Rejected Mate, New Destiny

Three weeks. Twenty-one days of lying in the healing ward, watching my body slowly knit itself back together. The pain had become a constant companion, a reminder of each of the eighteen wounds that had nearly claimed my life.

I stared at the ceiling, counting the tiles for the hundredth time. My fingers traced the bandages covering my torso, feeling the ridges of healing flesh beneath.

"Your wolf is still dormant," Iris noted during her morning check-up. Her hands were gentle as she changed my dressings. "That's unusual after this much time."

I nodded, reaching inward to the empty space where my wolf should be. She was there, but weak—so weak I could barely feel her presence.

"She'll come back," I whispered, more to myself than to Iris.

The door opened, and Garrett Flynn stepped in, his expression brightening when he saw me sitting up.

"You're looking better," he said, placing a small bouquet of wildflowers on my bedside table.

"Thanks," I replied, managing a smile. "Did you just come from patrol?"

He nodded, pulling up a chair. "The northern border is secure. No sign of rogues since your mission."

Other warriors came and went throughout the day. Some brought small gifts, others just sat and talked about pack news. I appreciated their visits—they broke up the monotony of staring at the same four walls.

But Keaton never came.

"Has my mate inquired about me?" I asked Iris during her evening rounds, trying to keep my voice casual.

Her hands stilled momentarily. "Beta Keaton sent word that he trusts your care to us completely. He's been handling pack affairs."

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Of course. The pack needs him."

Each day, I watched the door, expecting him to appear. Each night, I fell asleep alone, reaching through our bond only to find emptiness.

"He's busy," I told myself. "He's managing the crisis my mission revealed."

But doubt crept in like a shadow.

---

"Did you hear what happened with the rogue mission?" A voice drifted through my partially open door.

I froze, straining to hear.

"Keaton said she panicked," another voice replied. "Backup was only slightly delayed."

"That's not what I heard. My cousin in the patrol team said they never received extraction coordinates."

Their voices dropped lower, but my enhanced hearing caught every word.

"Keaton's report says she didn't follow protocol. Abandoned her position."

The door swung open, and the two pack members jumped apart guiltily when they saw me standing there, leaning heavily on a crutch.

"Eleanora!" One of them stammered. "We didn't mean—"

They hurried away, avoiding my eyes.

I limped back to my bed, my heart pounding. What were they saying about me?

Later, I cornered Iris. "What's the pack saying about my mission?"

She looked uncomfortable, her eyes darting away from mine. "It's just rumors, Eleanora. Focus on healing."

"Tell me," I insisted.

Iris sighed, setting down her medical tray. "The official report states the backup team arrived only minutes late. It... implies you had already fled."

"That's not what happened," I said, my voice shaking. "I fought alone for over an hour. Your documentation proves it."

"I know," she admitted quietly. "But Keaton's report is the official record."

I stared at her, unable to comprehend how such a lie could be accepted. "Why would he do this?"

Iris squeezed my shoulder gently. "Rest. Recover. Address these... misunderstandings... when you're stronger."

---

The den felt foreign as I stepped inside. Three weeks away had changed something—or perhaps I was the one who had changed.

I inhaled deeply, catching unfamiliar scents beneath heavy perfume. A pillow on our bed smelled wrong—like someone else had used it.

"Keaton?" I called out, but the den remained silent.

I found his note on the kitchen counter: "In meetings. Rest well."

I touched the paper, tracing his handwriting. Even this small connection felt strained.

When he finally returned that evening, his greeting was perfunctory. "You're home. Good."

"Thank you," I replied, searching his face for warmth. "I missed you."

He nodded, his eyes sliding away from mine. "I've been dealing with the aftermath of the rogue situation."

"I want to talk about what happened," I said, stepping closer. "The backup team—"

"There were communication errors," he cut me off. "We should discuss this when you're fully recovered."

That night, he slept with his back to me, a wall of coldness between us. I reached through our bond, seeking comfort, but found only emptiness.

As I lay awake staring at his back, my wolf stirred for the first time in weeks.

*Something is wrong*, she whispered faintly. *This is not our mate.*