Page 10 of Alpha Exile

"This is the last of them." I hand him a small box that has the journal of a previous Glass Pack alpha in it, which is how I discovered a wolf-witch hybrid cursed the pack in the first place. "I'll come back up in a minute. I want to make sure I got it all."

"Sure thing." He pauses for a moment, looking over at me. "What are we going to do?"

Looking up at my father's right-hand man, I admit, "I don't know. I have to get them back." I slide my palm down my leg, feeling the comforting weight of the dagger against my thigh. "Once the warriors are better, I'll... lead a party of our best wolves out to find them. There has to be a trail. Some kind of sign."

Niall studies me for a long moment, then nods sharply. "If anyone can find them, it's our alpha."

Our alpha.The only one left now. That realization makes panic claw its way up my throat, so I glance down and away, pretending to study the remaining boxes on the shelves against the wall. Niall goes up the stairs, leaving me along in peace, my worst fears dancing in my head.

What if I'm not good enough to lead my people?

Smart enough to get my mates back?

Strong enough to kill Delphine?

There's so much to fix, and I don't know how to do it alone. I have Niall and Kerry, sure, but that isn't the same. Until I fill the aching hollowness inside me with the mates I've made my own, I don't know what to do with myself.

To distract my mind, I set out to find a sheath for Gregor's dagger. My father had several knives, some of them more useful than others. A few were used to butcher meat; he has a freezer down here with pounds of venison, rabbit, and wild fowl. It'll have to be brought up soon, unless we're able to dry the house out enough to bring the power back on safely.

Most of the sheaths are too small for the dagger, but I find one eventually that works. It slides onto a belt that I thread through my belt loops, my throat tightening as I realize the leather belt fits. It must have belonged to my mother—or at least, the mother I knew growing up, my father's mate.

That task settled, I go through the boxes one last time to make sure I've gotten everything. It's a distant possibility, but there may be something in my father's things that helps us hunt Delphine. He kept a lot of things from everyone, and it's possible some of those things might be useful.

As I'm searching through the boxes on the shelves, I spot something on the ground just behind the shelving unit that snags my attention. It's a small filing box with my name written on it in big block letters that I recognize as my father's handwriting.

Pulling it out from behind the shelving unit, I cough as dust flies up into my nose and settles on the corners of my eyes. Yanking the lid off, I set my flashlight beam on the interior and start rummaging through.

The box is full of letters.

Handwritten ones in ghostly, too-familiar handwriting.

It takes me a moment to realize that they're all addressed to me. Another to realize how many of them are copies of each other—half-starts and aborted attempts to write full-length letters, a few of which he mailed to me. I burned all those letters without opening them, something that felt satisfying and right at the time, but aches like a nauseous fist in my stomach now.

I desperately want to know why he exiled me, why he had Kieran reject me and told Niall to drive me far away. Fingers trembling, I unfold one of the letters and skim the pieces that jump out.

...so many things I haven't told you. Your mother was a different woman

I wish, looking back, that I'd told you the truth. But I'm afraid that if I had, you would've fought a battle that wasn't your responsibility to fight.

Maybe you're better off where you are.

Despite everything, I loved your mother Laura. Which is why I couldn't be with the woman fate brought to me, deep in the caverns in the mountains.

My only, last, desperate hope is that you'll come back one day, Delilah, and return to take your place in the pack. Even though I don't deserve to see that—

I cut my eyes away, emotions brimming in my chest, a lump settling into my throat and tears forming in the corners of my eyes. There are words in these letters that I no doubt want to read, but I don't think I can read them right now. So I push the ink-stained papers down in the filing box and set it aside for later.

Once my heart is whole, and my mates have returned to me, I'll sit down and read my father's words. I'll try to understand why he did what he did, and make my own peace with the dead. For now, though, I have larger concerns.

There's a tug in my chest that makes me grab the filing box and take the stairs two at a time. Once I'm on the main level of the house, I feel the pull of my pack tugging on my heartstrings. So I walk out towards the front porch, set the filing box down next to a pile of errant things, and survey the wounded, barely recovered warriors before me.

They're arranged on the front lawn of the house, forming a line behind Niall, grouped in small clusters. Most of them are in human form, though a few are lying down in the grass cloaked in their wolf fur and muscle. I study them, taking inventory of their bruises and cuts, feeling their determination through my link to them all.

I am their only alpha now. They've come because they're not done fighting. They may be down and out, and some of them are too injured to leave the urgent care center and make their way here. Even so, those who can still get up on their feet, whether two or four, want desperately to seek my approval.

"We want to fight."

Ian is the warrior who approaches first, his left arm in a sling and his right eye blackened and bruised. Josie shadows him, and I give thanks that she's still alive.

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