Upon hearing that, Dane was momentarily speechless. Then, anger flared. He grabbed my arm and exclaimed, “How long are you going to keep fighting with me about Felicity? I’ve told you, there’s nothing between us!”
“Oh, okay,” I replied, my calm demeanor in stark contrast to his rage.
With a final, furious slam of the door, the Alpha stormed out. The ensuing silence was not oppressive but rather liberating, a welcome contrast to the turmoil that had filled the room moments before.
Days bled into each other in a numbing blur. After the Alpha left, he disappeared for several days. I didn’t ask where he went, and he didn’t volunteer the information. On the third day, he finally talked to me through our mind link.
“I will attend a meeting with the neighboring Alphas,” he uttered. "I'm at Acorn Hill Town now." The words felt mechanical, devoid of any warmth or explanation.
“Okay, stay safe,” I mustered back, my lips curling into a bitter smile as I spoke those few words. The absurdity of it all struck me—pretending to care when the truth was unraveling in front of me.
Minutes later, my social media, Twitter, in particular, delivered another blow. Felicity’s tweet popped up on my feed, it was a picture of her at an event.
[First holiday spent in an event. My companion is a little grumpy today, tho!] And what made my eyebrows furrow was Dane’s hand, unmistakable with our mateship ring still on his finger, was in the frame. The location tag on her post matched the one that my mate had just told me—Acorn Hill Town.
A wave of nausea hit me. The ring on my finger burned like it should not be there. Without a second thought, I yanked it off and tossed it somewhere I didn't even look at, the betrayal and anger swirling inside me.
After that, my work at the pack's clinic became my refuge. The relentless pace and constant demands of being one of the healers were a welcome distraction. I lost myself in the whirl of patients, procedures, and paperwork. It was easier to immerse myself in the lives of others than to confront chaos on my own.
My mate's absence became a distant thing I refused to touch. His return was a question I no longer cared to ask.