When My Mate Called Me Wolfless

The fever burned through me like wildfire, each wave more intense than the last. My body trembled uncontrollably as I lay on the thin mattress in the servants' quarters—a far cry from the luxurious bed I once shared with Reed. Ten years of suppression had weakened my wolf beyond recognition, but this... this was something else entirely.

"Sylvia?" Elena's voice echoed in my mind through our pack link. "Your vitals are dropping. I need to come treat you."

"No," I whispered, my teeth chattering. "Reed will punish you if he finds out."

"He can punish me all he wants," Elena replied fiercely. "You're dying."

I closed my eyes, feeling the mate bond—once vibrant and strong—now fraying like an old rope. Each broken strand sent physical pain radiating through my body. "Please, Elena. Just a little longer."

With the last of my strength, I reached out through the mate bond to Reed.

*Reed... I need help...*

His response came almost immediately, but not with the concern I desperately needed.

*What now, Sylvia?*

*I'm sick. The fever won't break. Please... can Elena come see me?*

There was a pause, and I could feel his irritation pulsing through our weakened bond.

*Elena is busy inspecting the new training facility. We can't waste resources on a hypochondriac Omega.*

*But I—*

*Enough. Hailey needs Elena's expertise for something that actually matters. Stop being dramatic.*

The link severed abruptly, leaving me alone with my burning skin and racing thoughts. Hypochondriac Omega. The words stung worse than any physical pain.

Hours passed, and the fever only intensified. My stomach cramped with hunger, but there was nothing left in my small room. I hadn't eaten since yesterday morning—not since Reed had taken the last of my food to feed to his prized hunting dogs.

"I need... to eat," I whispered to myself, forcing my legs over the edge of the bed.

Every movement was agony. My muscles screamed in protest as I dragged myself across the floor, leaving a trail of sweat and tears behind me. The pack house was quiet this time of evening—most wolves would be finishing their dinner or preparing for patrol.

The kitchen was empty when I arrived, though the lingering scents of roasted meat made my mouth water painfully. I searched desperately through the cupboards and refrigerator, finding nothing but scraps and leftovers.

Then I saw it—a plate covered with aluminum foil, sitting prominently on the counter. Steam rose from beneath the foil, carrying the rich aroma of venison. My favorite.

My hands shook as I lifted the corner of the foil. Perfectly cooked venison steak, thick and juicy, with herbs and butter melting into the meat. I recognized it immediately—Nicholas's dinner. My son's meal.

"I just need... a small piece," I whispered to myself, my conscience warring with my survival instinct.

I took a bite, closing my eyes as warmth spread through my frozen limbs. Just one bite became two, then three. The meat was so good—better than anything I'd tasted in