Page 59 of Alpha Exile

A trap she'll sorely regret, because I have Gregor's dagger at my hip. I grab its hilt as I get closer to Roarke, letting flames dance across my free hand. He shrinks back from their warm light, his jaw yawning wide, eyes nervous and ears pinned back on his head.

"It's okay," I murmur to him, soothing him the way I would a feral cat or dog. Kneeling down, I stretch my hand out towards him, the fire pooling harmlessly in my cupped palm. "It's just for light and warmth. I won't hurt you."

Unless he hurts me first.

His eyes are slick with fear, though, and my soothing tone clearly isn't working. So I let the fire go, choosing to hold onto the dagger just in case Delphine is nearby. Making soothing, wordless sounds at Roarke, I ease slowly towards him, staying low to the ground and trying to appear non-threatening.

One step. Two. Three.

I get close enough that my fingers brush his whiskers the next time I reach out towards him. He flinches, but doesn't recoil, his breathing rapid and nervous.

I consider reaching out to the others, calling Lance to me and having him bring the bottle of water from the caverns. But Roarke's pulse is rapid fire beneath my fingers, and I worry that adding someone new to the mix would terrify him.

If he runs away, I may never have this chance again.

Especially because no part of him seems to recognize me at all. Just like he didn't recognize Kieran earlier. I'm only lucky that he's either still injured enough not to attack me, or fearful from the earlier attack, because he doesn't snarl or snap as I lean in towards him.

"Some part of you must remember me," I murmur, deciding that Delphine must not be nearby, or she would've made a move by now. I let my hand fall from the dagger's grip and dare to reach both palms towards Roarke, inching forward until my fingers skim his dark, shaggy ruff. "You were trying to come home, weren't you? But when you got here, we were all gone, and the house was unrecognizable. I'm so sorry, Roarke."

His skin flinches, the fur whispering against my fingers. Lifting a front paw, he eases his weight back—and I hold my breath, afraid he'll turn and run away, uncertain what I'll do if he does.

Our gazes meet, his dark, fathomless, and full of moonlight.

I wait for him to come to me, daring to believe that some part of him still lives on, that his soul is not entirely gone. Because surely I would feel it if there were no more Roarke in this world, no more of my summer-tanned boy with bright blue eyes, who made me laugh with delight as a girl and moan in sin as a woman. I would feel his absence the way the earth feels the setting sun, cold and forlorn without its light.

Slowly, his ears relax forward.

He breathes out, long and low, and tips his nose down towards the ground. Stepping towards me, he lets me press my fingers into his fur. His tongue comes out to lick his lips, and he whimpers.

I breathe out as well. Pressing my forehead against his, I sink into his soft fur, inhaling his familiar scent. It's slightly sweet with sickness, but not so much as it was earlier. His muscles tremble and shiver beneath my touch as I run my hands up and down his neck.

When I pull my hands back, they're wet with his blood.

"I'm so sorry," I murmur against his muzzle, tears rolling down my cheeks. "I wish that we had gotten to you in time. Maybe then you wouldn't be like... this."

He presses his nose against my collarbone, the side of his jaw rubbing against my neck. I should fear the nearness of his fangs, but I only feel hollow, grief carving me out and filling me with regrets.

"I'll try to make it better." Sliding my arms around him, I pull him into a hug and press the side of my cheek against his neck. "We can make it better."

I want to believe. I dare to hope, as dangerous as it is.

Maybe I can bring him back, can make him my mate again, and it'll be as if it never happened at all. He was never lost, only ever found—only ever mine to have and to hold.

Reaching out my awareness, I brush against his mind and wince at the chaos that I feel within him. He's a storm of emotions, of fury and righteousness that feel nothing like the Roarke I know. It takes ages before I'm able to sort through everything my senses throw at me and discover a tiny sliver of my summer-blue boy remaining, like the eye in the center of a storm.

Grabbing hold of that sliver, I tug it towards me, unspooling him like he's a ball of yarn. I can sense the ancient spirit inside him. It resists my efforts, howling with rage, but I lean on the strength of my mates and fight back.

What's going on?Lance's voice echoes in my ears, tinny and far away. He feels me as I use him as an anchor in this fight, and senses Roarke's nearness.We'll be right there.

Carefully!I send the thought out towards them all, my eyes flitting open to watch as Roarke's body shudders between his wolf form and his human form, his soul desperately trying to hang on as a fight rages through him.Don't come too close, or you might scare him away. He's... not in great shape.

He isn't. I close the connection between me and the guys before they can see or sense anything further, because as Roarke's body trembles and shifts fully to human, my heart twists at the sight of the bruises and healing wounds that criss-cross his chest and neck. From shoulder to hip and back again, he's been thoroughly beaten, bitten, and scratched—not just by Kieran, from the looks of it.

Rage smolders within me, stoking the flame in my chest. Delphine will pay for what she's done to him. I will tear her limb from limb and burn her body to ashes, scorching her existence from this very earth.

First, though, I put my hands on Roarke's chin and press it up so I can look into his face. "Roarke? Is that you?"

His eyes slide open, and I gasp.

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