Page 34 of Rejected Exile

He turns to me, and as those summer blue eyes land on my face, I feel my cheeks heat up. "We were trying to figure out how to apologize for yesterday."

"Apologize? For what?"

"The things Kieran said." Roarke's mouth thins out into an unhappy line. "He shouldn't have said them. It's not his fault—" Finn clears his throat, and Roarke amends, "Well, it is his fault. But he wouldn't have said them if he weren't... going through some things."

Finn snorts. "What Kieran's bestie over here means is that he's a drug addict."

The floor sways beneath me. "A what?"

"A drug addict." Roarke shoots Finn a frustrated look, but the charming man just shrugs. "What, I'm supposed to lie about it? The whole town knows that Kieran lets vamps bite him so he can get high off the venom."

"No." I take a step back, shock thrumming through me. "Vampire venom—no way. That's impossible."

Not the Kieran I knew.

The strong, sunny boy.

With an easy smile and a charm that made every girl swoon. A charm that he reserved just for me—his closest friend turned something more, the girl he planned on forming a mate bond with.

My legs shake and tremble. I feel like everything is giving away around me. It's all too much—too much change, too many revelations. Clearly it's getting to me. I swear the world tilts for a minute.

Then Roarke is staring at me in alarm, and he reaches out a hand. "Delilah—watch out!"

I realize what he means too late.

The rotted boards of the porch give way beneath me, and I fall through them instantly, a strangled yelp leaving my lips.

Twelve

Delilah

Iwince as the jagged edge of a broken wood plank digs into my thigh. Roarke kneels several inches away from me, trying to stay off the bad wood as he reaches out to me. I push his offered hand away, embarrassed.

"I'm fine," I tell him, the scream I just let out echoing through my ears. "I only fell like... a foot or two."

Though I swear something just brushed against my ankle, and it was definitely alive. A shudder goes through me. Leaning forward, I press my palms against the porch to try to lift myself out—and fall back with a hiss as sharp pain goes through the side of my leg.

"Don't try to get yourself out," Roarke says sharply, his brows furrowed in concern. God, he's so close to me I can see the white and yellow rings in the middle of his blue irises. "You'll just make it worse. You need to be lifted directly up—the way you came. Finn?"

"Here—let me get around to the other side." Finn leaps down the steps, walks around to the other end of the porch, and climbs over the railing. Boards creak beneath his feet as he steps carefully towards me. "This damned thing needs to be taken apart and rebuilt from scratch."

"Preferably today," Roarke agrees. "We'll get right on it as soon as we get Delilah out."

Craning my neck, I look over my shoulder towards Finn—and nearly jump back to discover myself staring at him from maybe a foot away. He's close enough that I can smell his scent, even with my shiftless nose: a light bit of coconut, heady vanilla, and a whiff of sharp campfire smoke. I'd call it a cologne on any human man, but it's probably just his werewolf scent coming to the surface because of the tight situation.

It isn't fair that werewolf males are impossibly strong, often quite handsome, andalsosmell good. Evolution was being mean when it gave them all that. Especially because I can look and smell, but I don't get to touch or taste.

I have to force myself to tear my eyes away from Finn and look straight forward, somewhere over Roarke's shoulder, towards the sky in the distance. Just as I do so, something that'sdefinitelyeither a cat or a very large rat brushes against me, and I squeal. "Sooner would be better than later!"

Roarke nods sharply to his friend. "Alright, let's get our hands under her. I'll grab beneath her shoulders—Finn, you get her waist."

"Got it."

Before I can prepare myself, Roarke's hands slide under my arms. His strong fingers stretch up to curl at the back of my shoulders, very sensibly, but his palms are so broad that they brush up against the very edges of my breasts near my armpits. Just as I'm trying to adjust to that, Finn's strong hands wrap around my waist, his fingers nearly engulfing me.

A rush of tingles shoots through my body. My nerves are so alive you'd think I was being electrified, not chastely touched by two werewolves. It almost hurts, the energy—and I swear I almost think Roarke feels it too, because he winces and draws his hands back for a moment, only to redouble his grip.

Finn murmurs, "Some kinda static shock on your clothing," his fingers wiggling on my waist like he's trying to discharge it. "That's better."

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