The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 252

Freya's POV

I woke in Martha's guest bedroom, disoriented and aching. The hospital had discharged me late yesterday, and despite the pain medication, every silver burn on my skin throbbed in time with my heartbeat. I lay still for a moment, staring at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened.

The memories of the boat and Derek's cabin flooded back—the silver chains biting into my skin, Kaelin's hatred, the fear that had gripped me when the silver knife pressed against my throat. My wolf whimpered, still traumatized by the proximity of so much silver. I could still feel the phantom weight of those chains, could still taste the metallic tang of silver in the air.

With effort, I pushed myself into a sitting position, my right hand hanging uselessly at my side. The doctors had been cautiously optimistic, but I knew better than to hope too much. Three months in Silver Shackle had taught me that some wounds never fully heal.

I didn't bother trying to dress myself, remaining in the soft pajamas Martha had helped me into last night. The simple task of buttoning a shirt or pulling on pants one-handed seemed overwhelmingly difficult this morning. Everything seemed difficult, if I was honest with myself.

I made my way downstairs slowly, following the scent of coffee and something baking. Martha looked up from the kitchen counter as I entered, her face creasing with concern.

"You should have called for me, dear. I would have brought breakfast up to you."

"I needed to move," I replied, my voice sounding hoarse even to my own ears. "Can't stay in bed all day."

Martha guided me to a chair at the kitchen island, setting a steaming mug of coffee in front of me. I reached for it with my left hand, the movement awkward and unfamiliar. I'd always been right-handed.

"I made bone broth with healing herbs," Martha said, stirring something on the stove. "It will help with your recovery."

I nodded, though I had little appetite. The boat cabin kept flashing through my mind—Derek's voice, Kaelin's cruel words, the silver burning into my skin. And beneath those memories, older ones from Silver Shackle Prison: the silver treatments, the pain, the isolation.

"Freya? Freya, dear, you're shaking."

Martha's voice pulled me back to the present. I looked down to see coffee sloshing over the rim of my mug, my left hand trembling uncontrollably. I set the mug down hastily, spilling more in the process.

"I'm sorry," I mumbled, reaching for a napkin.

"Don't apologize," Martha said gently, cleaning up the spill. "It's normal after what you've been through."

I stared out the window, unable to meet her concerned gaze. The day was gray and overcast, rain threatening. It matched my mood perfectly.

"I don't want to eat," I said quietly as Martha placed a bowl of broth in front of me.

"You need strength to heal," she insisted. "Just try a little."

To please her, I picked up the spoon with my left hand and awkwardly brought a small amount to my lips. The rich, savory liquid should have been comforting, but my stomach knotted in protest. I set the spoon down after just two bites.

"I can't," I whispered.

Martha didn't press the issue. Instead, she sat beside me, her warm hand covering my cold one.

"It will take time, dear. You've been through a terrible ordeal."

Derek's words echoed in my mind: "Your Alpha doesn't care about you. He only cares about his Luna." I'd seen the way Thorne had looked at Kaelin on that boat, the fear in his eyes when she'd been threatened. Even knowing what she'd done to me, he'd still chosen her. How could he not? She was to be his Luna, and I was nothing—just a former exile he'd briefly desired.

"Martha," I said suddenly, "I think I'll go back upstairs."

She helped me stand, her arm steady around my waist. "Of course. Would you like me to bring you anything?"

I shook my head, the effort of speaking, of being present, suddenly too much to bear. Back in the guest room, I sat by the window, staring out at Martha's garden. The roses were in full bloom despite the threatening rain, their beauty a stark contrast to the emptiness I felt inside.

I don't know how long I sat there, drifting in and out of awareness. The silver toxicity had left me disconnected, my thoughts fragmented. At one point, I found myself leaning dangerously far out the window, the cool air on my face the only thing that felt real. Martha's alarmed voice pulled me back.

"Freya! What are you doing?"

I blinked, confused by her panic. "I... I was just getting some air."

Martha's face was pale as she gently pulled me back from the window. "You were leaning so far out... you frightened me."

"I'm sorry," I said automatically, though I wasn't entirely sure what I was apologizing for. "I didn't mean to worry you."

Martha studied me with concern. "Perhaps some soup would help? I made your favorite—venison stew."

I nodded, though food was the last thing I wanted. "That sounds nice."

When she left, I returned my gaze to the window. The rain had started, gentle drops pattering against the glass. I traced their paths with my fingertip, watching as they joined together and raced toward the bottom of the pane.

Later, I found myself at the dining table downstairs, a bowl of stew before me that I had no memory of agreeing to eat. Martha was watching me with growing concern as I made a halfhearted attempt to use the spoon with my left hand.

"The doctor said your appetite might be affected by the medication," she offered kindly when I set down my spoon after only a few bites.

"It's not that," I admitted. "I just... keep thinking about what happened."

Martha nodded understandingly. "Would you like to talk about it?"

I shook my head. How could I explain the humiliation of being at Kaelin's mercy? The pain of knowing that even after everything, Thorne would always choose her? The despair of realizing my hand might never fully heal, taking away the one thing I was truly good at?

"It's raining harder," I observed instead, watching the downpour through the dining room windows. "I thought we might walk in the garden later, but I guess not."

"Another day," Martha promised. "The roses will still be there when the sun returns."

I nodded, trying to find comfort in the thought of future sunny days, but my mind kept returning to the boat, to the silver chains, to the moment when Thorne had to choose between Kaelin and me.

As the afternoon wore on, my discomfort grew. The silver burns on my wrists and ankles throbbed, and the crescent birthmark on my neck—the mark of the Riley bloodline—ached with a deep, penetrating pain that the medication couldn't touch. It always hurt more in rainy weather, a cruel reminder of my heritage.

I retreated to my room again, clutching my right arm close to my body. The designs I'd been working on lay scattered on the desk—sketches for wolf-form adaptable clothing that would never be completed now. Not with my drawing hand ruined. I picked up a pencil with my left hand, trying to continue a simple line, but the result was wobbly and childish.

Frustration welled up inside me, and I threw the pencil across the room. It hit the window with a small tap, just as a particularly strong gust of rain lashed against the glass.

I felt his presence before I saw him—that distinctive scent, the unmistakable energy of an Alpha. Looking out the window into the rainy garden, I caught a glimpse of a large figure moving among the trees at the property's edge. Thorne. Watching. Guarding.

My wolf stirred within me, responding to his proximity despite my conscious resentment. Why was he here? Shouldn't he be with Kaelin, his precious Luna-to-be? The woman he'd chosen over me, again and again?

"He doesn't care about you", Derek had said. "He only cares about his Luna."

I turned away from the window, refusing to acknowledge Thorne's presence any further. If he wanted to stand in the rain watching over Martha's property, that was his business. I had my own broken pieces to try to put back together—alone, as I'd always been.