My Mate Chose Her Over Me

The infirmary of the Blue Moon Pack received a young she-wolf with a ruptured ovarian cyst.

She met my gaze and adjusted her neckline, exposing the faint scent of rosemary clinging to her skin—a scent that was unmistakably Rhys’s. My stomach churned, but I forced myself to remain composed. As the pack’s Healer, I couldn’t let personal feelings interfere with my duty.

"Healer Cruz," she began, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "how often do you and your mate spend time together?"

Her words struck like a blow, but I refused to let it show. My wolf stirred within me, a low growl forming in the back of my mind, but I silenced her. Not here. Not now.

---

When Lana Griffin walked into the infirmary, her presence was impossible to ignore. She was beautiful, her golden hair cascading over her shoulders, her figure lithe yet curvaceous—the kind of she-wolf who turned heads wherever she went. Holding her stomach, she carefully sat down on the examination table. "Healer Cruz, my stomach hurts," she said, her voice soft but laced with an underlying challenge.

I gently palpated her abdomen, focusing on my task. "When did the pain begin? Have you been involved in any strenuous activities lately?"

She bit her lower lip, her cheeks flushing as she hesitated. "About two hours ago, after I was with my boyfriend..."

I didn’t need her to elaborate. The pieces fell into place all too quickly. My wolf snarled within me, but I pushed her down, keeping my expression neutral. "You should get an ultrasound," I said, my voice steady.

As she struggled to rise, I signaled the assistant to accompany her. The results arrived swiftly. It was indeed a ruptured ovarian cyst, with 26mm of internal bleeding in the pelvic area.

"You need to be admitted to the hospital wing for treatment. Is there anyone here with you?"

She shook her head, her eyes gleaming with something I couldn’t quite place.

"Then you should call someone to bring some personal items for you."

Her gaze lingered on the mark on my neck, the faint scent of rosemary still clinging to her skin. A slight smile formed on her lips. "No need," she said, her tone casual. "My boyfriend is at home, cooking for his mate."

The words were like a dagger, but I refused to let her see the pain. "Then inform your family," I said, my voice clipped. "I’ll have the assistant help you with the admission process. You should avoid any rigorous activities; they’re quite detrimental to your health."

She let out a soft laugh and leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Healer Cruz, how often do you and your mate get together? Is it passionate?"

I glanced at the mark on her chest, the faint scent of rosemary now mingling with something else—something that made my stomach turn. "That’s a personal question," I replied coolly, "and not something I’m willing to discuss."

She reclined, her eyes displaying a