His Defiant And Unwanted Wolfless Mate

Gemma POV

The pain in my abdomen was a living, breathing thing. It twisted like a rusted blade, stealing the breath from my lungs as I curled into myself on the edge of the plush bed. The Blackwood Pack penthouse was a sprawling cage of polished mahogany and floor-to-ceiling windows, but right now, it felt like a tomb.

The sharp ring of the landline shattered the silence.

I forced myself to sit up, my hand trembling as I picked up the receiver. Because I was wolfless, I couldn't be reached through the Pack's mind-link. To them, I was deaf and mute.

"Dallas is at the Pierre Hotel for the charity gala," Eleanor Blackwood's voice clipped through the speaker, sharp and devoid of any warmth. "Your absence is making the Pack look weak. Get down there immediately."

"Eleanor, please," I gasped, pressing a hand to my stomach. "I'm not feeling well. I can't—"

"I don't care about your excuses, Gemma," the Pack Elder snapped, cutting me off. "You are a wolfless Omega who was lucky enough to marry an Alpha. Try to fulfill your only value as Luna and stand by your mate. Do not embarrass us."

The line went dead.

I slowly lowered the phone, my fingers brushing against the crinkled paper hidden deep in the pocket of my black wool coat. It was a doctor's note from last week. *Severe visceral spasms and vitality failure due to prolonged mate-bond neglect.*

Bond-Rejection Sickness.

I was slowly dying because my fated mate didn't want me, and Eleanor couldn't care less.

Thirty minutes later, I was stepping out of a cab into the freezing rain, the valet doors of the Pierre Hotel looming before me. The warm lobby was suffocating, choked with the scent of expensive lilies meant to mask the underlying pheromones of the werewolf elite.

But as I pushed open the heavy double doors to the ballroom, the lilies vanished, entirely overpowered by a scent that made my knees buckle.

*Cedarwood and snowstorm.*

It was Dallas. The scent of my fated mate should have brought my soul peace. Instead, it made my stomach heave, because his crisp, dominant scent was completely entangled with the sickeningly sweet, cloying stench of *tuberose*.

Aubree Shaw.

I found them near the center chandelier. Dallas stood tall and breathtaking in his tailored suit, his head tilted down as he smiled at Aubree. It was a genuine, breathtaking smile—the kind he had never once directed at me. Aubree’s hand was resting possessively on his bicep, her thumb stroking the expensive fabric.

A fresh wave of agony ripped through my dying bond.

As if sensing my gaze, Dallas looked up. The second his ice-blue eyes locked onto mine, the warmth in his face vanished, replaced by a glacial fury. The sheer force of his Alpha aura hit me like a physical blow, making it hard to breathe.

He muttered something to Aubree and strode toward me, his jaw clenched so tight a muscle ticked in his cheek. For a fraction of a second, I saw a flash of wild conflict in his eyes—his inner wolf, Kael, fighting against the surface—but Dallas ruthlessly shoved the beast down.

"Why are you late?" he growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated in my chest. He didn't notice my pale, clammy skin. He didn't smell the faint, rotting scent of my decaying vitality beneath my perfume. He only saw an inconvenience.

Before I could answer, Aubree materialized at his side, her tuberose scent making me nauseous.

"Oh, Gemma, you made it," she purred, her eyes gleaming with a victor's mockery. She turned to Dallas, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "I'll text you later, Dallas. Try not to let the night ruin your mood."

Dallas didn't even look at me as he nodded to her. Then, his large hand clamped around my upper arm like a vice.

"We're leaving," he ordered.

He didn't ask if I was okay. He didn't care that I was struggling to keep up with his long, angry strides as he dragged me out of the ballroom and back into the freezing rain, heading straight for the waiting Maybach.