The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 253

Freya’s POV

I sat by the bed in Martha's guest bedroom, staring at my right hand as I tried—and failed—to make a fist. The silver burns had begun to heal on the surface, forming thin pink scars across my wrist and palm, but beneath the skin, the damage remained. The doctors had been cautiously optimistic, but I'd seen the concern in their eyes when they thought I wasn't looking.

My fingers trembled as I attempted to curl them inward. Only my pinky and ring finger responded properly; my middle finger moved sluggishly, while my index finger and thumb barely twitched. Another failed attempt. My wolf whimpered inside me, sensing my distress.

The sound of the doorbell pulled me from my somber thoughts. I heard Martha's footsteps crossing the entryway downstairs, followed by the murmur of voices. A familiar scent drifted up. It was Emma.

I didn't bother changing out of my loose sweater and leggings. Emma had seen me at my worst already. By the time I made it downstairs, Martha was setting out tea in the living room, and Emma was arranging a small gift bag on the coffee table.

"Freya!" Emma rose as soon as she saw me, her eyes widening slightly at my appearance before she masked her reaction with a warm smile. "How are you feeling today?"

I knew what she saw—the hollowness in my cheeks, the dark circles under my eyes, the way my clothes hung from my frame. I'd lost weight I couldn't afford to lose.

"I'm fine," I lied, lowering myself into an armchair. My wolf growled at the falsehood, but I silenced her. "Just tired."

Emma exchanged a glance with Martha, who discreetly excused herself to fetch more tea, giving us privacy.

"You look..." Emma hesitated.

"Terrible?" I suggested with a weak smile.

"I was going to say 'recovering,'" she corrected gently. "Has your shifting ability returned at all?"

I shook my head. "The doctors say the silver poisoning was severe. It might be weeks before I can fully shift again." If ever, I added silently.

Emma nodded, her scent shifting to concern mixed with anger. "And how's your hand?"

I glanced down at my right hand resting uselessly in my lap. "About as good as it looks."

"Freya..." Emma's voice softened. "Julie's been asking about you."

My heart clenched at the mention of my former professor.

"Does she know what happened?" I asked, suddenly anxious. "About Silver Shackle, about the boat, about my hand?"

Emma shook her head quickly. "I didn't tell her the details. Just that you'd been ill and were recovering. She's worried, though. You were her star student."

Were. Past tense. The weight of that single word pressed down on me.

"I can't face her," I admitted. "Not yet. Not until I know if I'll ever be able to design again."

"She'd want to help," Emma insisted.

"And tell her what? That I might never hold a stylus properly again? That all those years of training were for nothing?" My voice cracked on the last word, and I took a deep breath to steady myself. "Please, don't tell her how bad it is."

Emma nodded reluctantly. "I'll keep things vague for now. But she cares about you, Freya. We all do."

The silence stretched between us until Emma reached for the small gift bag on the table.

"I brought you something," she said, her tone deliberately lighter. "From Stone Group."

She handed me the bag, and I awkwardly opened it with my left hand. Inside was a small velvet box. When I managed to pry it open, I found a gleaming silver ring with an intricate moon phase design—my design.

"The client was extremely pleased," Emma said, watching my reaction carefully. "They particularly loved the pattern integration with the lunar phases."

I stared at the ring, remembering the hours I'd spent perfecting that design in Martha's garden. The delicate etching of the waxing and waning moons connected by flowing lines representing the eternal cycle. It was some of my best work.

"I'm glad," I said quietly, closing the box. I couldn't bear to look at it any longer—a reminder of what I might never do again.

Emma must have sensed my mood shift. "Your position is still open," she offered. "Whenever you're ready to come back. Jasper was very specific about that."

I nodded, though we both knew it was an empty gesture. What use was a designer who couldn't draw?

After Emma left, I retreated back to my room, the velvet box clutched in my left hand. I sat by the window again, staring at my useless right hand. Would I ever regain enough control to hold a stylus? To sketch the designs that constantly filled my mind?

The thought of that talent being stolen from me—first by the silver treatments at Silver Shackle, and now by Derek's chains—left me hollow. Design had been my sanctuary, the one thing that was truly mine, that connected me to my family's legacy. Without it, what was I?

Just another damaged wolf with nowhere to belong.

---

The following morning, Martha suggested we take a walk through her garden. "The fresh air will do you good," she insisted, helping me into a light jacket. "And the roses are in full bloom."

I didn't have the heart to refuse her, though the thought of moving beyond the safety of the house made my wolf anxious. We had just stepped onto the front porch when a sleek black car pulled up to the curb.

Martha stiffened beside me, her posture instantly alert. "That's not Grey's car," she murmured, placing herself slightly in front of me in an instinctively protective gesture.

The car door opened, and a tall figure emerged. Even at this distance, the Alpha power that radiated from him was unmistakable—but it wasn't Thorne. The scent that reached me was different.

Jasper Stone.

My wolf stirred with interest and wariness.

"Alpha Stone," Martha's voice was formal, respectful but cold. "What brings you to my home?"

Jasper approached with casual confidence, his eyes—a striking amber—fixed on me rather than Martha. He wore dark jeans and a charcoal henley that emphasized his broad shoulders and powerful build. Different from Thorne's tailored elegance, but no less imposing.

"Martha," he acknowledged with a nod before turning his full attention to me. "Freya Riley. I hoped I might find you here."

Martha moved closer to me, her protective instinct in full force. "This isn't appropriate, Alpha Stone. Alpha Thorne wouldn't approve of your presence here."

Jasper's lips curved into a slight smile. "I wasn't aware that Freya was under house arrest. Is she not allowed visitors?"

Before Martha could respond, I stepped forward. "It's alright, Martha."

"Were you planning to go somewhere?" Jasper asked, nodding toward my jacket.

"Just a walk in the garden," I replied.

"Perhaps I could join you?" His suggestion was casual, but there was an undercurrent of something more deliberate in his tone.

Martha immediately bristled. "That would be highly inappropriate. Alpha Thorne would be furious if he knew another Alpha was visiting his—" She stopped abruptly.

"His what?" Jasper's eyebrow arched, and his gaze flickered between Martha and me. "His exile? His prisoner? Or is there another title I'm not aware of?"