Ex-Mate Wants Me Back

Chapter 5

Seraphina's POV

I flipped my phone to airplane mode. The moment the screen went black, it felt like I'd finally severed a dead nerve. I closed my eyes, trying to find some peace in the hum of the jet engines.

But the second I drifted off, the nightmare found me.

It was pitch black. Freezing. Fear swallowed me whole, like a demon dragging me into a bottomless pit.

"Mortimer… help me…"

I screamed in my sleep, but there was no answer. Lily, my wolf, was curled up in the darkest corner of my mind, letting out one broken whimper after another. My fingers dug into the armrests, nails sinking into the leather. "Please… save me…"

Through the haze, I felt someone grabbing my hand, trying to pull me out of the abyss.

"Are you okay? Ma'am? Hey, wake up."

The voice was soft but urgent. I snapped my eyes open, gasping for air. My chest ached from hyperventilating. I turned to my side. A girl with round glasses—probably a college student—was staring at me, her face pale and trembling.

I realized then that my aura had spiraled out of control, leaking into the cabin. For a human, the raw grief of a high-blooded werewolf felt like a psychic tidal wave.

I took a shaky breath, forcing Lily to settle down and pulling my jagged scent back inside. The heavy pressure in the air finally lifted.

"Sorry," I said, taking the tissue she offered. My hands wouldn't stop shaking. "I… I didn't mean to scare you."

The girl wiped sweat from her forehead, still looking shaken. "You were having a massive panic attack. It felt like… like a storm was coming. You kept whispering for help. You sounded heartbroken."

Heartbroken? My heart had frozen solid in that snowbank, right along with the video calls he'd cut off.

"Yeah," I muttered. "Surviving an avalanche like that is the kind of life experience you only need once."

The girl's mouth dropped open. "Oh my god… You mean that Alaska avalanche? The one that's been all over the news?"

I closed my eyes. The news talked about the snow, but they didn't mention how an Alpha had left his mate to die.

When the oxygen had run out, the thing that kept me conscious wasn't the fear of death. It was the memory of Mortimer's last message—the one dripping with disgust. For three years, I'd been naive enough to think that if I just did my duty as a Luna, the mating bond would eventually make him care.

But reality had slapped me hard. When a man doesn't love you, he'll believe your dying breath is just another "clumsy lie" for attention.

A total stranger could feel my pain. But my own mate? He'd just cut the connection.

I patted the girl's hand. "It's okay. I made it. I guess the Moon Goddess decided it wasn't my time yet."

When the long flight finally ended, I turned my phone back on.

A message popped up.

"See the blood moon yet? Why no photos?"

I stared at Mortimer's name. He'd sent it hours ago, right when I was boarding. I never expected him to reach out first. In our three years of being mated, our chat history was a joke. Aside from cold pack business, he never started a conversation. Even when I'd swallow my pride and share bits of my life to spark some kind of connection, he'd meet me with dead silence.

He always left me on read. He thought silence was the best way to "teach me a lesson" about my "neediness."

I stared at the screen for a long time. Part of me wanted to ignore him, to give him a taste of his own medicine. But our agreement only had two months left. I typed back, "The blood moon was beautiful. So beautiful I forgot to take pictures."

Knowing his ego, I figured he was done. But then my phone buzzed with an aggressive, immediate vibration.

An instant reply. That never happened.

But as I read the words, the last spark of feeling in my chest died out.

"Vivian's wolf is flaring up. She almost killed herself. Seraphina, as my Luna, do you have any basic compassion? You've been gone for days without even checking on her. You're becoming a stranger to me with this cold-blooded act."

Every word was a jagged whip. I could almost see his golden eyes narrowed in disgust.

I calmly typed one word back, "Sorry."

No explanation. No defense.

I locked the screen. That "sorry" wasn't for him. It was for the girl I used to be—the one who'd spent three years trying to make him love her.

I grabbed my suitcase and walked out of the airport without looking back.