Page 3 of Rejected Exile

"He left it all to you. You need to come take care of his things. You need to come home."

I feel the ground tilt beneath me.He left it all to you.Not to Kieran? To Niall? To anyone else?

Claws reach for me and dig into my skin.

In a low voice I manage to spit back, "That isn'thomeanymore. Not for me. You made sure of that, Niall."

Words like acid. Burn like bile. But Niall's voice is even and resigned as he responds, "All the same, Delilah. You need to come back. I can shoot you the address if you forgot—"

"No one forgets the place where they were born." I straighten my spine, throw my shoulders back, and project confidence into my voice, just like Cat taught me. She put me back together and helped me hold the pieces of my heart in one shape. I won't fail her by sounding weak to the man who helped throw me away. "I'll be there as soon as I can. To take care of things—nothing more. I'll leave as soon as the ink is dry."

"I wouldn't expect anything more than that."

I hang up without saying goodbye. It's not a word I can manage to say easily, not anymore. It's the last word I said tohim,and he didn't even respond in kind.

Once there's no longer an ear on the other end of the phone line, I close my eyes and let the weakness take over me. Curling forward, I dig my hands into my hair, rub my fingers into my scalp, and twist my face up as a well of tears spills out onto my cheeks.

In my head I count.One, two, three...When I reach twenty I force myself out of it, taking deep breaths, wiping the tears away, and smoothing the lines of my shirt with nervous fingers.

Then I stand up, and as I pace around the break room, I make an outgoing call.

"Mom?"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Something has happened." I catch my reflection in a small mirror on the wall that the girls use to redo their makeup, and I wipe away errant mascara smudges. "I have to go back. Tothere. Werewolf territory."

Where it all began.

Where it all ended.

Two

Delilah

Cat's voice is calm and soothing as I drive back to my condo. We never hung up our phone call. She stayed on the line as I let the staff know I'd be taking a break and the assistant manager, Maria, would be in charge for a week or two. The whole time Cat guided me—on the phone speaker, then in earbuds, now on my car's bluetooth system—and it's only the sound of her voice that keeps me from falling apart.

"It should only take a day, maybe two," I tell her, making plans in my head. "Dad—William—my father didn't have many things. He was a traditional pack alpha, not the typo to work with the other creatures and takes bribe money from humans. There isn't even a casino on Glass Pack Territory land. I'm sure he left me nothing but the deed to the house and a fridge full of moldy food."

"It might take longer than that," Cat cautions in an empathetic voice. I wish she wasn't out in Seattle. Outside my window, San Diego's beaches stretch, and I long for the warm weather coming soon. I could use a dip in the ocean right now. "You should expect to take at least a week up there, maybe two. These things have a way of getting complicated fast."

The light in front of me turns red, and the pause in traffic lets my mind wander more than I'd prefer. Hands tightening on the steering wheel, I force my mind to the present, even though the past nips at my heels. Niall's voice brought so much of it back—and my father's death, sharp and unexpected, is like an anchor dragging me down.

Get her out of here.

Where, William? She's your damned daughter, not a bag of moldy potatoes.

Human land. I don't care where. Just take her somewhere I never have to see her again.

My father sent letters, later. More recently. After I'd gotten up on my feet, with Cat's help, and so much struggle. I never read the words he wrote me. As much as I long for an apology, an explanation, I knew he had the power to destroy me with whatever he'd written. I threw them away unopened, and hardened my heart. Staying strong has been my mantra these past few years. Throwing those letters away made me feel invincible.

Now I can't help but guiltily wonder if he mentioned some kind of illness in one of those letters. Niall alluded to as much in his phone call. He was always my father's right-hand man, the second-in-command he turned to when something important needed to get done. When that task was exiling me, Niall did the job thoroughly, driving me far enough away from home that I could have never made it back on my own.

He left me in a warm city, though. That was something he mentioned gruffly as he dropped me off near sandy California beaches."The hippies down here have plenty to spare. Follow the signs to the tourist attractions and beg until you're back on your feet. You'll be fine."

Never mind that all werewolves are born with different social security numbers that mark us outside the system. Or that every single social worker and police officer I spoke to told me they could do nothing but report me to the closest pack alpha. There was nothing for me in human territory—not a single ounce of support, barely even a cot at the local homeless shelter. Just a look down their noses at me, a question about my age, and instructions to return to my own kind.

Someone honks behind me. The light is green—maybe has been for a while. I hit the gas only to have to switch to the brakes when I realize I've gone too far, too fast.

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