Pursuing My Rejected Luna by Cara Anderson novel Chapter 44

Chapter 44

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Chapter 44

Jaxon

Nicolai Woolf left this morning and the house should feel quieter now.

But it doesn’t.

My wolf should settle without the other dominant Alpha around, but he doesn’t.

At breakfast, Skye sits at the opposite end of the table picking at her food. She’s physically present but mentally a thousand miles away.

“What are you thinking about?” I ask.

She looks up, startled, like she forgot I was there. “Nothing important.”

That tone. That new, detached tone I’ve come to hate. Like I’m a stranger making small talk instead of

her mate.

“You barely ate.”

“I’m not very hungry.”

“Skye-”

“I have Luna duties to attend to.” She stands, her napkin folded neatly beside her untouched plate. ” Excuse me.”

She leaves before I can respond, and I’m left sitting alone in the dining room wondering when everything became so stilted between us.

Wondering when I started caring. 1

Noah joins me minutes later.

“We need to talk,” he says, wasting no time.

“About?”

“Skye.” He settles into the chair across from me. “Have you noticed she’s been losing weight?” The question catches me off guard. “She looks fine to me.”

“That’s the problem.” Noah leans forward, his expression serious. “You’re not looking. She’s exhausted, Jax. Pale. There are dark circles under her eyes that she’s trying to hide with makeup. Something’s wrong.”

If something was seriously wrong, she’d tell Dr. Lukas.”

“Would she?” Noah’s voice is sharp. “Or would she hide it because you’d accuse her of being dramatic or attention-seeking?” 1

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The accusation hits hard. “That’s not fair.”

“I wouldn’t-”

“You already did.” Noah cuts me off. “Get your shit together, Jax! Your pack won’t tolerate something happening to their Luna.”

He leaves, and I’m alone with his words echoing in my head.

What if I’ve been so focused on what she’s hiding that I haven’t stopped to ask if she’s okay? What kind of Alpha, husband am I? 1

That night I find myself alone in our bedroom, a place I’ve purposely avoided recently, and my mind drifts to a distant memory.

Early in our marriage. Maybe six months in.

Skye had been trying so hard. Making my favorite meals. Asking about my day. Touching me-tentative little gestures that I never returned.

That night, she came on to me for the first and only time. Actually climbed into my lap while I was working, kissed me with a desperation that should have been a warning.

But I was horny and despite my lack of romantic feelings, she’s hot as sin so fucking her was no hardship. If she wanted it, I was more than willing so I carried her to bed.

She was responsive. Eager. Despite everything between us, despite the coldness I’d shown her, her body fit against mine like it was made for this. Her cunt wrapped around my cock so warm and tight and perfect. And fuck, the sounds she made drove me wild in ways I didn’t want to examine.

It would have been so easy to lose myself in her lush body. To forget everything else and just feel.

Until she whispered it.

“I love you.”

Her eyes were open. Vulnerable. Waiting for me to say it back.

And I felt the trap closing.

I pulled out immediately. Pulled away. Got dressed while she lay there looking shattered.

“Don’t confuse the mate bond with real feelings, Skye,’ I told her, my voice deliberately cold. This is just

biology. Chemistry. It doesn’t mean anything.”

The hurt in her eyes was devastating. But I’d convinced myself it was necessary.

It’s late when she finally returns. I close my eyes, feigning sleep, and listen.

She moves around the room carefully. Opens the closet. I hear the sound of hangers shifting, something being moved or removed. It goes on for several minutes.

Then I hear it.

Soft, muffled crying.

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Like she’s trying to hide it. Trying not to let me hear.

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My instinct is to go to her. To ask what’s wrong. To offer… something. Comfort, maybe? But I don’t know how. So I don’t go.

The crying continues for a few minutes, then stops. I hear water running in the bathroom. The sound of her getting ready for bed.

When she finally climbs in beside me, she stays on the far edge of the mattress. As far from me as possible without falling off.

The distance between us feels like an ocean.

And for the first time in our marriage, I wish I knew how to bridge it, how to make her look at me the way

she used to.

I lie awake long after her breathing evens out, staring at the ceiling, and wonder what she was crying

about.

I wonder if I’ve already lost her, and I just don’t know it yet.

Cara Anderson Author

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