Rejected by Her Fated Mate

I jolted awake to the sound of Emma's whimpers. The digital clock on my nightstand glowed 2:17 AM, casting an eerie blue light across my empty bed. Michael hadn't come home again.

"Mommy," Emma's voice was barely audible through our connecting door. My heart lurched as I rushed to her room, my bare feet cold against the wooden floor.

The moment I touched her forehead, fear gripped me. She was burning up, her small body radiating heat that no eight-year-old should produce. Her normally rosy cheeks were flushed crimson, her nightgown soaked with sweat.

"It hurts, Mommy," she whimpered, her eyes glassy with fever. "My bones feel funny."

My stomach dropped. Pre-shift fever. Some pups experienced it before their wolves emerged, though it wasn't supposed to happen this young. Emma was only eight—far too early for shifting. This was dangerous.

I closed my eyes and reached for the mate bond, that sacred connection that should always be there.

*Michael, Emma's sick. Really sick. Pre-shift fever. We need to get her to Healer Jensen now.*

The response came after a long pause, his voice distant and irritated in my mind. *Can't it wait until morning? I'm helping Sarah settle into her new den. She's still traumatized from losing her mate.*

My fingers trembled as they stroked Emma's damp hair. *No, it can't wait. She's burning up. Michael, she's your daughter.*

*You're overreacting, Victoria. Give her some medicine and put a cold cloth on her head. I'll check on her in the morning.*

The mate bond went silent. I tried again, desperation clawing at my throat. *Michael, please. I'm scared.*

Nothing.

Emma moaned, her small body convulsing slightly. I couldn't wait. With shaking hands, I reached for another mind-link, one I'd rarely used but had always found reliable.

*Ryan? I'm sorry to disturb you so late, but it's an emergency.*

The response was immediate, his voice alert despite the hour. *Victoria? What's wrong?*

*It's Emma. She has pre-shift fever, and Michael's... unavailable. I need to get her to the healer.*

*I'm on my way. Ten minutes. Keep her cool until then.*

No questions. No hesitation. Just immediate action.

I gathered Emma in my arms, wrapping her burning body in a light blanket. Her head lolled against my shoulder, her breath coming in short, pained gasps. "Help is coming, baby," I whispered, fighting back tears. "Uncle Ryan is coming."

True to his word, exactly nine minutes later, urgent knocking echoed through our house. I flung open the door to find Ryan, his dark hair disheveled, wearing hastily pulled-on jeans and a t-shirt. His eyes—those steady, kind eyes—immediately assessed the situation.

"Let me take her," he said, gently lifting Emma from my arms. Her small body looked even tinier against his broad chest. "My car's running. We'll get there faster than on foot."

I nodded gratefully, grabbing my phone and following him to his SUV. As he carefully placed Emma in the backseat, I climbed in beside her, cradling her head in my lap.