Page 126 of Rejected and Pregnant By the Alpha King

As long as she is safe within the borders of my pack.

“You look upset.”

Turning to the sound of the voice, I spot Delilah coming up over the hill. We’d decided on taking a break for the night just as the sun began to set, our traveling brigade just on the outskirts of the last few stretches of land heading into the Southern pack territories.

“I’m only thinking,” I tell her, moving back to look over the small human town down in the valley, its lights twinkling.

“Yeah, sure. And I’m rich beyond measure.”

I throw her a look briefly.

Unperturbed by it, she says, “You know having emotions is okay, right?”

“Yes,” my voice drawls. “I’m aware.”

Honestly, I’m regretting not taking Constance with me as a buffer. Delilah isn’t exactly a nuisance to be around, however she tends to pull out the childish side in me, almost like a little sister would.

I wouldn’t say I exactly see her as something like that—maybe a forced acquaintance turned friend. She’s been invaluable during this entire situation, no matter how many times she refuses to take credit for it.

Once we’re back in Pollis, I’ll grant her whatever kind of asylum she wants. Whether that be a home in Pollis or a pardon for leaving her pack so she can join them again with no repercussions.

Hell, I’ll even go with her to tell the entirety of Andromeda myself.

“Delilah…”

She looks over at me. “What?”

“Your family.” Now that I’m thinking about it, I’m curious. “How do you feel they’re taking your absence?”

“Oh, I’m sure not well. When I got caught helping Raine escape, my mom was begging and crying on her hands and knees at Daniel not to throw me down in the cellar. He did anyway, so I’m sure she was a complete mess.” Her face falls into a far-off look.

Despite her factual tone, it seems that she misses the pack she once called home. Growing up in an environment like that may look like torture to any outsiders looking in—gods know my own childhood wasn’t something to write home about—but when it’s all you know, you long to go back to it once it’s gone.

There have been so many times since my father’s passing that I’ve missed his bellowing call to me in the mornings, demanding for me to get up and get to work before I even had an ounce of breakfast in me.

Or his harsh tone when correcting me on some obscure policy that hadn’t been documented or used in decades.

Looking back on my childhood, I have a sick sense of fondness for many of the fucked up things that went on, but were so normal that I never considered them to be harmful until I was much older.

By then, the damage was done, and now I’m doomed to forever miss those times.

“I’m sure they’ll be happy when you go back home to them,” I say.

She shakes her head, though. “I don’t think I can. Not after everything that’s happened with Daniel. How can I trust my own pack alpha after he sold my best friend and kept me locked up for a whole week so I couldn’t go after her?”

“But your family. Won’t you miss them?”

“Yes.” Her hands tuck behind her back. “Don’t you miss yours?”

“Mine are dead. That’s not the same thing.”

“Why not? You still miss them, don’t you?”

I sigh.

This conversation has veered off into a complicated subject that I don’t wish to talk about. I miss my mother quite often and wish for her to come back, like she’s been away on some extended business trip and is due back any moment.

My father, on the other hand, is a completely different story.

---