From Rejected Mate to Luna Chapter 137

Julia's POV

I had just finished adjusting Mrs. Tanner's IV when John rushed into the isolation ward, his expression tight with tension.

"The Council meeting got cut short," he whispered, glancing around to make sure we weren't overheard. "Nathan started coughing so hard he couldn't speak, and when Connor suggested he take a break, he nearly took the man's head off."

"Probably just stress," I replied, recording Mrs. Tanner's vitals on her chart. "He's been raging about our facility for days."

"No," John shook his head. "Eric says it's more than that. Nathan tried to hide it, but his eyes were bloodshot, and when Grace tried to steady him, she pulled back saying he was burning up."

My hands froze mid-notation. The symptoms were unmistakable—the same ones I'd been treating in dozens of patients. The irony wasn't lost on me: Nathan, who had dismissed the werewolf flu as "nothing serious" and threatened to shut down my isolation ward, was now showing signs of infection himself.

"He'll never admit it," I said, forcing myself back to work. "His pride wouldn't allow it."

Before John could respond, my brother's voice crashed into my mind.

*Julia. He collapsed. Nathan just collapsed in the middle of giving orders to Dad. His temperature's higher than Dad's was. We need you.*

Eric's mindlink was frantic—something I'd never heard from my arrogant brother before. I gripped the medication cart to steady myself.

*Why me? He has the pack doctor.*

*They say it's progressing too fast. And with Dad gone... we all think you're the only one who understands this enough to help.*

I laughed bitterly, drawing concerned glances from nearby volunteers. *Now you want my help? After he threatened to shut us down yesterday?*

*Please, Julia. Whatever he did to you... he's dying.*

The syringe in my hand suddenly felt heavy. I closed my eyes, memories flooding back—Nathan's cruel smile as he rejected me, his threats when I tried to build a life without him, the way he'd attacked John.

But I'd also sworn an oath to heal.

"John," I said, grabbing my medical bag, "I need you to oversee things while I'm gone. Follow the protocols we established."

---

Nathan's mansion was exactly what you'd expect from an Alpha—imposing, luxurious, and designed to intimidate. Security warriors flanked the entrance, their expressions darkening when they spotted me.

"She's cleared," Eric said, appearing at the door. "The Council approved her entry."

My brother looked terrible—dark circles under his eyes, his usually immaculate clothes wrinkled.

"How bad?" I asked as we hurried through the marble entryway.

"Temperature's at 105 and rising. He's having seizures every thirty minutes. Dr. Moore gave him the standard medication, but his metabolism is burning through it too fast."

Eric's voice dropped lower. "Grace packed her things and left an hour after he collapsed. Said she 'didn't sign up to be a nurse' and something about 'not risking exposure.'"

I wasn't surprised. Grace had always seemed more interested in Nathan's position than in Nathan himself.

We reached the master bedroom, transformed into an impromptu medical suite. Medical equipment beeped steadily. In the center of the king-sized bed lay Nathan, his powerful frame looking diminished. His skin was flushed with fever, his breathing labored.

Emma, Nathan's mother, sat beside him. The sight of her shocked me. It had been more than one year since Alpha Robert's funeral, but she still looked pale. Her once-vibrant face was hollow, her movements mechanical as she replaced the cold compress on Nathan's forehead. I recognized the vacant look in her eyes—the same emptiness I'd seen in Matthew when he spoke of Rachel. The pain of a lost mate.

Connor and two other Council members stood at the foot of the bed, their faces grim.

Nathan's eyes fluttered open as I approached. Recognition flickered in those fevered depths, followed by anger and shame.

"Don't... need... you," he rasped, trying to push my hand away, his movements weak and uncoordinated.

"Today I'm not your rejected mate," I replied evenly, checking his pulse. "Just a medical professional doing her job."

Emma looked up at me, her eyes focusing with effort. "Thank you for coming," she said, her voice a shadow of the commanding tone I remembered.

The treatment I had in mind was experimental—I'd developed it by modifying antiviral protocols for werewolf physiology. It had worked on severe cases in our isolation ward, but the dosage for an Alpha-level metabolism would be tricky.

"A metabolic regulator combined with a modified antiviral compound," I explained, preparing the injection. "It will temporarily slow his werewolf metabolism so the medication can take effect."

Emma sat silently, her hand never leaving her son's. I noticed how she flinched at sudden noises, how her eyes constantly drifted to the empty side of the room where her mate had once stood. Mate's Grief was eating her from within, even as she tried to stay strong for Nathan.

The minutes ticked by with excruciating slowness. Nathan's convulsions gradually subsided. Around 3 AM, his fever had dropped one critical degree, and his oxygen levels began to improve.

"The medication is taking effect," I said, my voice hoarse. "The crisis point has passed. He'll need continued monitoring, but he should recover."

"You saved his life," Connor said quietly. "After everything between you two... not everyone would have made that choice."

I shrugged, suddenly aware of the bone-deep exhaustion weighing me down. "It wasn't a choice. It's my job."

As I packed my equipment, Emma touched my arm. Her fingers were cold.

"Julia," she said softly, "I was wrong about you." Her gaze drifted to her sleeping son. "And Nathan... he's made terrible mistakes."

I saw the sorrow in her eyes—not just for her lost mate, but for the son who had followed a destructive path.

"Emma," I said gently, "you should rest too. The Mate's Grief... it won't heal if you drive yourself to collapse."

A single tear slid down her cheek. "How did you know?"

"I've seen it before," I answered, thinking of Matthew. "The emptiness. The disconnection."

She nodded, looking down at her hands. "Everything feels... muted. Like I'm underwater."

"I'll have someone bring you something to help you sleep," I promised.

As I made my way back toward the isolation facility, I felt Matthew's presence.

I spotted Matthew waiting at the edge of the medical center grounds, his tall frame unmistakable even from a distance. My heart leaped at the sight of him, and it took every ounce of willpower not to run into his arms. As I approached, he took an instinctive step forward before catching himself, remembering our reality.

"Six feet," I said with a tired smile, stopping at a safe distance. "I've been in direct contact with infected patients all night."

Matthew's eyes—those expressive eyes that always saw straight through me—filled with a mixture of pride and longing. "I know. I just passed through a high-risk area myself, and my test results aren't back yet. I hate this distance."

*I can still feel you,* he said through our mindlink, the sensation of his thoughts wrapping around mine like the embrace we couldn't share. *It's almost worse, being able to see you but not touch you.*

*I know,* I responded, letting him feel my exhaustion, my relief at seeing him, my need for his comfort. *I've missed you.*