The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 68

Freya's POV

I hurried down the hallway, my mind reeling and my lips still tingling from Thorne's kiss. What had possessed him to do that? What had possessed me to respond? The complexity of my feelings toward him—resentment, attraction, confusion—threatened to overwhelm me.

"Well, well. Someone's in a hurry."

I stopped abruptly as Lucy stepped out from a side corridor, blocking my path. Her Beta scent carried notes of suspicion and hostility.

"Excuse me," I said, trying to move past her. "I need to—"

"Need to what?" Lucy's eyes narrowed as she took in my flushed appearance. "You're coming from Alpha Thorne's private wing. What business would an exile have there?"

"Martha asked me to deliver some herbs for his wound," I answered, the half-truth falling easily from my lips.

Lucy stepped closer, inhaling deeply. Her eyes widened slightly. "You smell like him," she said accusingly. "And not just his scent on you. Your own scent is... affected."

I felt heat rise to my cheeks. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do." Lucy's voice dropped to a cold whisper. "You may have fooled Martha and Edith with your innocent act, but I see what you're doing. Trying to worm your way into the Alpha's good graces—or his bed."

My wolf bristled at the insult, a low growl building in my throat before I could stop it. But instead of backing down, I stepped forward, closing the distance between us until Lucy was forced to take a step back.

"Have you forgotten so quickly, Lucy?" I asked, my voice dangerously soft. "It was my testimony that saved you from Silver Shackle Prison. My words to Alpha Thorne that convinced him to be merciful."

Lucy's expression faltered slightly. "That was—"

"Do you know what happens to pretty Beta females in Silver Shackle?" I continued, my eyes never leaving hers. "The guards look the other way when the stronger inmates decide they want... company. And the moon-silver in those walls? It makes it impossible to heal properly. Every cut, every bruise, every... violation... it all lasts so much longer than it should."

I saw fear flicker in Lucy's eyes as the color drained from her face.

"I survived three years in exile," I said, my voice still quiet but carrying an edge that hadn't been there before. "Silver Shackle would have broken you in three days. Remember that before you threaten me."

Lucy swallowed hard, her earlier confidence visibly shaken. "Miss Brooks will still hear about this."

"Tell her whatever you like," I replied with a dismissive shrug. "But remember, Lucy—I've already proven I can be merciful when it matters. Don't make me regret that mercy."

I stepped around her, maintaining eye contact until the last moment. As I walked away, I heard her shaky exhalation, smelled the fear-tinged sweat that had broken out across her skin.

Only when I turned the corner did I allow my shoulders to relax slightly. The confrontation had left me drained but oddly empowered. Three years in exile had taught me many things, including when to show my teeth.

Still, as I touched my still-sensitive lips, the weight of what had happened with Thorne settled back over me. Lucy might be temporarily cowed, but if Kaelin learned about the kiss...

I quickened my pace. I needed to be alone, to think, to figure out what to do next.

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Thorne's POV

I remained in the herb bath, staring at the space Freya had occupied moments before. My lips still burned from our kiss, her taste lingering like a memory I couldn't—didn't want to—shake.

What had possessed me to kiss her? The question circled in my mind, finding no satisfactory answer. She was an exile, a servant in my household, a Riley—everything I should avoid. Yet when she'd leaned close, her scent enveloping me, something primal and unstoppable had surged forward.

And she had responded. For those brief, electric moments, she had kissed me back with an intensity that matched my own. I could still feel the way she'd leaned into me, her pulse racing beneath my fingers, the soft fullness of her breast in my palm, the hardened peak that had responded to my touch.

The wound on my arm throbbed, drawing my attention back to the present. The silver lines had indeed receded, just as she'd said they would. Her knowledge of moon-silver treatment had surprised me—not just basic first aid, but advanced herbal mixtures that even Dr. Maloy might not know.

She'd learned this in exile. In the harsh environment I had sent her to.

An uncomfortable feeling settled in my chest. Guilt? Remorse? I pushed it aside. The judicial system existed for a reason. Law had to be upheld, regardless of personal feelings.

But what were my personal feelings toward Freya Riley?

I lifted myself from the bath, careful with my injured arm. The herbs had done their work; the pain had subsided to a dull ache, and the silver contamination had retreated to just the area immediately surrounding the wound.

As I dried off and dressed, my thoughts kept returning to the kiss. To the softness of her lips, the small sound she'd made when I'd pulled her closer, the way her scent had changed—brightening with desire before she'd pulled away.

She'd pulled away. The realization hit me with unexpected force. For all her response to me, she had ultimately rejected the connection. Was it the exile mark? The history between us? Or something else entirely?