhaustion.

"Thank you, Omega," a young wolf said, not bothering to look at me.

I nodded and turned to leave, but my sleeve caught on the edge of the table. The tray tilted, and before I could steady it, a splash of hot soup landed on my wrist.

"Clumsy," someone muttered.

I apologized quickly and reached for a napkin, but as I wiped my hand, my finger brushed against my lips. A bitter taste spread across my tongue.

Something was wrong.

Heat bloomed in my veins, spreading rapidly. My throat constricted, and my vision blurred at the edges.

"Wolfsbane," I gasped, recognizing the distinctive burn. But how? Wolfsbane was forbidden at pack gatherings—unless...

The rogue prisoner. Someone had spiked his soup.

I stumbled away from the table, clutching my throat. Panic rose as my airway narrowed further.

"Travis," I called desperately through our mate bond. "Help me. Wolfsbane. Can't breathe."

Nothing.

"Travis!" I tried again, my mental voice weakening. "Please..."

The response came, distant and cold: "I'm in a strategic meeting with Alpha Marcus. Don't disturb me with drama, Olivia."

"Drama?" I choked out loud, sinking to my knees as black spots danced across my vision. "Help..."

---

"Stay with me," Dr. Helena Cross urged, her cool hands pressing a neutralizing agent against my throat. "Just breathe slowly."

I gasped, each breath a struggle, as the healing compound worked to counteract the wolfsbane. The pack infirmary ceiling swam above me.

"What happened?" Helena asked, her brow furrowed in concern.

"S-soup," I managed. "Accident."

She shook her head. "This wasn't an accident. This concentration... someone meant to kill."

Hours passed in a haze of treatment and monitoring. Helena refused to leave my side, her presence a rare comfort in this pack that had never truly accepted me.

It was nearly midnight when the door finally opened.

Travis strode in, his expression unreadable. But something was off.

"Travis," I whispered, my voice still raw. "You came."

"Of course I came." He removed his jacket, tossing it onto a nearby chair. "Someone almost died at a pack gathering. The Alpha demanded a full report."

As his jacket fell, a scent hit me—forest air and something else. Something floral and exotic. *Midnight Orchid*—a perfume sold only in the Rogue Market, far beyond pack borders.

My stomach twisted as I watched him pull out a small leather-bound notebook.

"You've been careless," he began, but whatever he planned to say was cut short when something fluttered from his jacket pocket.

A receipt. For a moonstone amulet. Fifty thousand dollars.

More than he'd spent on me in three years.

Our eyes met as I stared at the paper, and for the first time, I saw something flicker across his face.

Fear.