Page 14 of Exiled Mate

“Fine. Follow me,” she snaps.

Terra spins and heads off into the woods. I follow her, cautious of anyone who might be around.

So far, there’s no sign of Chet’s goons anywhere. However, that does nothing to heal the sadness in my heart as I follow Terra into the woods.

I know better than to hope that this will be good. If anything, it’s going to be yet another chance for me to hurt Terra.

I’ll do anything to keep from breaking her heart again. Anything, of course, except tell her the full truth.

If Terra knows what I’ve done these last two years? She’ll definitely think I’m the monster that everyone sees me as. And for good reason.

I am a monster. I’ve had to become one, exiled from the pack. Fighting in the rings was the only way I knew how to make money. I figured that at the time of my exile, I had two good years to do it, before I wouldn’t be able to shift again. I could at least earn some cash to set myself up in human society when the time came, so I thought fighting was a good option for me.

I thought I might just die there, if I’m being honest. But now, there’s the chance to make sure Terra doesn’t suffer because of Chet’s stupidity.

I just don’t want Terra to know what I’ve had to become in order to survive.

Chapter 5

Terra

No one except for Rylan knows about the tent.

That’s part of why I like it. My mom doesn’t know. Ember doesn’t know.

The meadow is incredibly sheltered. There’s a creek that runs above it, and about half a mile up, it splits, putting the meadow squarely in the middle of two thin streams of water, which makes it hard for shifters to track since they have to cross the stream, which periodically floods. The meadow is elevated about six feet higher than the banks of the creek, and the island has a total surface area of about a half mile. It’s big enough that you don’t realize that it’s an island, but small enough that the two streams of the creek pretty effectively hide the little canvas tent.

I know the minute that Rylan knows where we’re going, because he lets out a little huff. I wait for him to say more, and when he doesn’t, I breathe against the frustration in my chest.

I put in a wood bridge over the first stream last year. I deftly hop over it, then look back.

Rylan’s staring at the bridge.

“What?”

“How often do you come here?” he says in a thick voice.

Every week. Sometimes twice a day if I have time. “I just didn’t like getting my feet wet.”

Rylan huffs. He takes a step back then clears the five-foot gap over the creek in one leap.

Well. There’s that, I guess.

I don’t respond to him, walking instead to the canvas tent. “Get in here,” I bark at him.

Rylan follows.

Inside the tent, I’ve really done it up. I love the idea of glamping, and I have fun trying to create a cute space in here. So, because of that, there’s a water (and insect) proof plastic barrier. I have a luxurious bed, with an actual mattress, and some nice lighting and several poufs scattered around. There’s also a couple of lamps, hooked up to a generator that I put on the back side of the tent. In theory, I could put cooking supplies out here, but I don’t really need that right now.

“Terra,” Rylan breathes as he steps into the tent. “This is...”

“I know,” I mutter.

I’m already mad about being here. The fact that I now have to enter my little oasis and remember how big Rylan is when he steps inside, and how the lamp light looks on his hard chest, and how he smells…

Yeah. Maybe I’ll tear the whole thing down.

“This is amazing. Why did you…”

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