The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 273

Freya's POV

The early morning light filtered through the large windows of my new bedroom, casting long shadows across the polished wooden floor. I sat on the edge of my bed, running my fingers over the soft quilt. This space—this entire cottage at the edge of Moonlight Woods—was now mine, yet it didn't quite feel real.

"Are you sure you don't want me to help unpack the rest?" Martha asked from the doorway, her eyes filled with concern.

I shook my head, glancing at the few boxes stacked in the corner. "I need to do this myself. Part of... reclaiming my life." My voice caught slightly on the word "reclaiming."

Martha nodded, her eyes softening with understanding. She'd been staying with me since I moved in three days ago, but would be returning to her own home today. The thought of being truly alone made my stomach tighten, my wolf pacing anxiously beneath my skin.

"I left a week's worth of meals in the freezer," she said, her tone deliberately light. "And I wrote instructions for the microwave. Just in case your hand..."

I flexed my right fingers, watching them tremble visibly with the effort. The silver extraction procedure had worked better than expected, but each movement still sent tiny shocks of pain up my arm.

"I'll manage," I assured her.

After Martha left, I wandered through the small cottage, trailing my left hand along the walls. It had belonged to Riley family generations ago, before being absorbed into Grey territory. Now, as part of my family's restored assets, Thorne had ensured it was the first property returned to me.

A peace offering? Or guilt payment? My wolf growled softly at the thought.

In the kitchen, I awkwardly poured coffee with my left hand, spilling a few drops on the counter. As I wiped them up, I caught movement through the window. Thorne walked up the path to my door, his shoulders tense, his usual confident stride measured and careful.

My heart raced unexpectedly, my wolf suddenly alert. The familiar reaction irritated me—even after everything, my body still responded to his presence.

The doorbell rang, and I deliberately counted to ten before answering it.

"Good morning," Thorne said, his voice formal but his eyes searching my face. He wore casual clothes—a button-down and dark jeans—that softened his usual imposing presence.

"Alpha Thorne," I acknowledged, keeping my voice flat despite the flutter in my chest.

His jaw tightened briefly at the title. "Just Thorne, please. When we're alone." There was a note of something almost like pleading in his voice.

I stepped aside to let him enter, immediately aware of his scent filling the small entryway. My wolf recognized it instantly, stirring beneath my skin. He carried a large package wrapped in brown paper, his fingers gripping it too tightly.

"Martha just left," I said, returning to my coffee, needing the mug to hide the slight tremor in my hands. "If you're checking if I'm being supervised."

"I'm not," he said quickly, his eyes darkening with hurt. "I wanted to show you something."

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other—a nervous gesture I'd never seen from him before. The Alpha I knew never showed uncertainty.

"What's in the package?" I asked, nodding toward it.

"Actually, it's not about this." He set the package down carefully. "Would you walk with me? There's something on the property I'd like to show you."

Curiosity won out over my reluctance. I slipped on shoes and followed him outside, keeping a careful three feet between us as we walked.

We moved in silence through a small grove of trees behind the cottage until we came to a structure I hadn't noticed before—a small stone building with large windows, partially obscured by climbing roses that had grown wild.

"This was your grandfather's workshop," Thorne explained, his voice softer than usual as he produced a key. "My father... took it when your family was exiled." His eyes darkened with shame at the admission.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open, standing aside for me to enter first.

The space inside made me freeze in my tracks. It had been completely renovated—clean white walls, broad tables with adjustable lights, storage cabinets, and most surprisingly, an array of design tools arranged neatly on the far wall.

"What is this?" I whispered, my throat tightening.

"A design studio," Thorne said quietly, watching my reaction closely. "For when your hand heals enough. If... if you want it." His voice held uncertainty, as if he feared I might reject this offering.

I walked slowly around the space, touching the smooth surfaces with my left hand, my right held protectively against my chest. Modern equipment mixed with antique pieces I recognized from my family's collections.

"How did you know what to include?" I asked, unable to keep the emotion from my voice.

"I asked Julie Hunter. Your professor." He remained by the door, his posture rigid, as if afraid to intrude on my space. "She said these were the tools you preferred at Grey Moon Academy."

The thoughtfulness of the gesture made my chest ache. The old Thorne would never have bothered to research something so personal, so specific to my needs.

"Thank you," I said finally, the words inadequate for the conflict I felt—gratitude warring with the memory of pain he had caused.

He nodded once, his golden eyes watching me with an intensity that made my skin warm. "It's yours, regardless of... anything else between us. A small step toward righting wrongs."

As we walked back to the cottage in silence, I found myself sneaking glances at his profile, seeing the tension in his jaw, the careful way he kept pace with me without coming too close. This wasn't just about guilt or atonement. This was Thorne trying, in his own way, to give me back pieces of myself that had been taken away.