The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 12

Freya's POV

I clawed my way back to consciousness through layers of pain and confusion. The sterile hospital smell hit me first, followed by the harsh fluorescent light that stabbed at my eyes. My wolf immediately assessed our surroundings for threats, though my body felt too heavy to respond to any danger.

"Finally awake, sleeping beauty," a familiar voice said. I turned my head to see Terra standing beside the bed, her expression a mix of relief and exasperation. "You really scared the hell out of me."

"What happened?" My voice emerged as a rasp, my throat painfully dry. "How did I get here?"

"Someone found you collapsed outside the Howl," Terra explained, though her scent carried notes of deception. "The doctor said that you were not in good health and drank strong alcohol."

I frowned, trying to piece together the fragmented memories of the previous night. The VIP room. Jasper's possessive touch. Thorne's golden eyes boring into mine as he ordered me to drink. The phone call from Kaelin that had visibly affected him.

"I remember feeling dizzy... trying to leave the room," I said slowly, accepting the water Terra offered me. The cool liquid soothed my raw throat, but did little for the hollow ache that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in my chest. "Then everything went black."

Terra sat on the edge of the bed, leaning closer. "You might be in trouble, but this could also be an opportunity." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Jasper Stone sent people to the Howl this morning asking about you."

My pulse quickened. "What did they want?"

"To know if you were alright. Where you lived." Terra's eyes gleamed with excitement. "An Alpha like Stone doesn't take interest in just anyone, Freya. This could be your ticket out of the Shadow District."

The implication was clear, and it made my stomach turn. Become Stone's plaything in exchange for protection and comfort. Was that truly the only path available to me now?

"Terra," I gripped her hand, desperation making my voice shake. "I need money. Fast. I don't care what I have to do—how hard, how dirty, how..." I let the words trail off, but my meaning was clear. "I have to find my family."

My family—the driving force behind every humiliation I endured. Were they even alive? The uncertainty was a constant wound, never healing.

Terra's expression softened. "I might have an idea, but you won't like it." She hesitated. "Wolf King, the boss of the Howl, is been looking for new performers to draw in the high-paying clients."

"Performers?" I asked, though I already knew what she meant.

"Dancing," she confirmed, and we both understood the euphemism. "You have something... different. Those higher-ranked wolves, they like seeing someone with your background brought low. Especially with that Riley mark on your neck."

I closed my eyes against the wave of shame that washed over me. Three years ago, I would have been horrified at the suggestion. But the Wilds had stripped away my pride, leaving only the raw instinct to survive, to find a way back to my family.

"Take me to Wolf King," I said finally, resignation and determination warring within me. "I'll do whatever it takes."

---

Two days later, I stood in a small dressing room behind the Howl's main floor, while Terra helped me into what barely qualified as clothing—shimmering silver threads woven just densely enough to cover what absolutely needed covering, but designed to appear nearly transparent under certain lighting.

Wolf King—the burly Beta who managed the Howl's entertainment—circled me with a critical eye, frowning at my thin frame. "I don't know about this," he muttered. "She's too skinny. Clients like more... meat."

"She has other assets," Terra insisted, turning to me. "Pull your hair up. Let him see your neck."

I obeyed, exposing the moon-shaped white mark that identified me as a Riley—once a source of pride, now a brand that could either doom me or save me.

Wolf King's eyes widened, his nostrils flaring as he leaned closer to examine the mark. "A genuine Riley mark," he breathed, greed flickering across his features. "This changes things. The elites will pay good money to see a fallen Riley dancing for their entertainment."

I swallowed hard against the bile rising in my throat, but kept my expression neutral. This was survival. Nothing more.

"Tonight's special," Wolf King informed me, his tone businesslike now. "Some upper-society wolves slumming it in the Shadow District. Perform well, and you might get invited for more... private entertainment."

The stage was designed as a giant crescent moon, illuminated by silver lights that cast an otherworldly glow. When I stepped out, the bar fell momentarily silent, all eyes drawn to me—or more specifically, to the distinctive mark on my neck that the lighting deliberately highlighted.

I began to move with the music, not attempting the overtly seductive routines the other dancers used, but instead channeling the wild grace I'd developed in the Wilds. My body told the story of pain and survival, of a wolf forced to adapt to the harshest conditions. The movements were both elegant and primal, drawing on the natural rhythm of my wolf.

Initially, the high-end clientele looked unimpressed. They had expected cheap titillation, not this strange, almost artistic expression. But as I continued, I noticed their expressions shifting—from dismissal to curiosity, then to fascination. My Riley mark glimmered under the lights, and my movements carried a quality they rarely saw in the Shadow District—the echo of old blood, old power, now fallen.

When the music ended, the bar erupted in applause and howls. I stood breathing heavily, sweat trickling down my spine, feeling an odd sense of accomplishment—not for the performance itself, but for transforming my suffering into something that might keep me alive.

Wolf King's expression had shifted from skepticism to calculation. "Well done, Riley," he said, offering his hand to help me from the stage. "It seems I underestimated your value."

"Several guests have expressed particular interest in you," he continued, his voice lowered. "They're waiting in the upstairs VIP room. A 'private performance,' if you understand my meaning."

My heart sank, but I nodded. I had known this was coming. In the world of exiles and bottom-feeders, nothing came without a price.

"Get her ready," Wolf King ordered Terra. "Make sure she looks decent enough for the VIP section. I don't want those society wolves thinking we don't respect their status."

Terra led me backstage, helping me change into a slightly more modest silver dress that still left my back completely bare and plunged dangerously low in front. She applied makeup to my face, trying to disguise the hollowness of my cheeks.

"Remember," she whispered, genuine concern in her voice. "No matter what they say or do, you're not what they say you are. You're Freya Riley, daughter of the Riley pack. You're just surviving until you can reclaim what's yours."

I nodded gratefully, touched by her kindness—the first real kindness I'd experienced since returning to Moon Bay.

"Time to go," Wolf King called impatiently from the doorway. "Don't keep the clients waiting. Remember, you represent the Howl tonight. Keep them happy, Freya. It's good for both of us."

I took a deep breath, pushing my wolf deeper into my mind. I needed human resilience for what was coming, not wolf pride.

"I'm ready," I said, my voice steadier than I felt.