Diagnosed With Cancer, I Got My True Mate

The phone connects, but it's Brandon's voice on the other end. "Hello? Natalie was up all night in the lab. She just crashed. What's up?"

Aaron's eyes glint with pity as he stares at me. "Hear that? The she-wolf you'd die for doesn't give a damn about you. She's too busy with another wolf."

"Pathetic."

Brandon's tone sharpens, sensing trouble. "Who is this? What's going on?"

"Don't worry about who I am," Aaron sneers. "Tell Natalie to get here now, or you'll be picking up this wolf's body."

He hangs up and starts tearing into Natalie and her mom with the vilest insults, lumping me in for good measure. The pain's numbing my body, but what scares me more is the thought of Natalie showing up. What happens if she does? Will they hurt her? Threaten her?

I'm shaking, swallowed by dread.

After what feels like forever, the warehouse door creaks open. Footsteps echo. My heart stops as I look up.

It's just Brandon.

He exchanges a few low words with Aaron, whose face twists through a dozen emotions before he shoots me a cold smirk. "Lucky day, pup."

He and his goons clear out. Brandon hurries over, untying my ropes and helping me up. "I'm getting you to a healer," he says, his voice shaky.

Blood fills my mouth; I can't speak. I let him half-carry me to his car.

At the hospital, the healer patches me up, fitting me with temporary fake teeth. Brandon stands nearby, wincing at the sight of me.

"Thanks for taking the hit for Natalie," he says quietly. "I worked out a deal with her brother. He won't bother her again."

I croak, "What deal?"

He looks at me for a long moment, then shakes his head. "You wouldn't get it."

"All you need to know," he adds, pausing, "is that with me around, Natalie won't end up like her mom."

I stare at his calm, confident face and realize he's right. I don't get it. He can handle problems I'd bleed out trying to solve. Natalie's always needed someone like him, not me.

I nod, my voice barely a whisper. "Don't ever tell Natalie about this."

Over the next few days, I nurse my wounds and wander the pack one last time. The little diner where we had our first stew is gone, replaced by some upscale steakhouse. The alley behind the school's been redone-no trace of the overhang we huddled under during rainstorms. Even the old tree by the river's been cut down, swapped for a scenic lookout with fancy neon lights that glow at night.

Standing by the river, staring at the glittering skyline across the water, it hits me: I never belonged in this pack. But Natalie? She's put down roots, grown into someone I can only look up to.

My phone buzzes. It's Natalie. "Where you at?" Her voice is as cool as ever.

I send her my location, and within twenty minutes, she's standing next to me by the river.

"What're you doing out here alone?" she asks, her gaze fixed on the water.

"Just thinking about old times," I say softly. "You remember when we first came to this pack?"

She's quiet for a bit, then says flatly, "Don't get stuck in the past. Gotta move forward."

I freeze, turning to her. "You. don't miss any of it?"

"Nope," she says, her tone steady, almost cold. "I hate it, even."

My heart lurches. I want to ask, Do you hate the years we spent leaning on each other, too? But the words choke in my throat.

"You're right," I manage, forcing a smile. "We both gotta move on."

Each to our own path.