The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 36

Thorne's POV

As I left the hospital room, my phone vibrated with messages from my Deltas reporting on various pack matters, but my mind was elsewhere. I partly felt that familiar sense of relief that always came after handling one of Kaelin's episodes—a mixture of accomplishment at having successfully calmed her and a somewhat guilty sense of freedom at now being able to focus on other matters. Our relationship had always been this way: me as her protector, her as the protected. It was comfortable, predictable, but completely lacking the electric tension that filled the air whenever Freya was nearby. I pushed that thought aside, annoyed with myself for making such a comparison. I was worried that Freya might have seized the opportunity to escape—again. The thought sent a surge of irritation through me that I didn't care to examine too closely.

The drive back to New Moon was quick, the late-night traffic minimal. When I entered the restaurant, the maître d' informed me they had entered night mode, with the lighting automatically dimmed to create a more intimate atmosphere. I made my way upstairs to the private dining room, my senses immediately alert to any trace of Freya's scent.

Opening the door, I was hit by a wave of fear so potent it made me pause. The room appeared empty at first glance, the table still bearing the remains of our interrupted dinner. Then I caught movement in the farthest corner of the room—a huddled figure pressed against the wall, as far from the door as possible.

"Freya?" I called, moderating my voice to sound less threatening.

She didn't respond, but I could hear her rapid heartbeat and shallow breathing. As my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I saw her more clearly. She had wedged herself into the corner, knees drawn up to her chest, eyes wide and unfocused. Her body trembled violently, and the scent of pure terror emanated from her skin.

I recognized the signs immediately—she was experiencing a trauma flashback. Something had triggered her, and she wasn't seeing me or the dining room anymore. She was somewhere else entirely.

"Stay back!" she suddenly cried out, her voice hoarse with fear. "I didn't do anything wrong! The silver... please, no more silver."

My chest tightened unexpectedly. I'd seen similar reactions in wolves who had been imprisoned in moon-silver cells—the special containment units reserved for the most dangerous offenders. But Freya hadn't been sentenced to that level of confinement. At least, not according to the official record.

I approached slowly, careful to telegraph my movements. "Freya, it's Thorne Grey. You're in New Moon restaurant in Moon Bay. You're safe."

Her eyes darted to me, but I could tell she wasn't seeing me—she was seeing a threat, possibly a Wild Guardian.

"I'm going to release some calming pheromones," I said, even though I wasn't sure she could understand me in this state. "Just breathe."

I let my Alpha scent flow gently, not the dominating presence I usually projected, but something steadier, more grounding. It was an old technique, one my father had taught me for calming distressed pack members.

Gradually, her breathing slowed. Her eyes began to focus, the glazed look receding as she returned to the present. Recognition flickered across her face.

"Thorne?" she whispered, her voice small and uncertain.

"Yes," I confirmed, crouching a few feet away to seem less threatening. "You had a flashback. You're in New Moon restaurant."

She swallowed hard, embarrassment replacing fear in her scent. "I... I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."

But I did. The confrontation with Kaelin had triggered her. The sudden appearance of the woman who had testified against her, who had been instrumental in her exile, had catapulted Freya back to the worst moments of her life.

"Can you stand?" I asked, extending my hand but not touching her.

She hesitated, then nodded, pushing herself up using the wall for support. She avoided my hand, maintaining distance between us.

"I need fresh air," she said, her voice still shaky. "Please, I can't stay in this enclosed space right now."

I studied her for a moment. Her reaction was consistent with someone who had experienced prolonged confinement trauma. The official sentence for her crime had been exile to the Forgotten Wilds, but before exile, convicts were held in transition cells—not the moon-silver containment units she seemed to be recalling.

"We're leaving," I decided, retrieving my coat from the back of my chair. "But understand this—you're still under my authority. Don't try to run."

She didn't argue, which concerned me more than if she had fought back. The vibrant, defiant Freya I remembered would have bristled at such a command. This woman simply nodded, her eyes downcast, her shoulders curved inward as if trying to make herself smaller.

We exited through the restaurant's private entrance to avoid curious eyes. The night air was cool and damp, the scent of approaching rain heavy in the atmosphere. Freya inhaled deeply as soon as we were outside, some of the tension visibly leaving her body.

My driver had the car waiting. I opened the passenger door for Freya, noting how she hesitated before getting in, how her eyes scanned the interior as if checking for threats or escape routes. Once we were both inside, I instructed the driver to take us to Grey Estate.

For several minutes, we drove in silence. Freya stared out the window, her reflection in the glass showing eyes that were still haunted. The city lights played across her face, highlighting the hollows beneath her cheekbones, the tightness around her mouth.

"You were in Silver Shackle prison," I finally said. It wasn't a question—I had personally signed the order for her to be held there before exile. "But your flashback mentioned silver treatment. Are you aware that Dr. Maloy found excessive moon-silver residue in your system?"