Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 239

Ch. 11

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“Looking rough there brother. Are you sure you’re okay?” Cole pushes into my office and drops into the chair in front of my desk.

I drop my head into my hands on a groan. I’m not sure what’s more aggravating, the bone-deep exhaustion I can’t shake, or the fact he just waltzes in my office uninvited and calls me on it. Why did I make him my Beta again?

“Yeah, haven’t slept much lately.” My voice is gravelly, my throat dry. Guess I haven’t eaten or drank much either.

“I can see that.” He chuckles dryly. “The question is, why? Does it have anything to do with your disaster zone of a desk? What are all those papers anyway?

I stiffen, slapping my hand down over the mess and attempting to shuffle it into a pile before Cole can look too closely. “Nothing important.” I lie.

Because if I let him see the reason for my insomnia, the published studies on the one hundred and forty-seven documented cases of Rejected Mate Syndrome in the historical pack archives, then I’ll have to explain the rest.

I’ll have to explain that I’ve read all of them. Then I’ll have to explain why.

“Doesn’t look like nothing.” He raises a thick eyebrow, calling my bluff.

“Cole…” I don’t finish. What could I say that wouldn’t be akin to admitting the truth, that I am hiding something.

“Whatever.” He raises his hands in surrender. “I just came to remind you about the meeting. I’ll leave you to it.”

It’s not like him to give up so easily but I’m not gonna look a gifthorse in the mouth. “Thanks. I’ll be there.”

He leaves and I get up to follow him. I really need a shower, and maybe some coffee, before the meeting. I take a step towards the door but my eye catches on the stack of papers again and my gut lurches at the reminder.

When I have a problem, I gather every available piece of information before I decide what to do with it. One hundred and forty-seven cases. That’s all I’ve got to work with.

Eighty-three resulted in death. Forty-one show recovery through reunion with the fated mate-most of those in the first year, before the deterioration advanced too far. The rest of the records are incomplete, the outcomes unknown, the wolves lost to time or poor documentation.

All except one. One single wolf who formally rejected his fated mate under circumstances the record describes only as irreconcilable. “Relatable,” I mutter to myself as I run my eyes over the report again.

He developed RMS within eight months of the rejection. Bonded a chosen mate the following year. The progression arrested and he lived forty-three more seemingly happy years.

I read this case three times, memorizing every detail. The bond wasn’t fated. It was real-the record is specific about this, the wolf and his chosen mate by all accounts built something genuine-but it wasn’t the bond that the biology was looking for. And still, it was enough.

One case. One wolf. Forty-three years. That’s all I’ve got.

I sigh and push away from my desk, heading into the hall. Meetings wait for no Alpha. RMS or not.

“Oh shit! Sorry!” I reach out to grab the pack member I just barrelled into before she ends up a crumpled heap on

the floor. I might have started out as a Beta but I’m not a small guy and the tiny she-wolf is certainly no match for

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“Th-, that’s okay.” Piper steadies herself, brushing her auburn locks out of her eyes. “I wasn’t looking either.”

Aper Reed is part of the pack’s administrative staff. She’s warm without being soft. Capable without being aggressive about it. And once upon a time, she could have been mine.

We dated briefly. Enough to know there was something there but not enough to know if it was something worth pursuing. That was before Cassandra came to Ironwood and turned my life upside down.

Despite our mate bond, Cassandra and I were never a thing, so I don’t think Piper even knows about her. She just knows I stopped calling. She’s never made it awkward. Neither have I.

“You headed to the meeting too?” I ask, breaking the awkward silence.

She holds up the notepad she’s carrying in answer. “Yep, filling in for your secretary taking notes. One of her pups/ is sick.”

I hum in acknowledgement and we walk the rest of the way in silence. But I can’t stop thinking about her.

I think about her the way I’ve been thinking about everything in the past few days. Carefully, completely, noting what’s present and what’s missing. She’s warm. I’m fond of her. I respect her. She’d probably say yes if I asked—I think she would, the signals she’s sent have been clear enough-and she’d mean it.

But I’m not doing this tonight. I don’t have enough information yet to make decisions. I’m still gathering information.

But it’s an idea.

The beginning of one anyway.

Cara Anderson Author

Thank you for reading!

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