The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 211

Freya's POV

The bitter herbal liquid burned down my throat, and I couldn't help but grimace as I swallowed the last of it.

"It's still better than when you were a pup," Miles said with a gentle smile, taking the empty cup from my hands. "Back then, you couldn't get through a single dose without gagging."

Despite everything, I found myself smiling at the memory. "Mom used to bribe me with those little honey cakes from the bakery in Moon Light District."

"And your father would pretend to taste it first, making the most ridiculous faces," Miles added, his eyes warm with nostalgia.

The mention of my parents sent a pang through my chest. Seeing them at the border had been both wonderful and heartbreaking—a reminder of everything I'd lost, everything that had been taken from us.

Miles sat beside me on the couch in his modest apartment. It was sparsely furnished but clean and comfortable, clearly a temporary living arrangement. Medical textbooks were stacked on a small desk in the corner, and the walls were bare except for a single framed photograph—a group of young wolves standing at the entrance to Grey Moon Academy.

I recognized myself in the photo, a small girl with untamed curls and a gap-toothed smile. My father stood tall and proud beside Miles' father, both men in their prime. My mother held my hand, while my brother Ethan, about twelve at the time, stood with his arm slung around a young Miles' shoulders. Both boys were holding wooden practice swords, their expressions triumphant.

"I remember that day," Miles said, following my gaze. "The Summer Moon Festival, the year your father was chosen to lead the opening ceremony."

I nodded, memories flooding back. "That was the day you and Ethan decided to have your first 'real' sword fight."

Miles chuckled. "And excluded you because you were 'just a girl.'"

The memory was bittersweet. I could still feel the sting of being left out, the way my lower lip had trembled as I watched my brother and Miles disappear into the woods behind our house, wooden swords clutched in their hands.

"I cried for hours," I admitted. "Sitting on that big rock by the creek."

"And I felt so guilty that I came back to find you," Miles said softly. "Left Ethan to practice his swings alone."

I remembered how he'd sat beside me on that rock, his small hand awkwardly patting my shoulder. He'd promised to teach me to fight too, even though Ethan said girls shouldn't learn. And he'd kept that promise, sneaking away with me during family gatherings to practice in secret.

"You were always kind to me," I said, a lump forming in my throat. "Even when Ethan was being a typical big brother."

"You were easy to be kind to," Miles replied, his voice warm. "Smart and determined, even then."

I stared at the photograph, at the happy, intact families. Before the accusations against my father. Before the exile. Before everything fell apart.

"I miss him," I whispered. "Ethan. I knew he must have survived somehow. That he's out there, somewhere."

Miles' hand found mine, squeezing gently. "If he is, we'll find him. I promise."

Miles studied my face for a moment before saying, "I never understood what happened, you know. One day we were all friends, spending time together in Moon Light District. Then suddenly, you stopped coming to our study sessions. Later I found out you were following Thorne around."

The accusation in his tone was subtle but unmistakable. "I wasn't following him," I protested weakly.

Miles smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You were. We all knew it. You'd find reasons to be wherever he was—the library, the training grounds, even that boring debate club he joined."

I felt my cheeks warm with embarrassment. Had I been that obvious?

"I just..." I began, then stopped, unsure how to explain my teenage infatuation. "I admired him."

"You loved him," Miles corrected gently. "And he knew it. We all did."

I couldn't deny it. My teenage self had been utterly captivated by Thorne Grey—his intelligence, his quiet confidence, the way he stood apart from the other young wolves. Even then, before he became Alpha, there had been something special about him.

"Well, that was before I understood what kind of person he really is," I said, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.

Miles reached out, his hand covering mine. "I'm sorry, Freya. For everything you've been through."

The genuine concern in his eyes made something in my chest ache. Miles had always been kind to me, even when I'd pushed him away in favor of chasing after Thorne.

"Are you following the news online?" I asked, changing the subject. I didn't want to think about Thorne anymore.

Miles looked away, his fingers tapping on his phone. "Just consulting with a colleague about a patient with lunar phase syndrome. They're asking about treatment options."

I recognized his evasion for what it was. "You've seen the photo, haven't you? Of Thorne carrying me into the hospital."

Miles hesitated, then nodded. "It's all over the Internet."

I sighed, leaning back against the couch cushions. "I knew it would happen eventually. I just didn't think it would be so... public."

"Why did you get sick, Freya?" Miles asked, his doctor's instinct clearly taking over. "Your symptoms came on suddenly, and the infection spread rapidly. That's unusual for our kind."

I looked away, unwilling to explain that my illness likely stemmed from the trauma of Thorne forcing me into the shower, triggering memories of the silver-infused water torture I'd endured in prison.

"Just a cold," I mumbled. "My immune system isn't what it used to be."

Miles frowned, clearly not believing me. "I heard the lower ranks talking in the hospital. They were saying something about you and Thorne..."

My heart rate picked up. "You must have misheard. They were probably talking about Thorne and Kaelin." I forced a smile. "The binding ceremony is soon, after all."

Miles studied my face for a long moment, then seemed to decide not to push further. Instead, he stood up, gathering the empty teacup. "You should get some rest. You can take the bed—I'll change the sheets for you."

"This is your bedroom?" I asked, suddenly uncomfortable. "I can sleep on the couch, or in a guest room..."

"It's a one-bedroom apartment," Miles explained with a small smile. "Don't worry, I'll sleep on the couch."

I shook my head, trying to stand. "No, I can't take your bed. You're already doing so much—"

Miles gently pushed me back down. "Freya, you're recovering from a severe respiratory infection. You need proper rest. The bed is yours."

I wanted to protest further, but the exhaustion was overwhelming. My limbs felt heavy, and my eyelids were fighting to stay open.

"I'll stay right here," Miles said, gesturing to the couch. "In case you need anything during the night."

"You don't have to do that," I murmured, even as my body relaxed into the comfortable cushions.

"I want to," he replied simply.

As Miles helped me to the bedroom, I couldn't help but compare his gentle attentiveness to Thorne's forceful protectiveness. They were so different—Miles with his quiet care, Thorne with his intense, almost possessive concern.

The sheets smelled of Miles—clean, with hints of hospital antiseptic and the pine soap he'd always preferred. It was a comforting scent, familiar from our childhood.

"Thank you," I whispered as he adjusted the pillows behind me.

Miles just smiled, his eyes warm. "Get some sleep, Freya. I'll be right outside if you need anything."

As he turned off the light and softly closed the door, I felt a wave of gratitude for his friendship. In a world that had mostly turned its back on me, Miles Everett was a rare ally.