Page 29 of Mated Exile

Or may have done so already, all because I pulled the chip out of my neck without thinking through the consequences.

I thought I was strong enough to face everything here. How little I knew of what strength really is. Getting pushed down, beat back, and torn apart is inevitable. It's the getting back up again that's the hardest—and I'm afraid that if I get back up too quickly, without knowing the full cost, I'll do something that can't easily be undone.

"I need to sleep," I declare, getting up quickly and shoving my chair back. It rocks back and forth on its legs, unsteady from my sudden movements. "I've barely slept at all. Cat—can you make up a place for Bastian? Maybe... the daybed in the office upstairs. He should get to rest, too."

Cat reaches out and squeezes my fingers gently, her eyes full of worry. "Are you sure you don't want to talk more? Maybe try to figure a few things out?"

"I'm done talking," I tell her wearily, pulling the journal to my chest. Meeting the eyes of those around the table, I swallow and tell them, "I'm so glad you were all out looking for me. It means a lot that you cared. But I'm back now, and things have to go back to normal—or whatever passes for normalcy around here. So if you don't mind, I'd like to get a good night's rest, and whatever this is, whatever my ancestry means, can wait until tomorrow."

Finn quickly says, "Whatever you need, Dollface. It's all at your pace."

"Thank you." I pass him a smile, then glance over at Roarke, who's staring thoughtfully at his fingertips. "I just hope I'm able to find my own place within the pack, no matter what happens to it. Whether the curse is broken or not, whether I really have all these powers or I'm just a werewolf with a few extra tricks, I want to feel like I'm home again."

Kieran says roughly, "It was always your home."

"Was it?" I challenge him.

He meets my eyes. "I'll regret what I did to you for the rest of my life."

"I hope you do. I still don't understand why you did it." Searching his eyes, I ask the question that has been at the back of my mind since the day I returned home and learned of the curse. "Did my father tell you reject me?"

Nothing else made sense. Nothing elsewouldmake sense. And the instant I say the words, I can see in Kieran's eyes that I'm right.

"He did." His voice is soft, but his eyes are hard. "It's the worst thing I've ever done. I should've told your father no."

Niall shocks me by saying, "I should've done the same. It was wrong of me, Delilah—being an alpha doesn't mean making decisions that go unquestioned. I trusted him to know what was best for his daughter, and I see now that I was wrong."

"Right," I mutter, exhaustion settling into me bone-deep. "I think I'll go to bed now."

"Sleep well," Lance says, his voice soft and gentle. "If you don't want to work on the house tomorrow, it's understandable. Just let us know."

As I turn and leave, one last voice reaches out to catch me. It's Roarke, his words spoken clearly and confidently, his voice just loud enough to hear.

"Whatever else you are, you've always been Delilah Glass. That's all I'll ever think of you as being. Don't let the fears of a dead man and something that happened centuries ago worm its way under your skin, Dee. You're stronger than that."

I glance over my shoulder to acknowledge his words. He's still staring down at the table, but he raises his eyes briefly to meet my gaze. Warmth blossoms in me at the clearness of those summer-blue eyes, and I swear he's looking at me like the world around him has fallen away, and I'm all that he sees.

Shaking the feeling off, I do exactly what I said I'd do, and head to bed. The comforter is familiar, soft and warm, especially after not sleeping properly for so long. I snuggle down into the mattress and pull it tight around me, making a cocoon of my own warmth.

Turning my head into the pillow, I take in a single breath—and breathe out on a sob.

Bit by bit, every single ounce of moisture wrings out of me and onto my pillow as I cry my eyes out as hard as I dare, holding my hands against my mouth to stifle the sobs.

As tears pour down my face, I set the journal aside on my pink childhood nightstand, and shove my comforter over my head.

I'll give myself this one night to cry.

Tomorrow, I'll look inside myself, and find out what's been lurking beneath my skin all this time.

My father may have been too scared of me to love me fully. That doesn't mean I can't love myself. If there's strength in me that frightens the pack, so be it. I'll prove to them, and to myself, that I can be trusted to be one of them.

A leader. A fighter.

An exile no more.

Thirteen

Delilah

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