About mate bond.

In the second year after graduation, my parents began pressuring me to get Brandon Nichols to confirm our mate bond. I was hesitant to bring it up because I didn’t want to appear desperate, so I mentioned it casually, as if it were a joke.

Brandon paused his game for a moment, as if he hadn’t heard me. His mother, Luna Linda, remained friendly but never brought up the bond either.

By the fourth year after graduation, my packmates started asking why we hadn’t marked each other yet. I laughed it off, saying, "We’re still young. No need to rush into the so-called 'grave of love.'"

Before I knew it, it was the sixth year since graduation and the tenth year of our relationship. On Thanksgiving, I reserved a table at a restaurant known for its romantic atmosphere. Halfway through the meal, I smiled and asked Brandon, "Shouldn’t we start considering confirming our bond?"

The candlelight flickered romantically. His previously gentle expression turned cold in an instant. He said, "Sure, I’ll mention it to my mom." I sighed in relief and quickly changed the subject to avoid the awkwardness.

But nothing came of it. Whenever I brought it up, he seemed annoyed.

Finally, during an argument over something trivial, he blurted out the truth—"Kendra, my mom doesn’t want me to confirm our mate bond!"

I stood there, shocked, but not as surprised as I thought I’d be. The argument fell silent. Brandon realized what he had said but didn’t attempt to take it back. He remained silent, engrossed in his phone.

My anger wasn’t explosive; it was more like a cold wave washing over me. "So you never really planned to mark me, did you?" I asked.

Frustrated, he rubbed his forehead and said, "Isn’t it enough to just date? What’s the point of a bond? Does a mark really change anything? Besides, your career is on the rise. Wouldn’t this affect your work?"

Every word felt like an excuse, an attempt to rationalize his stance.

I interrupted him: "Brandon, you disgust me."

The person I thought I knew felt like a stranger. Tears welled up in my eyes.

Brandon was never one to back down during arguments, and he was past the point of feeling guilty about my tears. He muttered something under his breath, looking at me with disdain. "Kendra, don’t act like you’re such a victim or that you love me so much. You just want to find a local Beta to mate. My mom’s office is full of women from out of town with the same plans as you. I’m the best you’ll ever get, and you’re just scared I’ll slip away."

Before he could finish, I turned and walked out. That night, I stayed at a friend’s house. The next morning, staring at my puffy eyes in the mirror, I splashed water on my face. No matter how much it hurts, adults still have to show up for pack duties.

Fights between Brandon and me were not uncommon. After the storm, we usually found our way back to each other. My friend said this time he’d crossed the line, and I shouldn’t forgive him so easily. I had just typed "Okay" when a message from Brandon popped up: "It’s important to have a mate on the same level."

"Kendra, let’s reject the bond."

I nearly dropped my phone.

After the sudden breakup, I couldn’t resist checking up on Brandon Nichols through all his social media accounts. I was desperately searching for any signs that he still cared for me, but found nothing. I kept scrolling until I stumbled upon a short video he posted and tagged me in. In the video, he was standing under the clear sky, his hand intertwined with Gracelynn’s. When I clicked on it, I heard Linda Bryant, Brandon’s mother and a respected Luna, say in the background: “Perfect pair! Get closer!”

The relationship seemed so public, so blessed in a way I had never experienced. The caption read: “Stop lurking in the shadows and spying on others’ happiness.” I didn’t shed a single tear. As I awkwardly tried to erase Brandon from my life, my fingers trembled so much that I missed the “unfollow” button several times.

Upon hearing of the breakup, my mom, Juniper Duncan, our pack’s healer, reignited her wish for me to move back home. “Now that you’ve severed the mate bond, what’s keeping you in that pack’s territory?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

My aunt, Amaia Taylor, a Delta in our pack, chimed in, “Hurry back already. I lined up a few great potential mates for you, but they all thought your age was a bit… off.”

As always, I declined. The only difference now was that Brandon Nichols was no longer part of my reasons.

I’d spent six years as a Gamma in the Silverfang Pack, rising through the ranks with dedication and skill. My experience and leadership had reached their peak value here. Yet, being unmated had always been a barrier to further promotion. After the breakup, I immersed myself in pack duties, practically living at the packhouse for quite a while. By the end of the year, our warriors’ training and defense strategies were the best they’d ever been.

But in the end, although I received compliments and hollow promises, the promotion to Beta went to Chandler Gilbert, a colleague who had recently found his mate.

In our pack’s mind link group, Chandler announced he was treating everyone to a pack hunt. The responses were filled with gratitude and a few jokes about him being our “sugar daddy.”

I stood on the packhouse balcony, looking out over the sprawling territory. The towering pines stretched endlessly, and the faint howls of our patrols echoed in the distance. The faces around me had changed over time, each one somewhat similar to mine, yet different. Perhaps it was time to switch things up in my life.

That very day, I handed in my resignation as Gamma. Years later, I still remember that moment, a decisive point in an otherwise ordinary day. Life’s big decisions often happen when everything feels unexpectedly calm. My wolf stirred faintly in the back of my mind, a quiet reminder that something new was on the horizon.