The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 63

Thorne's POV

Blood seeped through the makeshift bandage wrapped around my forearm, the silver light of the moon-silver wound pulsing with each beat of my heart. The pain burned through my veins, yet I kept my face expressionless. An Alpha never displays weakness, especially not in front of his pack.

"Secure Raine," I ordered Mark, my voice steady despite the agony. "Full moon-silver restraints and immediate transport to Silver Shackle Prison."

Mark nodded sharply, his eyes flickering with concern as he caught the scent of my blood. "Your arm, Alpha—"

"Can wait," I cut him off firmly. "Ensure Riley and Thompson are safe first."

My eyes tracked Freya as the medical team attended to her. The collar around her neck had left raw, blistered skin, yet she remained conscious, her eyes searching until they found mine. Her scent reached me even through the metallic tang of blood—wildflowers and earth, now tinged with pain. My wolf stirred, unsettled by her suffering.

The sight of her wounded ignited something primal in me—a protective fury I hadn't felt in years. I wanted to hunt down everyone who had ever harmed her. The intensity of this reaction disturbed me. She was nothing to me—an exile, a servant, a reminder of a case I'd closed years ago. Yet I couldn't deny the relief that flooded through me seeing her alive.

"Thompson?" she asked, her voice low and strained.

"Alive," I assured her. "Being transported to the medical center now."

Relief washed over her face before her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Why did you take that blade for me?"

I didn't answer. The truth was, I didn't know. The moment I'd seen the blade heading for her, my body had moved on instinct, a reaction so primal and immediate I hadn't questioned it until now.

The ride to the medical center was thick with tension. Freya sat as far from me as the back seat would allow, yet the confined space made distance impossible. I watched her from the corner of my eye, noting how she tried to hide her pain, the slight wince when the car hit a bump, the careful way she held herself.

I leaned across the seat suddenly, capturing her chin. Her skin was warm under my fingers, her pulse visibly jumping at her throat. Our eyes locked, inches apart. Her pupils dilated, the natural gold flecks in her irises brightening in response to my Alpha presence.

"Explain to me why you directly disobeyed your Alpha's orders and left the estate," I said, my voice dropping to a low growl.

Her breathing quickened. "I—I was told you needed me to deliver urgent documents to your father."

"By whom?" I pressed, my thumb unconsciously brushing against her jawline.

The softness of her skin distracted me momentarily. I was accustomed to power, to control, to the careful distance I maintained with everyone. Yet with her, that distance seemed impossible to maintain.

"Edith," she whispered, her eyes unable to break from mine. "She said your father needed the financial reports immediately. That you'd left instructions for me to deliver them personally."

My fingers tightened slightly, not enough to hurt but enough to ensure she couldn't turn away. "And you believed her? The woman who has made it clear she despises you?"

"She's the head housekeeper," she defended, her jaw tensing beneath my grip. "She said it was your direct order."

"What evidence do you have that Edith was lying? She has served the Grey family for thirty years. You are an exile who has been in my house for less than a month."

Her scent changed—hurt, anger, but no deception. The absence of dishonesty affected me more than I wanted to admit. I had been ready to find her guilty, to confirm my belief that the Rileys were inherently untrustworthy. Her truth complicated things.

I released her chin, my fingers dragging slightly against her skin as I withdrew. The contact sent an unexpected pulse of heat through me, and I retreated to my side of the car.

"We will discuss this further when we return to the estate," I said, my voice rougher than intended.

---

At the medical center, Dr. Maloy examined my arm with practiced efficiency.

"The moon-silver has entered your bloodstream," he said gravely. "Even with your Alpha physiology, this requires specialized treatment."

I glanced at Freya, who sat on an adjacent bed while a nurse cleaned her wounds. Her shirt had been partially unbuttoned, exposing the curve of her collarbone and the edge of her birthmark. I forced my eyes away.

"Check her moon-silver burns first," I ordered. "That collar would have caused severe damage to any wolf."

Dr. Maloy raised an eyebrow but complied. I watched his expression shift from professional detachment to surprise as he inspected the raw ring around her neck.

"Remarkable," he murmured. "These burns should be significantly deeper. The Riley bloodline truly is... unique."

Freya's eyes widened slightly at his words. Her hand unconsciously touched her birthmark, drawing my attention back to the pale crescent shape. The gesture was intimate, vulnerable. Something tightened in my chest.

"I'll take full responsibility for this incident," she said quietly, her eyes downcast.

My head snapped up, a possessive growl building in my throat before I could stop it. "Excuse me?"

"I mean for your injury, Alpha," she hastened to explain, her heart visibly racing at her throat. "You were wounded protecting me. I feel responsible."

A flicker of disappointment ran through me, surprising in its intensity. For a moment, I had misinterpreted her words, thought she was speaking of something deeper than a physical wound. Something between us. The realization that she meant only the superficial injury—something that would heal within days—left an unexpected hollow feeling in my chest.

I held her gaze, feeling my wolf rise closer to the surface. My pupils expanded as I tracked her reactions—the subtle catch in her breath, the way her scent changed from fear to something warmer, more complex. Despite her wounds, her skin flushed under my scrutiny, a reaction her conscious mind might deny but her body couldn't hide.

The contradiction in her fascinated me. Three years ago, I had sentenced her to exile, torn her from everything she loved. She should hate me. Part of her clearly did—I could smell it in the undertones of her scent, see it in the way she held herself slightly away from me. Yet there was something else there too—an involuntary response to my presence that seemed to terrify her as much as it intrigued me.

"Responsibility isn't just words, Freya," I said, dropping my voice so low only she could hear it. "It's actions. Consequences."

I watched a shiver run through her that wasn't entirely fear. The moon-silver had weakened her wolf, but couldn't suppress her body's awareness of me—I could track her responses in the dilation of her pupils, the quickening of her pulse, the subtle changes in her scent. This physical awareness between us was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.

She watched silently as they cleaned the angry, silver-laced gash on my forearm. I refused to flinch despite the burning pain, maintaining the control expected of an Alpha. Yet I was acutely aware of her eyes on me, of how her gaze followed the movement of my muscles, of the subtle shift in her scent as she observed me. Her reaction to my control over pain stirred something primitive in me—an Alpha's pride in displaying strength before a potential mate.

The thought was inappropriate, dangerous, yet it surfaced before I could suppress it.

Keep looking at me, a primal part of me urged. Keep your eyes on your Alpha, Freya. The possessive thought emerged unbidden, shocking in its intensity.