Farewell My Dear Mate

While those rogue wolves tore into my flesh, my dear mate Logan was off celebrating the ten-year anniversary of his first meeting with Aria, his first love.

I tried to send him a desperate howl through the pack bond, but all I got back was,

“Don’t think this will grab my attention. I won’t come rushing back, you foolish wolf.”

Honestly, I breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t come running, Knowing him, I’d probably would have ended up much worse.

Fast forward three nights, and there he was—

Logan Silverclaw, the best forensic wolf in the pack—analyzing the remnants of a brutal attack that had the whole territory buzzing.

He was going on and on about the victim’s last moments, how she fought for her life and all. Little did he know, he was dissecting the death of his very own mate—the one he couldn’t stand: yours truly, Me.

——

So, there I was, discarded like a useless carcass at the edge of the pack’s hunting grounds, real classy.

An old wolf out for a midnight patrol, stumbled upon the scene. His senses caught the scent of death, and when he investigated, his sharp claws uncovered the first piece of me—a bone.

Imagine the shock and horror.

Before long, they were discovering more bodies scattered across the pack's territory, It was a nightmare come to life, the elders had to call in a special unit to investigate.

And guess who got called in? None other than my mate, Logan, the forensic prodigy of Bloodmoon Ridge.

He arrived on the scene, analyzing the blood splatter like it was some twisted form of art.

Even he was taken aback by the scene. “This is... vicious,” he muttered, his face going pale.

Damon, the head enforcer of the pack’s Alpha, wanted Logan to break down the evidence, him being the wolf that he was, pointed out every detail like he was the alpha’s top strategist.

“See these claw marks? Looks like they were harvesting something, and the blood splatter? Our victim was awake during the whole thing.”

Damon furrowed his brows, his claws flexing. “So, according to the evidence, our victim was a young she-wolf under thirty. Who in the pack would hate her enough to do this?”

Logan had a hunch. “This wasn’t just a random kill, someone has a serious grudge, and they’re just getting started.”

You know what? He was right.

My mate’s instincts were sharper than any wolf in the pack___ well apart from the Alpha.

I would’ve loved to see his face when he finally pieced it all together.

Then they found it—a ring, buried beneath the leaves, coated in my blood.

The one piece of physical evidence that connected me to him.

Logan picked it up, trying to act nonchalant.

Damon suddenly went quiet, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air. “Logan , this ring… it looks like your mate’s, doesn’t it?”

Logan took a quick peek inside, his heartbeat steady. The inside was smooth, without the engravings he had once placed there. He didn’t even break a sweat and brushed it off, saying, “Eh, it’s probably the same style. These rings were common back then.”

Once he was done, he lingered by the scene, deep in thought, after a long pause, he glanced down at the bloodied ring and dialed my number.

It rang for a few seconds before he quickly hung up, no second thoughts.

“She’s probably out sulking again,” he muttered under his breath. “Whatever, she’s none of my business anyway.”

He was so sure of himself, after all my ring had engravings on it.

But then Logan, my dear clever mate, shouldn’t you know by now that engravings fade after months of dulling it with sharpened claws and teeth?

It took me six months to erase our initials, and yet he didn’t even notice.