The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 66

Freya's POV

My fingers tightened around the phone as recognition hit me. The voice belonged to Jasper Stone, Alpha of the Silverstone Pack and Thorne's main rival. I sat up straighter on my small bed, instantly alert.

"Alpha Stone," I said carefully, keeping my voice low. "How did you get this number?"

His laugh was rich and confident, reminding me of how different he was from Thorne. Where Thorne was ice and restraint, Jasper was fire and impulse.

"I have my resources. Is that any way to greet someone who's done you a favor?" The amusement in his voice was unmistakable.

My mind raced, trying to understand what he meant. Then it clicked—the competition.

"I can participate in your pack's full moon ritual design competition," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "Was that your doing?"

"Smart girl. Always were quick to catch on."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to ask the question directly. "Why would you help me?"

"Let's just say I recognize talent when I see it. Your work at that college festival years ago—quite impressive. Would be a shame to let moon-silver chains bury that creativity."

I was stunned into momentary silence. He'd been following my work? Before my exile?

"Thank you," I finally said, genuinely grateful despite my wariness. "It means a lot to have the opportunity."

"You could have more than just opportunities, you know." His voice dropped lower, more intimate. "The Silverstone Pack values talent over bloodlines. You'd find a place among us—a real place, not scrubbing floors for a wolf who exiled you."

My wolf bristled at his casual dismissal of my current situation, even though what he said was essentially true.

"I appreciate the offer, but—"

"But you're still loyal to the wolf who sent you to Silver Shackle?" His tone sharpened. "Thorne Grey isn't known for forgiveness, girl. Wolves like him never forget being defied."

I glanced nervously at my door, irrationally worried someone might overhear. "That's not—"

"The offer stands," he interrupted. "When you're ready to stop living in the shadows of the wolf who condemned you, the Silverstone Pack would welcome your talents. My personal line is now in your contacts. Use it when you need it."

The way he said 'when' rather than 'if' sent a chill down my spine.

Before I could respond, the line went dead.

I stared at my phone, my thoughts racing. How did Jasper know about Thorne's wound? And why warn me about it? The competition opportunity seemed genuine, but his other motives remained murky.

A knock at my door startled me from my thoughts.

"Come in," I called, quickly tucking my phone away.

The door opened to reveal Martha carrying a tray of food. The warm smell of roast chicken and vegetables made my stomach growl appreciatively.

"Thought you might be hungry," Martha said, setting the tray on my small desk. Her eyes narrowed as she studied my face. "You look flushed. Everything alright?"

"Just tired," I lied, not wanting to explain my conversation with a rival Alpha.

Martha nodded but didn't seem convinced. "How are you feeling otherwise? Those burns healing up?"

I touched my neck where the moon-silver collar had left marks. "Getting better. Thank you for the food."

Martha hesitated, then lowered her voice. "There's something else. The Alpha... his wound isn't healing properly."

My conversation with Jasper instantly flashed in my mind. "What do you mean?"

"Dr. Maloy is handling an emergency surgery. He can't come until morning, and the wound is showing silver lines spreading from it." Martha wrung her hands anxiously. "Alpha refuses to let anyone else near it. He's stubborn as a mule, that one."

"Has anyone tried to treat it?" I asked.

"Edith attempted to change the bandage, but he nearly took her head off—figuratively speaking." Martha sighed. "Moon-silver wounds need special treatment. If it spreads too far..."

She didn't need to finish. Moon-silver poisoning could be fatal, even to an Alpha.

I hesitated, torn between self-preservation and... something else I wasn't ready to name. "Where is he now?"

"In his private wing, the treatment room adjacent to his chambers." Martha's eyes widened. "You're not thinking of—"

"I know a few things about treating moon-silver wounds," I admitted. "From my time in exile."

Martha looked both relieved and worried. "He might not welcome your help."

"Probably not," I agreed, standing up. "But I suppose that's a risk I'll have to take."

---

The hallway to Thorne's private wing was dimly lit, the dark wood paneling absorbing what little light came from the wall sconces. Each step I took felt like a decision I might regret, yet I couldn't turn back. Whatever complicated history lay between us, I couldn't let him suffer if I could help.

I paused outside the treatment room door, gathering my courage. My wolf, still recovering from its recent ordeal, was unusually quiet, as if sensing the gravity of the situation.

I knocked softly.

"I said I don't want to be disturbed," came Thorne's voice, tight with pain.

"It's Freya," I called back, bracing myself for rejection. "Martha told me about your wound."

There was a long silence, and I was about to turn away when his voice came again.

"Enter."

I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The treatment room was spacious, dominated by a large stone pool in the center. Steam rose from the water, carrying the scent of medicinal herbs. Thorne sat on the edge of the pool, shirtless, his right arm extended as he examined the wound.

My breath caught at the sight of him. Despite his obvious pain, he remained imposing—shoulders broad, muscles defined beneath smooth skin. But what drew my attention most was the angry wound on his forearm. The skin around it had taken on a silvery hue, with dark lines spreading outward like the branches of a sinister tree.

"You shouldn't be here," Thorne said, his gold-flecked eyes meeting mine.

"Probably not," I agreed, stepping closer. "But I have experience with moon-silver wounds."

"From exile," he stated rather than asked.

I nodded. "May I?"