The Alpha's Exiled Mate Chapter 93

Freya's POV

The early morning sunlight streamed through the kitchen windows, casting a warm glow over the polished countertops. Martha stood at the stove, expertly stirring a rich meat sauce that filled the air with a mouthwatering aroma. I watched her work, my mind elsewhere despite the hunger that gnawed at my stomach.

"Freya, dear, taste this and tell me if it needs more herbs," Martha said, holding out a wooden spoon.

I blinked, realizing she'd been speaking to me. "I'm sorry, what?"

Martha's brow furrowed with concern. She set the spoon down and wiped her hands on her apron. "You've been staring at that same spot on the wall for ten minutes. Are you feeling alright? Your burns healing properly?"

"Yes, they're much better," I assured her, automatically touching the bandage on my arm where the chemical burns were healing. Dr. Maloy's treatment had worked wonders, though the skin remained tender.

Martha's eyes narrowed. "Is someone giving you trouble again? Because as head of household now, I can reassign anyone who's not treating you properly."

I shook my head quickly. "No, nothing like that. The staff has been... cautious around me since Rebecca and Diane were dismissed." In truth, they'd been walking on eggshells, afraid to risk Alpha Thorne's wrath.

"Then what's bothering you?" Martha pressed, returning to her sauce but keeping her attention on me.

I sighed, deciding on a partial truth. "I'm working on my design for the Silverstone ceremony competition, but I'm stuck on some elements. The deadline's approaching, and I can't seem to get past this creative block."

I thought about Thorne's expressionless face last night when he refused my request to leave the estate, and sighed again. I couldn't imagine how angry he'd be if he knew I was still working on this competition entry. At least Jasper had promised I could participate without revealing my real name.

Martha nodded sympathetically. "Sometimes the mind needs rest to create. You've been through a lot." She dipped the spoon into the sauce again and approached me. "Here, try this. A wolf needs strength to create."

The rich, savory flavor burst across my tongue, and my wolf stirred appreciatively. "It's perfect," I said, genuinely impressed.

Martha smiled, but her expression quickly turned serious as she glanced toward the doorway and lowered her voice. "Freya, I need to ask you something. What did Alpha Thorne say when you spoke with him yesterday?"

I tensed, remembering his cold command again: Don't speak of leaving again. "He made it clear I'm to remain at Grey Estate," I answered carefully.

Martha's face fell slightly. She stirred the sauce with more vigor than necessary, then set the pot aside and came to sit across from me at the small kitchen table. Her voice dropped to barely above a whisper.

"I've been thinking about your situation," she said, leaning forward. "I have savings—quite a bit, actually. I've been worked for thirty years, and I've put away enough that..." She hesitated, then continued with determination. "Enough that we could leave. Both of us. Start fresh in another pack territory."

My breath caught. "Martha, you can't—"

"I can," she insisted. "You're not the only one who's watched the Riley family suffer. I served your mother for years before..." She trailed off, pain flickering across her features. "What happened to your family wasn't right. And what's happening to you now isn't right either."

"But your position here—you just became head of household," I protested.

Martha waved her hand dismissively. "Titles don't matter when your conscience can't rest. We could go to the eastern territories. I have connections in River Moon Pack. They're good people, less obsessed with bloodlines."

I felt a lump form in my throat. "What about my family? I need to find out what happened to them."

"Freya," Martha said gently, "I understand your loyalty to your family. But you need to consider your own safety and happiness first. If you keep digging into the Riley exile case while living under Grey's roof..." She shook her head. "It's like sleeping in a bear's den while planning to steal its honey."

The kitchen door swung open, and Thomas entered carrying a basket of vegetables from the greenhouse. Martha immediately stood and returned to the stove, our conversation abruptly halted.

"The herbs you requested, Ms. Martha," Thomas said, setting the basket on the counter.

"Thank you, Thomas," Martha replied, her demeanor shifting seamlessly back to professional efficiency.

I excused myself, my mind spinning with Martha's offer. The idea of leaving with someone who actually cared about me was tempting. But could I really abandon my search for my family? And would Alpha Thorne even allow me to leave?

---

The answer to my last question came later that day when Thorne returned to the estate. I was crossing the main hallway with a stack of freshly laundered table linens when he entered through the front door. Our eyes met briefly, and I saw his flash gold—his wolf acknowledging mine—before he deliberately looked away.

For the rest of the day, he maintained his distance, never speaking directly to me. When he needed something from a room I was in, he would send another staff member with instructions rather than address me himself. The message was clear: after our conversation yesterday, he was establishing boundaries.

"He's angry because I asked to leave twice", my wolf whimpered. "We should apologize."

"No", I thought firmly. "We did nothing wrong by asking."

By afternoon, I retreated to the tiny attic room that had been assigned to me. I sat cross-legged on the narrow bed, my sketchpad balanced on my knees as I tried to focus on my design. The tribal moon pattern I'd been developing incorporated elements of both traditional wolf symbolism and modern minimalism—a bridge between old and new that I hoped would appeal to the judges.

But my pencil remained still, my mind too occupied with thoughts of Thorne's coldness and Martha's offer to concentrate on creative work. With a frustrated sigh, I set the sketchpad aside and reached for my phone.

I hesitated a moment before sending a message to Jasper Stone:

[Is it possible to extend the deadline for the design submission? I'm experiencing some unexpected delays.]