Page 15 of Rejected Exile

"So you've decided it's better if we just throw in the towel and give up. Because you think if another pack steps in and gets rid of the blood rot, he'll wake up and be the friend he used to be to you."

"You didn't know him before all this," Roarke says, a familiar refrain I've heard from him before. "He used to be different. What happened with Tara... it changed everything."

"That was years ago," I argue. "He should be over it by now. The rest of us have gotten used to not having a mate bond—I'm sure Kieran would too, if you weren't babysitting him."

Roarke’s eyes flash, and for a moment I think he might actually fight me. As much as I loathe conflict, I would almost welcome it from him—better than the limp man who stands before me, too obsessed with saving a single member of his pack to see all the others who need him.

But it only takes a moment for Roarke's anger to dissipate. He shakes his head and steps back from the brewing conflict, refusing to let the heat of anger rule him. That's one reason why I know he'd be a good alpha—and why I'm so frustrated he hasn't stepped up and put in his bid.

"Do whatever you want to try to reverse the curse," he says, pacing over to the coffee table to grab a remote and turn the TV on, flipping over to a football game. "Just don't expect me to put all my faith in a solution we've been unable to find for years."

"There's got to be something," I tell him, feeling fierce conviction inside me. "I know there is."

"And if there isn't?"

"Then I won't give up on the pack. I'll do whatever it takes to save it."

"That's how I feel too." Roarke's jaw sets at a stubborn angle that radiates with tension. "Which is why, when the day comes, I'm prepared to give up completely to save us. The Glass Pack Territory doesn't need to live on underneath the Glass name—a pack is its people, and we should prioritize them above all else."

Roarke really believes what he's saying. He thinks that if another alpha comes in, takes over, and bonds their pack spirit with the earth, it'll be enough to drive the blood rot out and reverse the curse.

I wish I could believe the same thing. But I want to save our people—and that means saving the Glass Pack name and spirit, too. I'm convinced that Roarke would see that if he weren't so busy trying to save Kieran from himself.

At the end of the day, Roarke Bell would be better off if Kieran Salt were dead. Probably all of us would be.

It's the least he deserves, I'm beginning to realize, for the part he played in Delilah's exile.

Six

Delilah

Everything in Juniper has changed.

It's not just my father's house, I'm beginning to realize. I look around in disbelief after I park near the town square and get out of my car. The very fabric of the community here has withered. Half the stores are closed up permanently; the other half look close to it, advertising clearance sales beneath peeling signs. Even the foot traffic past the stores is a fraction of what it used to be.

Until now, I only half-believed Lance's story. I thought he had to be mistaken, or exaggerating somehow. Surely, Glass Pack Territory hadn't given in to blood rot, and the mate bonds weren't all gone because of death and destruction. It was impossible to imagine the strong, vital pack my father led being brought to its knees in the years since I was exiled.

Now that I'm in the middle of things, I have to admit he was telling the truth. If anything he was downplaying the news as he broke it to me.

As I walk down the footpath past an old shoe store that's closed, and a floral shop that looks dusty, my heart skips a beat to see a familiar store still open: Bea's Toy Shop, an old haunt I went to often as a child. Glancing around like I'll see old ghosts here, I shake off the paranoia that I'll run intohimand rush to the front of the store, then pause.

Sure, it's unlikely I'll see Kieran here—grown men don't exactly hang out around toy stores—but a worse thought occurs to me. What if Bea is no longer here? She was human, so there's no way the curse took her, and I know she wasn't old enough to have passed away from natural causes. But Lance's story seemed to suggest that many of the townies left Juniper as the blood rot closed in. It wouldn't be a big surprise if that included Bea.

I can't just stand here waiting in suspense, though. Steeling myself against disappointment, I push open the wide glass door and walk inside.

Relief fills me at the familiar sights. The toy store is still the same. Shelves on either side near the entrance are filled with everything from board games, to puzzles, handheld electronics, a few video games behind locked doors, and even model trains. There are large barrels near the front that are full of tiny odds and ends like wind-up toys and bouncy balls.

Toys aren't the only thing Bea filled her shop with, though. There's a long ice cream counter in the back, the fluorescent light glowing beneath the sneeze guard. Clear acrylic bins near the counter are full of taffy and candy. And next to that, a wide doorway with a thick black curtain marks the entrance to the arcade, where everything from Street Fighter to Grand Theft Auto can be played for just a quarter—quarters Bea will let you get back from the machine if you give her a wide enough smile.

No one is behind the ice cream counter or the cash register, but as I step in the door swings shut behind me and the bell rings. A familiar voice calls out, "Just a minute!"

My heart soars—and then twists anxiously. I came here hoping for a reunion, but there's no telling what I'll get. Bea may not have been embroiled in pack politics like everyone else, but will she even remember me? Will she care, or just consider me a nuisance? I left without even so much as saying goodbye.

Not that Niall or my father would've let me walk around town waving off every human townie I saw.

Maybe I shouldn't have come here. I could go—head back out the door and dart around the corner without notice. I may not have a wolf, but I was born to two werewolves. There's plenty of strength and speed within me to evade one human chasing me.

The black curtain twitches before I can make up my mind to flee, and a familiar figure slips into view. Bea is older now, her hair more salt than pepper, and short-cropped close to her ears. But she has the same rich brown skin, gold hoop earrings, and fashion sense. Right now she's wearing a flowing purple silk blouse and loose pants covered in leopard print with a sash tied at the waist—and she's looking right at me, her eyes widening.

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