All Chapters of Pursuing My Rejected Luna: Chapter 231 - Chapter 240

Cassandra Six months ago I walked out of Ironwood with my pride barely intact and absolutely nothing else. At the time, I thought if I at least had that, I could deal with anything. Pride, as it turns out, is a terrible currency. When you’re a rogue, no one gives a shit about your pride. Another important lesson I learned the hard way: For not having a pack, rogues are surprisingly territorial. When your survival depends on the kindness of nearby packs, and those packs have limited resources to share, those currently benefitting from their generosity do not want you sticking your hand into their piece of pie.I’d been run off from more pack borders than I cared to count before finally a place here, at the Ashford border settlement. It’s far enough out that very few of my kind have traveled this far. And those that have seem happy enough to have me join them. So far anyway.I have no illusions about my tenuous place here though. The Ashford pack runs on transactions. It's not charity

NoahI've rescheduled this appointment twice and I’m pretty sure Dr. Lukas is going to murder me before I can die of whatever’s ailing me if I don’t show up this time.To be fair, I really did have a legitimate conflict the first time—the Alpha can’t just walk away and be gone for two hours in the middle of an active dispute. But the second time may have been less duty calling and more just being an outright pussy about it. I had nothing scheduled. I just didn’t have the balls to deal with bad news.Because at this point, there is no denying something is legitimately wrong with me. When I sit down at my desk, reach for my pen, and can't remember for a moment which hand I write with, I can’t play that off as anything remotely normal. It only lasted three seconds, maybe four before the muscle memory came rushing back. But those three seconds were fucking scary. So when it happened again, and another time after that, I finally called Dr. Lukas and made an appointment I intend to keep.

Noah“That’s not funny, Sera!” I chuckle weakly, still not believing She truly thinks I have RMS. “I feel like shit, doc. This isn’t the time for joking around.”She holds my gaze, but her sympathetic expression never leaves. “I know that, Noah. I wish it were a joke, but it’s not.”“What?” I scoff, still not convinced this isn’t some elaborate ruse. But her scent thickens, souring with her distress, and I know that can’t be faked. "The symptoms match?" I confirm, just to be sure I heard her correctly. "The temperature regulation, the brain fog?""I’m afraid so.""The headaches?""Early neurological involvement. Yes." She reaches for my hand, giving it a squeeze. "All your symptoms are consistent." She opens the folder now. "These are early stage," she explains. "The condition advances.""To what?" I’m pretty sure I already know the answer but I need to hear her say it. She tells me everything. It takes several minutes and she doesn't soften it, which I'm grateful for even as I'm less

Cassandra"I need a few days," I tell Geraldine as I head for the door.Geraldine looks up from her desk with the expression she has for unexpected complications. Me leaving early apparently qualifies. "For?""Family emergency.” She doesn’t need to know more than that. “I'll make up the work hours when I return."She sneers like my answer isn’t good enough. "We've had this conversation before," she reminds me. "About the limits of our arrangement.""I know." I keep my expression placid. Arguing with her right now will only delay me more. "I want to be clear." She sets her pen down. "The arrangement works because you're reliable. Reliable means present.""I understand," I nod sharply. "I'll be back by Friday."She picks her pen back up. "Friday," she mutters, returning to her task. "Not Saturday.""Friday," I confirm.I borrow a car from a pack member who owes me a favor. He hands me the keys without asking questions, which is the best kind of favor.The drive to Jarrett’s family’s pa

Noah “Looking rough there brother. Are you sure you’re okay?” Cole pushes into my office and drops into the chair in front of my desk. I drop my head into my hands on a groan. I’m not sure what’s more aggravating, the bone-deep exhaustion I can’t shake, or the fact he just waltzes in my office uninvited and calls me on it. Why did I make him my Beta again?“Yeah, haven’t slept much lately.” My voice is gravelly, my throat dry. Guess I haven’t eaten or drank much either. “I can see that.” He chuckles dryly. “The question is, why? Does it have anything to do with your disaster zone of a desk? What are all those papers anyway?I stiffen, slapping my hand down over the mess and attempting to shuffle it into a pile before Cole can look too closely. “Nothing important.” I lie. Because if I let him see the reason for my insomnia, the published studies on the one hundred and forty-seven documented cases of Rejected Mate Syndrome in the historical pack archives, then I’ll have to explain t