The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 274

Thorne's POV

I watched Freya's face carefully as she explored the studio. Her expression shifted from shock to wonder to a guarded appreciation that made my chest tighten. Her scent changed too—the sharp edge of wariness softening into something I didn't dare interpret as pleasure.

Since her return, I'd been relearning her expressions, her scents, trying to understand the woman she'd become during the years of exile I'd condemned her to. The familiar curve of her cheek, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear—these remained the same. But there was a hardness in her eyes now, a careful distance that I had put there.

When she thanked me, the simple words felt like more than I deserved. My wolf whined softly, wanting to move closer, to offer comfort, but I held myself firmly in place.

Back at the cottage, I retrieved the package I'd brought.

"One more thing," I said, holding it out to her, my fingers gripping the paper too tightly. "For the studio."

Freya unwrapped it with her left hand, her right resting uselessly in her lap. The sight of her damaged fingers made my stomach clench with guilt. I'd done this to her—not directly, but through my failure to protect, to listen, to question.

Inside was a leather-bound sketchbook, custom-made with her initials embossed on the cover.

"The pages are heavier weight than standard," I explained, watching her face closely. "The bookbinder said it would make drawing easier while your hand is recovering."

She touched the cover almost reverently, her fingers lingering on the embossed letters. "You've thought of everything." Her voice was soft, but there was an undertone of surprise that cut deep.

"Hardly," I said, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice. "But I'm trying to think of things now."

Freya looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. Her expression remained guarded, but the open hostility from weeks ago had faded. It was progress, however small.

"Will you be at the council meeting tomorrow?" I asked, changing the subject before emotion could overwhelm me.

"Do I have a choice? I'm still officially your 'judicial consultant,' aren't I?" A hint of the old spark flashed in her eyes, and my wolf responded immediately to the challenge.

"You always have a choice with me now, Freya," I said quietly, holding her gaze. "Always." I meant the words more deeply than she could know.

Something flickered across her face—surprise, perhaps. She blinked rapidly, breaking eye contact.

"I'll be there," she said finally, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of the sketchbook. "Martha seems to think I should start participating in pack activities again."

I nodded, relief washing through me. "The meeting will include discussions about restructuring the judicial system. Your perspective would be... valuable."

"My perspective as a wrongfully exiled wolf, you mean." Her tone wasn't accusatory, merely factual, but it still made me wince.

"Yes," I admitted, refusing to hide from the truth. "Among other things."

As I prepared to leave, I paused at the door, my hand resting on the frame. "I assigned two Delta guards to patrol the property perimeter. They won't intrude, but they're there if you need anything."

Freya frowned, her shoulders tensing. "I don't need guards, Thorne."

"It's not because you're weak," I clarified quickly, reading the flash of indignation in her eyes. "It's because some traditionalists aren't happy about the Brooks family's exile or your family's restoration. Just... a precaution."

She studied me for a moment, her gaze penetrating. "You're worried someone might retaliate."

"I'm not taking chances. Not with your safety." My wolf growled in agreement, the protective instinct stronger than I cared to admit. The thought of Freya in danger made my blood run cold.

After a moment, she nodded, her expression softening slightly. "Fine. But tell them to stay at least a hundred yards from the cottage. I need to feel like this space is truly mine."

"Understood." I turned to go, then added: "If you need anything—anything at all—you can call me directly."

"I won't," she said simply, her eyes steady on mine.

I nodded, accepting the boundary she'd set. "Goodnight, Freya."

As I walked back to my car, I caught Terra Thompson's scent approaching from the main road. The Beta wolf who'd helped Freya after her release carried a bottle of wine and what smelled like freshly baked bread.

I nodded to her as we passed. She looked surprised to see me but returned the gesture respectfully.

"Alpha Thorne." Her voice held a note of caution.

"Ms. Thompson." I hesitated, then admitted, "She could use a friend tonight."

Terra's expression softened slightly, her wariness giving way to understanding. "That's why I'm here."

As I drove away, I glanced in my rearview mirror to see Freya opening the door, her face transforming with a smile that made my chest ache. The smile she gave Terra—open, genuine, without reservation—was something I hoped, someday, she might direct at me again.

But I knew better than anyone that trust, once shattered, took time to rebuild. And I had shattered Freya's trust in the most fundamental way possible.

Time. Patience. Consistency. These would be my tools now, as I attempted to earn what I once took for granted.

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Freya's POV

"So," Terra said, pouring us each a second glass of wine, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, "the mighty Alpha Thorne himself is delivering packages to your doorstep now?"

I rolled my eyes, settling deeper into the couch cushions. Having Terra here made the cottage feel less empty, more like a home.

"He's trying to make amends," I explained, attempting to keep my tone neutral even as my heart beat faster at the memory of his expression when I'd thanked him.

"By building you a private design studio?" Terra raised an eyebrow, her voice incredulous. "That's quite an amends."

"He feels responsible," I said, flexing my right hand and watching the tremors run through my fingers. "And guilty."

Terra studied me over the rim of her wineglass, her gaze too perceptive. "And how do you feel about him?"

I sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet room. "Complicated."

"Fair enough." She didn't push, one of the things I appreciated about her. After a moment, she added, "I'm returning to Moon Howl next week. They're reopening under new management."

"That's great," I said, genuinely pleased.

"They asked if you'd be interested in designing their new logo," Terra continued casually, watching my reaction. "Something about wanting a fresh start, symbolically."

I glanced down at my trembling right hand, the scarred skin still pink and sensitive. "I'm not sure I can."

"It doesn't have to be right away," Terra said gently, reaching out to touch my wrist lightly. "But it might be good practice. When you're ready."

The next morning, after Terra had gone, I found myself drawn to the studio Thorne had prepared. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, warming the space. I sat at one of the workstations and opened the leather sketchbook he'd given me, running my fingers over the smooth pages.

With my left hand, I awkwardly picked up a pencil and began to draw. The lines were shaky, childlike, nothing like my former precision. Frustration built in my chest, hot and tight.

"Problems?" Martha's voice came from the doorway, startling me.

"I can't even draw a straight line," I said, tossing the pencil down with more force than necessary.

Martha approached, her eyes gentle as she examined my pathetic attempt at sketching. "Perhaps you're starting too ambitiously," she suggested. "Begin with simple shapes, basic designs."

She picked up a small pouch from one of the shelves—glass beads in various colors. "When my wrist was injured years ago, I started by arranging patterns before trying to create them."