Page 43 of Rejected Exile

"You should go flirt with Finn," Cat murmurs to me over cups of coffee, as we watch the guys carefully slide the sofa back onto the repaired hardwood floor. "He seems pretty eager to catch your eye, and he's no lightweight. I bet it'd be easy to get with him."

I roll my eyes at her words, though I don't deny myself a little look at Finn's ass as he braces beneath the weight of the sofa. "They're just here to fix the house, Cat. Slavering all over them isn't exactly hospitality."

"How did you grow up to be such a prude? I thought I raised you better than that."

"Youdid.But this is different." I take a long sip of my coffee, letting its warmth trickle down my throat. "These are werewolves. They don't do flings or half-commitment. At least... not with other werewolves."

Cat raises a brow at me. "Have you told them about the chip?"

"No!" My hand goes to my neck, and I have to drag my fingers away. "I haven't decided what to do with it yet. So I'm not tellinganyoneuntil I do."

"Well, then that means they stillthinkyou're shiftless. Which makes you basically a human—they can't mate with you, right?"

"They could," I admit, wincing at the old memory of my father's refusal to even consider having his shiftless daughter find a new werewolf mate. "But it doesn't always work, and plenty of werewolves don't want to try."

"So you could have a fling, then. I mean—what's the harm? It's not like sex and marriage are the same thing."

They're not. Even werewolves have been known to have dalliances and affairs. Not all mate bonds are true bonds, and not every mated pair spends their life together in nonstop bliss.

But the thought makes my stomach churn, and it's not because I want to settle down with someone. It's because something about hooking up with a werewolf feels so muchbiggerthan any of the dates or hookups I've had with humans. This world, the one I was born in, was closed off to me for so long. I was denied love and commitment by the one person who was supposed to be my one and only. We were never supposed to have anyone except each other.

Some part of me still feels like it would be a betrayal of Kieran to even so much aslookat another werewolf male.

Which is exactly why I should do it—though I'm not exactly sure how. Wincing, I admit to Cat, "I'm no prude, but... how in the world would I make the opportunity happen? I mean—it's always all three of them here, and they're never doing things that aren't... hammering and nailing."

Cat squeals and squeezes my arm. "I'll take care of that. You just keep yourself open to an opportunity—leave the rest to me. No one knows how to get two people together like your ol' foster mom."

I narrow my eyes at her, unsure exactly what she means. "Do I want to know what you're planning?"

"No," she declares with a feisty grin, "but you will soon anyway."

Her words aren't reassuring. My mug of coffee is soon drained, though, and it's time to get to work. As a sheen of sweat gathers at my back and dust compacts beneath my fingernails, Cat's words get forgotten in the back of my mind. There's just too much wallpaper to peel back and crown molding to replace.

We get a good rhythm going. With three strong male werewolves at my side, it's much easier to knock out the work fast. Cat helps out here and there, by feeding us when we're hungry and lending assistance with certain plumbing topics, but for the most part, she sticks to the cleanup crew.

That means I get plenty of time with the guys—but there's very little deep conversation, ever since Lance opened up the other day. I barely get more than a word or two from them before it's back to business, and I get the sense that Roarke is uncomfortable around me for some reason.

"I'm going to work on the peeling wallpaper in my—inthedownstairs bedroom for a bit," I tell the guys, after a backbreaking morning and afternoon spent sanding the floors. "Let me know if you need anything."

I'm walking down the hallway when Finn calls out, "I'll help you!"

"That's okay, I don't need—"

"But I do." Catching up with me, he shoots a grin my way. "I can't listen to that industrial sander for one more minute. Or be near Roarke and his general brooding."

"Was he brooding?" I ask innocently, already hungry for even a tiny taste of gossip. "I hadn't noticed."

"Oh, please. He's been acting like a kicked puppy dog all day." Finn strolls into the downstairs bedroom with me—I force myself not to think of it asmyroom anymore—and takes a look around. "I swear, that boy thinks the whole world rests on his shoulders. But he won't even put in a bid for alpha. Can you believe that? All the sense of responsibility, none of the actual perks."

"It's hard for me to imagine him in any sort of leadership role," I admit, pacing over to the wall near the old bed and fixing my eyes on the old wallpaper. "The Roarke I knew wasn't exactly the type to tell others what to do."

"Oh, he's passive-aggressive about it, but he'll look down his nose at absolutely anyone—except, of course... well, you know." Finn frowns, watching me pull out the scraper and scorer from the bucket I lugged in here. "Is this your room, Delilah?"

"No." I pause, feeling guilty about the lie as soon as I tell it. "Well,technicallyit's not my room now. It was, though, growing up. I guess Dad didn't change anything."

"Wow. I'll say."

The hermetically sealed nature of the room feels like a burr beneath my skin. Everything in here is the same, but not in a good way. If I'd had a close relationship with my dad before his death, it would've felt sweet. Instead it's more like a shrine to the Delilah he mourned after my exile, a girl who was always stuck in time just before the moment she disappointed him.

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