After My Mate Scent-Marked His Mistress, I Rejected Him

The freezing rain of the Silver Lake territory didn’t just soak you; it bit straight through to the marrow. I shifted back into my human form at the edge of the clearing, my knees buckling slightly as my feet hit the muddy earth. Steam rose from my naked skin, mingling with the metallic scent of fresh blood and the pine-heavy air.

I was Valentina Ross, the Lead Tracker of this pack, and I had just spent three days in a blizzard hunting an elk that had strayed too close to the border. It was a kill that would feed the elders for a week, but right now, all I could feel was the throbbing gash on my thigh where a rogue branch had sliced me open miles ago.

I dragged the carcass to the drop-off point for the Delta butchers, shivering violently. I needed warmth. I needed care. I needed my mate.

“Oliver,” I whispered, stumbling toward our cabin. It was a beautiful structure, modern and sleek, paid for entirely by my tracking bonuses. I had mind-linked him hours ago that I was coming in injured. Surely, he had a fire going. Maybe a hot meal.

I pushed open the front door, expecting the scent of comfort. Instead, I was hit by the stale odor of pepperoni and old grease.

The living room was a disaster. Expensive takeout containers—paid for with my credit card—littered the floor. And there, sprawled across the Italian leather sofa I had saved six months to buy, was Oliver. He was asleep, the TV blaring a game show. He looked peaceful, his brown hair messy, not a care in the world while I had been freezing to death.

“Oliver?” I croaked, limping into the room.

He stirred, groaning as he stretched his arms. He didn't rush to me. He didn't look at the blood running down my leg. He just wrinkled his nose.

“Ugh, Val,” he muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “You smell like wet dog. Couldn’t you have showered at the communal block before coming in?”

The comment hit me harder than the cold. I stood there, naked and shivering, holding a towel I’d grabbed from the entryway. “I’m hurt, Oliver. The storm was brutal. I thought you’d—”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re the big tough tracker,” he interrupted, reaching for a slice of cold pizza. “Hey, did you remember to pick up my dry cleaning on your way back? The gala is this weekend, and I need that suit if I’m going to sit with the Beta.”

My heart sank. I was bleeding on the rug I bought, and he was worried about a suit he didn't pay for. “I… I came straight here,” I whispered.

He rolled his eyes, flopping back down. “Great. Now I have to go get it. You’re so dramatic sometimes, Val.”

I didn’t have the energy to fight. I never did. I just limped to the shower, telling myself he was just tired. He didn’t mean it.

The next morning,