The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 214

Thorne's POV

I stormed out of the apartment building, my wolf pacing restlessly beneath my skin. The morning air was crisp, but it did little to cool the burning frustration in my chest. Mark was waiting by the car, his posture straightening as I approached.

"Any luck, Alpha?" he asked, opening the passenger door for me.

I slid into the seat, my jaw clenched tight. "She's staying with Everett."

Mark wisely remained silent as he rounded the car and got into the driver's seat. He knew me well enough to recognize when I was in a dangerous mood.

As we pulled away from the curb, I stared out the window at the city passing by. My thoughts were a chaotic mess—concern for Freya's safety warring with jealousy over her closeness with Everett, anger at Kaelin's betrayal competing with frustration at my own inability to express what I was feeling.

"Sir," Mark finally ventured after several minutes of tense silence, "there's something you should know about yesterday."

I turned to him, grateful for the distraction. "Go on."

"The wolves tracking Ms. Riley—it wasn't just our people and Stone's." Mark's voice was carefully measured. "There were at least two other scent signatures that we couldn't identify."

This caught my attention fully. "Other wolves? From which pack?"

"That's the strange part," Mark replied, his brow furrowed. "They weren't from any pack we recognize. And they were very careful—professional, even. They stayed downwind, maintained distance, used scent-masking techniques."

A cold feeling settled in my stomach. "You're saying we have unknown wolves hunting Freya in our territory?"

"Yes, sir. And from their behavior, I'd say they're not amateurs. These aren't angry pack members looking to drive out an exile. These are trained trackers."

"Any theories?" I asked, my mind already racing through possibilities.

Mark hesitated. "It's just speculation, but... there's been talk about some of the older families from the Northern Territories making moves in the south. Families that lost status during the last territorial disputes."

"Like the Rileys," I murmured.

"Exactly," Mark nodded. "And there's something else. The timing of these unknown wolves appearing coincides with Stone's interest in Ms. Riley."

I processed this information, a suspicion forming in my mind. "Have someone watch Everett's apartment. Discreetly. I want to know if these unknown wolves approach Freya."

"Already done, sir," Mark assured me. "I have two of our best Deltas keeping watch in shifts. They'll alert us to any unusual activity."

I nodded, momentarily satisfied with this arrangement. "Take me to Moon Crescent Court."

Mark looked surprised. "Sir? The Council Chair relieved you of your duties."

"I'm aware," I replied, my voice hardening. "I'm not going there to preside over cases. There's something I need from my office."

Mark didn't question further, changing lanes to head toward the imposing structure of Moon Crescent Court in the heart of the city.

When we arrived, the building was bustling with its usual activity—wolves of various ranks hurrying up and down the marble steps, carrying files and engaged in hushed conversations. Several heads turned as I exited the car, whispers following in my wake. News of my temporary removal had clearly spread quickly.

Council Chairman Jameson was waiting in the lobby, as if he'd been tipped off about my arrival. His aged face was set in a disapproving frown.

"Alpha Thorne," he greeted me stiffly. "I wasn't expecting to see you here today. The council was quite clear about—"

"I'm aware of the council's decision, Chairman," I cut him off, continuing toward the elevators. "I'm simply here to retrieve some personal items from my office."

Jameson moved to block my path, his posture deferential but his intention clear. "Perhaps I could have someone gather your belongings for you? To avoid any... misunderstandings."

My wolf bristled at the thinly veiled attempt to keep me out. "That won't be necessary," I replied, letting a hint of Alpha dominance color my tone. "The council asked me to step back from presiding over cases, not to surrender my office entirely. Unless the decision has changed since last night?"

Jameson hesitated, clearly caught. The council hadn't actually banned me from the building—they'd simply asked me to temporarily recuse myself from judicial matters while the "situation" with Freya was resolved.

"No, the decision stands as discussed," he finally conceded. "But Alpha Thorne, perhaps it would be best if—"

"I'll be brief," I assured him, stepping around him to continue toward the elevators. "I have no intention of disrupting the court's proceedings."

I could feel Jameson's frustrated gaze on my back as the elevator doors closed. Mark stood beside me, his posture alert, ready to intervene if anyone else tried to block our way.

When we reached my office floor, my assistant rose quickly from her desk, her expression a mixture of surprise and relief.

"Alpha Thorne," she greeted me. "I wasn't sure when you'd be returning."

"Just briefly," I assured her. "Has anyone been in my office since yesterday?"

She shook her head. "No, sir. As per protocol, I've kept it locked in your absence."

"Good," I nodded. "I need the exile records from three years ago. The complete files, including the Silver Cage Prison records."

My assistant's eyes widened slightly, but she quickly composed herself. "Of course, Alpha. I'll have them brought up from the archives immediately."

While she made the necessary calls, I entered my office, breathing in the familiar scent of leather and old books. The large windows offered a sweeping view of the city below—my city, my responsibility. The thought of unknown wolves prowling within its boundaries, hunting one of our own, made my hackles rise.

Mark entered behind me, closing the door quietly. "What exactly are we looking for in those records, sir?"

I moved to my desk, sitting in the high-backed chair that had been in my family for generations. "Freya mentioned something about silver water torture in the Silver Cage Prison. I want to know exactly what happened to her during her exile."

Mark's expression darkened. "Silver water? That's been outlawed for decades."

"Precisely," I nodded grimly. "And I want to know who authorized it, who carried it out, and who knew about it."

A knock at the door announced the arrival of the files. My assistant entered, carrying a thick folder stamped with the silver crescent seal of the exile authority.

"The complete record, as requested," she said, placing it on my desk.

I thanked her and waited until she left before opening the folder. The first page was the standard exile sentence—my signature at the bottom, authorizing Freya's removal from pack lands for a period of three years. I remembered signing it, believing at the time that I was upholding justice.

The next pages detailed her processing into the Silver Cage Prison—standard procedures, initial medical examinations, assignment to a cell. Everything appeared normal until I reached the medical reports from her second month of incarceration.

"Multiple sessions of silver immersion therapy recommended for inmate Riley, F. for continued resistance to authority and failure to display proper submissive behavior," I read aloud, my voice growing colder with each word.

Mark leaned forward, his expression grim. "Sir, silver immersion isn't therapy—it's torture. It was banned by the North American Pack Alliance over thirty years ago."

I continued scanning the document, my fury building. "Authorized by Head Guard Carter Wells. Approved by Prison Director Marcus Sutton."

The report included clinical descriptions of Freya's "treatments"—forced immersion in silver-infused water until near drowning, followed by silver mist inhalation to "calm aggressive tendencies." The medical notes documented burns, respiratory damage, and nervous system impairment.

"This explains her reaction in my shower," I murmured, the horror of what I'd unknowingly triggered finally clear to me. "She wasn't just being difficult—she was having a trauma response."

"Sir," Mark said hesitantly, "these procedures... they go well beyond standard exile protocols. This is deliberate torture."

I slammed the folder shut, unable to read any more of the clinical descriptions of Freya's suffering. "Find me everything you can on Carter Wells and Marcus Sutton. I want to know who they report to, who authorized these 'treatments,' and where they are now."

Mark nodded grimly. "Yes, Alpha."

As he turned to leave, I added, "And Mark? This stays between us for now. No one else needs to know what we've found until we understand the full picture."

Once alone, I reopened the folder, forcing myself to read every detail of what Freya had endured. By the time I finished, my hands were shaking with barely controlled rage. The wolf inside me was howling for blood, demanding retribution for what had been done to her.

"I'll make this right," I promised quietly to the empty room. "Whatever it takes."