The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 77

Freya's POV

I pressed my ear to the wood, hoping to hear someone passing in the hallway, but there was only silence. Then, faintly, I heard a sound that made my blood run cold despite my preparation—laughter. Female laughter, moving away from the door.

I pounded harder. "Rebecca! Diane! This isn't funny! Give me back my tablet and let me out!"

More laughter, and then Rebecca's voice, deliberately loud enough for me to hear through the thick wood: "Riley, that basement is much more spacious than your attic room. An exile like you should be used to such accommodations by now."

The realization that they'd taken my tablet—my last connection to my design work—hit me like a physical blow. Even though I'd suspected their intentions, the loss of my designs felt like a fresh wound.

"Let me out!" I shouted, my voice echoing in the stone stairwell. "You can't do this!"

"Oh, but we can," came Diane's voice, dripping with malice. "No one comes to this part of the estate. By the time anyone misses you, you'll have learned your place."

"What place is that?" I demanded, still pounding on the door.

"The place of a Riley," Rebecca spat. "Your family was disgraced for betraying an Alpha. Miss Kaelin told us how you tried to manipulate Alpha Thorne, just like your family manipulated others. You should be grateful you're allowed to walk among decent wolves at all."

"Kaelin Brooks is a liar," I called back, my voice shaking with anger. "She's the one manipulating everyone!"

"The only liar here is you," Diane retorted. "Miss Kaelin warned us about your silver tongue. Enjoy your stay in the basement, traitor. And don't worry about your designs—we'll make sure they're properly deleted."

Their footsteps receded, leaving me alone with the echo of my own ragged breathing. I slammed my palm against the door one final time, then sagged against it, a mixture of fury and fear coursing through me. Despite my preparations, they'd still managed to trap me, and worse, they had my tablet with all my design files.

My phone's light would be useful once the night wore on and the electricity was turned off—which I suspected they would arrange. I tried calling Martha, but as Rebecca had predicted, the signal in the basement was nonexistent. The battery indicator showed 42%—enough to provide light for a while, but not indefinitely.

I searched the basement again, carefully this time, looking for another exit or something I could use to force the door. I had the broken broom handle, but it wasn't sturdy enough to serve as a lever against the heavy door. As the minutes stretched into hours, my search proved fruitless. There were no windows, no other doors, nothing that could help me escape.

Just as I'd feared, after what must have been a few hours, the lights suddenly flickered and went out. Someone had cut the power to this section of the basement. I switched on my phone's flashlight, its beam seeming feeble in the vast darkness.

As night deepened, the temperature in the basement dropped further. I wrapped my arms around myself, cursing the thin uniform I wore. My wolf, normally a source of warmth, felt distant and muted in the absolute darkness that surrounded me when I turned off my phone to conserve battery.

Night crept on, and with it came a primal fear that I thought I had mastered during my time in exile. But this was different. In the Wastes, there had always been the sky above, the stars, the moon. Here, the darkness was absolute, pressing against my eyes until I began to see phantom shapes moving at the edges of my vision.

I huddled in a corner, wrapping myself in an old drop cloth I'd found draped over some furniture. My wolf paced anxiously in my mind, hating the confinement, the darkness, the cold. Memories of the Silver Shackle Prison began to surface—the isolation cell they'd put me in when I'd first arrived, how the guards had left me there for days with only enough food and water to keep me alive.

"It's not the same," I whispered to myself, my voice unnaturally loud in the silent basement. "I survived that. I'll survive this."

But as the hours wore on, and the cold seeped deeper into my bones, the distinction began to blur. My thoughts fragmented, my wolf's distress bleeding into my human consciousness until I could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.

I began to shiver uncontrollably, my teeth chattering. In the Wastes, my wolf would have taken over, her fur providing warmth against the cold nights. But here, trapped underground with walls of stone all around me, my wolf retreated deep inside, confused and frightened by the unnatural confinement.

By the time the battery on my phone died, plunging me into complete darkness, I was barely holding onto rational thought. I curled into a tight ball, trying to preserve what little body heat I had left. My throat constricted, and a low, keening sound escaped me—not quite human, not quite wolf, but a sound of pure distress.

"I was wrong," I whispered into the darkness, my voice breaking. "Father, Mother, Ethan... I'm sorry. I should never have left the pack. I should have stayed with our family. I want to go home... please, I just want to go back to the pack..."

No one answered. There was only the darkness, the cold, and the slow erosion of my sanity as the night stretched endlessly on.

Morning came, though I had no way of knowing it in the lightless basement. I drifted in and out of consciousness, my body numb with cold, my mind clouded with exhaustion and hunger. The sound of movement in the kitchen above—faint footsteps and the clatter of pots—barely registered through my haze.

In the far corner of the basement, I was barely conscious. The sound of Martha's voice penetrated the fog in my mind, but I couldn't find the strength to respond. My wolf, sensing another wolf's presence, managed a weak howl that escaped my human throat as a hoarse cry.

Martha followed the sound, her eyes adjusting to the gloom faster than human eyes would. She found me huddled against the wall, shivering violently, my gaze unfocused.

"Oh, merciful moon," she gasped, kneeling beside me. "Freya, can you hear me?"