Ava
The sharp, pulsing ache in my shoulder hasn't let up since we left Hawaii. It's enough to make me grit my teeth against every throb. I glance at the angry red mate mark visible through the neckline of my shirt, silently cursing whatever is causing this pain.
Caleb drives us through my old hometown, and the drizzle tapping our SUV's windshield pulls me back into memories—days long gone, yet suddenly so vivid. Caleb's storm-blue eyes flick to me, concern etched into every line of his face.
"You sure this is the right move?" he asks softly. I can feel my own tension; I'm holding my shoulder as though that could shield me from the pain.
"Yes," I murmur. "We can't risk going to the pack shaman. Lily agrees it could look bad if he can't fix me, and… I can't afford rumors questioning my place as Luna. Especially since its concerning the mate mark, they may say the moon goddess is rejecting me as Luna, or that you made a bad choice...or even..." Caleb inhales slowly.
"All right, all right..." he says, exhaling the tightness in his chest. "If this John can help, then we'll trust him. If he fucks up, I'll just kill him." I shake my head. Did he have to take it to such extremes?
We pull up to the candle shop at the end of a narrow block
John's Candle & Essence.
The sign is faded, but I'd know this place anywhere from my childhood. The aroma of melting wax and essential oils clings to the misty air, and a flicker of hope stirs inside me, remembering how John once saved my dad when everyone else had given up.
A little bell jingles overhead as we step inside. Shelves of handcrafted candles—slender tapers, stout jars, carved pillars—span the walls in every color imaginable. Some are etched with symbols I can't decipher.
John steps out from behind a curtain separating the shopfront from the back. His steel-gray hair is tied in a neat ponytail, and there are deeper lines around his hazel eyes than I recall, but that warm, vibrant energy is still there. He stops short when he sees me.
"Ava?" He blinks like he's seeing a ghost. "It's really you?" I muster a smile as a wave of nostalgia swells inside me.
"Yeah. It's been a while." He removes his reading glasses and sets them on the counter before coming closer.
"I thought I felt.... but I couldn't quite believe it..." His gaze lands on the angry red mate mark peeking from my shirt. "Good gods… what happened to you?"
Caleb steps in before he could get too close to me, his posture both wary and protective.
"I'm Caleb," he says with a short nod. "Alpha of the Darkmoon Pack. We were hoping you could help us." John scans Caleb for a moment—his posture, his aura—then looks back to me.
"Mated to an Alpha, are you?" A faint flicker of surprise moves across his face but he does not hide his amusement either.
"We are," I say, wincing as a fresh pulse of pain flares in my shoulder. "But the mark isn't healing right. It's been days of constant pain, and we don't know why." I hesitate, then draw a shaky breath. "There's… something else. I haven't told many people." John narrows his eyes gently.
"Go on, Ava." I feel Caleb's warm reassurance at my back.
"Before Caleb, I was fated to someone else. Lucas." I can't help the slight tremor in my voice. "He's another Alpha—a future Alpha, actually. I… I rejected him." John's eyebrows climb.
"You were fated to that… that man? And you rejected him?" He exhales a breath that sounds both shocked and oddly relived. "I'm not one to speak ill of others, but I never liked Lucas. Something about him feels… off. I'm relieved to hear you're not tied to him anymore." I'm momentarily taken aback by his bluntness, but also strangely relieved.
"Yeah, well… the problem is, I'm worried he never accepted my rejection," I admit, the words scraping at old wounds. John's mouth presses into a thin line.
"In that case, part of the bond might still be clinging to you" Caleb's voice is tense with worry.
"So that's why her new mark isn't healing?" John looks between us, sympathy clear in his gaze.
"It shouldn't be doing that, no....but I know that boy and he is....strange. Maybe, he would try to cling to the broken bond out of sheer stubbornness " He pauses, brows drawing together.
"What confuses me is why he'd cling to it at all—keeping the bond incomplete would hurt him just as badly, and most likely worse. It'd weaken him and his wolf, especially for an Alpha." A sour memory of Lucas's livid expression flashes through my mind, but I shove it aside. I look John in the eye.
"Do you think you can help me?" John's expression sobers as he reaches gently for my shoulder. The instant he touches the raw edges of the mark, searing pain shoots through me, tearing a hiss from my lips. Caleb's hand is at my waist, steadying me, and I silently thank him for his constant support.
"Sorry," John mutters. "Let's go into my workshop. I have some techniques for assessing spiritual bonds." He dims the front lights, flips the sign to Closed, and leads us into a cramped back room filled with shelves of dried herbs, bright vials of oil, and shining crystals.
Beeswax candles in various stages of carving, clutter the wooden tables, and the whole space hums with a subdued, steady aura that makes the air feel alive. I climb onto a tall stool, careful not to jar my shoulder. John fetches a squat jar of thick, pearly-blue wax flecked with silver.
"Detection balm," he explains, swirling a couple of fingers in it. "Might sting a bit. It'll let me see what's really going on with your aura." I brace myself.
"Stinging is par for the course these days," I manage with a wry twist of my lips. He carefully applies the balm around the inflamed edges of the mark, and at once, my skin prickles, burning hot before cooling to a numb ache. I exhale slowly, the tension in my muscles easing… at least for a moment.
John hovers his hand a few inches above the balm, closing his eyes in concentration. His expression tightens; I can almost feel the subtle currents of something shifting in the air. Finally, he wipes the residue away.
"This is exactly what I feared," he says gravely, turning his gaze on me and Caleb. "Lucas has not accepted the rejection. The old bond is still lingering with you somehow. It's causing him pain, too, but it also prevents your new mark from solidifying." He shakes his head, genuine confusion crossing his features.
I sat in silence for a while, watching the way candlelight flickered along the edge of the old apothecary shelf. My mark still ached—less than before, but the discomfort never fully left. John's medicine helped, but it didn't explain why it hadn't healed the way it should have. Caleb's mark was clean and strong. Mine? It felt like it was constantly being tugged from the inside—like something was still trying to lay claim to what no longer belonged to it.
John hadn't said much as he worked, but when I finally asked, his brow furrowed, and he paused mid-stir.
"If a bond is broken properly," he said, mostly to himself, "the pain fades. Some echoes remain, sure—but what you're describing?" He shook his head. "Shouldn't be happening. Especially not this long after rejection, and not after forming a new bond."
I stayed quiet, watching him think.
He wiped his hands on a cloth, eyes distant. "Lucas refusing to accept the rejection... that would've caused him pain, sure. Even instability. But not this. Your mark flaring like that, like something's interfering with the connection—it shouldn't reflect back on you. Not unless something's very wrong."
He was right. And that was the part I couldn't shake.
I'd seen mates reject each other before. Painful, yes. But after a while, the pain dulled. They moved on. I'd even watched one of my old packmates find her happiness with someone new after her original mate couldn't accept her. There was grief, but there wasn't this.
"So what's different this time?" I asked, more to myself than to him.
My mind kept circling back to Lucas. To what we'd been—what he could've been to me. And then to what he chose instead.
The memory came uninvited, sharp and vivid: Elara's voice laughing when she thought I wasn't listening, the sight of Lucas on her skin, the betrayal he hid for a year. My stomach churned, not with heartbreak—those wounds had long since scabbed—but with the weight of something unfinished. Something wrong.
And suddenly it clicked.
"John," I said slowly, "what if Lucas… marked someone else?"
He blinked, looking over at me.
"What if he marked someone else," I continued, "but never accepted my rejection first? Could that… conflict? Could that be why my mark hasn't settled?"