The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 80

Freya's POV

"Riley," his voice sounded far away, though I could smell his scent growing stronger as he approached. "Freya!"

I felt strong arms catch me just before I hit the floor. The familiar scent of pine and midnight enveloped me as Thorne held me against his chest. Even in my semi-conscious state, my wolf responded to his proximity, curling toward his warmth like a flower seeking the sun.

"You need rest," Thorne's voice rumbled against my ear. "I'll take you back to your room."

I felt myself being lifted effortlessly, cradled against his solid chest. My head rolled against his shoulder, my senses overwhelmed by his nearness. Something primal in me wanted to press closer, to burrow into his strength.

"That won't be necessary, Alpha Thorne."

Martha's voice cut through the haze, sharp with disapproval. I hadn't even heard her approach, but the scent of lavender and bread suddenly mingled with Thorne's as she stepped closer.

"I can take care of Miss Riley. How could I have the nerve to trouble you to take care of Freya?"

I felt Thorne's chest expand with a deep breath, his arms tightening almost imperceptibly around me before he reluctantly relinquished his hold. The transfer from his arms to Martha's supportive grip left me feeling strangely bereft, despite the impropriety of our position.

"See that she rests," Thorne ordered, his voice a controlled rumble that failed to completely mask his frustration. "And bring Dr. Maloy to examine her when he arrives."

"Of course, Alpha Thorne," Martha replied, her tone respectful but cool as she guided me away.

The journey back to my attic room passed in a blur of corridors and whispered reassurances from Martha. By the time we reached my small bed, I was more alert, though exhaustion still pulled at every muscle.

"There you go, dear," Martha said, helping me sit on the edge of the bed. She poured a glass of water from the pitcher on my nightstand and pressed it into my hands. "Small sips now."

I obeyed, grateful for the cool liquid sliding down my parched throat. Martha busied herself drawing the curtains to dim the morning light before turning back to me with a worried frown.

"That scene in the dining room—I saw it all," she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Grey shouldn't have put you through that interrogation, not with you looking like death warmed over."

A weak laugh escaped me. "Is that your professional medical opinion?"

"It's my professional opinion as someone who's worked in grand houses for forty years," she retorted, hands on her hips. "That man may be an Alpha, but he has no business questioning someone who can barely stand."

"He was just doing his job," I said, though I wasn't sure why I felt compelled to defend him.

Martha made a dismissive noise in her throat. "His job is to lead the pack, not drive exhausted exiles to collapse." She pressed a hand to my forehead. "You're still too cold. I'll bring you some hot tea and extra blankets."

"Thank you, Martha," I whispered, suddenly overwhelmed by her kindness.

After she left, I sank back against the pillows, my mind replaying the moment of Thorne catching me, the feeling of safety in his arms. It was dangerous to think that way. Thorne Grey was not my protector. He was my jailer, my judge, the man who had exiled me and destroyed my family.

And yet, the memory of his arms around me lingered like a stubborn scent that refused to fade.

---

When I awoke, sunlight slanted through the gap in my curtains, indicating it was well past noon. My body felt less like lead, though a bone-deep weariness remained. On my nightstand sat a tray with a covered plate and a teapot, still faintly warm to the touch. Martha must have come and gone while I slept.

As I sipped the lukewarm tea, my thoughts returned to yesterday's conversation with Thorne about the Silverstone ritual design competition. He had made his position clear—he didn't want me participating in anything connected to Jasper Stone.

My gaze drifted to my tablet, propped against the wall where Martha had plugged it in to charge. Rebecca and Diane had deleted my digital designs, but Martha had managed to recover them from her phone's backup—her tablet and phone shared a cloud account.

I picked up the tablet, my fingers hovering over the screen. The design was still there, waiting for me to complete it. Thorne had only destroyed the paper sketches; he didn't know about the digital version.

"The Silverstone ritual design competition," his voice echoed in my memory. "Is it important to you?"

It was. More than I had admitted to him. This competition represented my chance to reclaim a piece of my former self—to prove I was still Freya Riley, talented designer, not just "the exile" or "the servant." It was a bridge back to the person I had been before everything was taken from me.

But Thorne had made his wishes clear. Participating would be a direct defiance of his authority.

"Alpha Thorne isn't your Alpha anymore," a rebellious voice whispered in my mind. "Your exile period is over. You're free to make your own choices."

Before I could think better of it, I opened the design file and began to work, making subtle adjustments to the composition. The familiar flow of creativity washed over me, bringing with it a sense of purpose I hadn't felt in years.

The distinctive chime of an incoming call interrupted my concentration. I glanced at the screen, my pulse quickening when I saw Jasper Stone's name.

After a moment's hesitation, I accepted the call.

"Freya," Jasper's voice was smooth and confident. "I trust I'm not interrupting anything important?"

"Alpha Stone," I acknowledged, keeping my voice low despite knowing I was alone. "Actually, I was just working on the design."

"Excellent! That's precisely why I'm calling. How is the progress coming along?"

I hesitated, weighing my next words carefully. "Alpha Thorne has... expressed concerns about my participation in the competition."

"Concerns?" Jasper's tone sharpened. "Or prohibitions?"

"He believes I shouldn't be involved in any activities connected to the Silverstone Pack," I admitted.

A short laugh came through the speaker. "Of course he does. Thorne Grey would prefer to keep you isolated and dependent. Tell me, Freya, did he destroy your designs yet? That seems like something he would do."

The accuracy of his prediction sent a chill down my spine. "The paper versions, yes."

"But not the digital copies, I hope?" There was genuine concern in his voice.

"No, those are safe."

"Good." The relief in his voice sounded sincere. "Listen, Freya, I understand your precarious position. Grey can be... territorial. But this competition could be your ticket to independence."

"That's what I'm hoping," I admitted. "But I need to know—will my identity be protected if I submit? Grey has made it clear there would be consequences."

"Absolutely," Jasper assured me. "The submission system only displays code numbers to the judges. Your identity will be known only to me and my assistant who processes the entries. Grey will never know unless you choose to tell him."

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "Thank you."

"Of course." His voice softened. "Freya, I want you to know that if you ever need to leave Grey's territory, I can provide the necessary support. My pack values talent over bloodlines. You would be welcomed here."

The offer hung between us, tempting and dangerous all at once.

"That's... generous of you," I said carefully. "But I have to find my family first."

"I understand. Just know the offer stands." He paused. "The deadline is in three days. I look forward to seeing your submission."

After ending the call, I sat motionless, turning Jasper's words over in my mind. His offer of protection was tempting, especially after everything that had happened at Grey Estate. But Thorne's warning about Jasper's ulterior motives gave me pause.

"He's using you as a pawn against me," Thorne had said.

Was that true? Or was Thorne simply trying to control me, as Jasper suggested?

My phone chimed with a banking notification, pulling me from my thoughts. I opened the app, expecting to see the usual minimal balance.

Instead, I stared in disbelief at the screen.

Three million silver coins had been deposited into my account—triple the amount Kaelin had promised.

A message followed the deposit notification:

[One month. Leave Grey Estate. The extra 2 million is payment for you to never show your face in Moon Bay again.]