When he drew closer, he finally noticed how pale I was—my lips completely bloodless, my scent thin and weak where it should have been strong.
He frowned, confusion creasing his brow. "Is it your moon-cycle again? Why didn't you send word to me?"
Irregular cycles had always plagued me—a weakness in my bloodline that the healers had never fully corrected.
Following my instructions, Mira hadn't told him about the lost pup. She'd sworn a silence oath at my request, her eyes wet with tears she didn't dare shed in front of me.
So in his mind, I was simply here at the Healer's Lodge to rest and let my body mend.
I watched him in silence, studying the sharp angles of his jaw, the way his wolf's presence barely stirred beneath his skin when he looked at me.
Every time I'd felt unwell before, I would let my scent turn soft and pleading, nuzzling against him, begging him through our bond to stay close.
But this time, I hadn't sent a single howl-call.
And he hadn't remembered I existed until a full week later.
Seventeen missed calls or none at all—in the end, the result was exactly the same.
Why torture myself?