Page 7 of Rejected Exile

Before I can head up the stairs, the doorbell rings to interrupt me. For a moment I'm relieved—until I remember it's no doubt Niall on the other side of the door. I knew when I drove up here that sooner or later I'd have to deal with him. I was just hoping it wouldn't happen while I was stone-cold sober.

"Just a sec." I pause in the bathroom hallway to wipe a smudge of dirt from my brow and tighten my ponytail. The man who got rid of me for my father should see how much better I'm doing now. Another ring of the bell chimes out. "You can wait five fucking seconds!"

Hopping to the door, I snap as I open it. "You do know there isn't a maid in this house to open the door, right?"

Then I look up. It's not Niall standing on the other side. Not unless certain things have changed and middle-aged werewolf men can suddenly shift into smoking hot specimens of sex on a stick.

Standing on my father's rickety front porch is a man who can only be described as Jason Momoa and Idris Elba's love child. He has dark ebony skin and close-cropped hair that's a shocking white. Broad shoulders press against the seams of a black sweater that does nothing to conceal the muscles the fabric wraps around. His jawline is strong and clean-shaven. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, not with age, but with amusement. That same emotion curves up plush lips.

I stare and stare.

Dark brown eyes pierce me as I gawk for a far-too-long moment. Belatedly I snap my mouth closed, only seconds away from drooling on the floor. I can only imagine how much of an idiot I look like gawking at this strange man. Thankfully, I cleaned my face before I opened the door.

"It's always nice to get a little Pacific Northwest hospitality," the stranger says in a rumbly bur of a voice. My eyes flick to his broad, deep chest, and I barely restrain myself from throwing my body at him. "My name is Lance Clay. You must be William's daughter. I'm here about something of his... do you mind if I come in?"

I glance in dismay towards the kitchen, which is still a wreck in need of further deep cleaning, and has absolutely nothing worth serving to a guest. "I don't know..."

As if reading my mind, Lance smoothly murmurs, "I'm not expecting a five-star hotel. There are just some things I want to look into for the Summit."

The Summit. Of course. Now that the Glass Pack alpha has passed away, there will be a vote on a new alpha, taken up by the werewolf council and three chosen totem-bearers. Whoever is picked to lead will take the name—along with the land, and possibly the house, though I imagine they'll probably pick better digs than this place.

My heart aches a little at the thought, even though this moment was inevitable as soon as Queenie died and dad refused to find a new mate. It's not as if the title could pass on to me, a werewolf in a strictly human body.

"Come on in... Lance. I'm Delilah."

"I know." His mouth quirks up a little, and I feel the blood pool in my cheeks. Amusement dances in his dark brown eyes. "I won't be long. I was hoping to look inside your father's office?"

I wonder if women throw themselves at him all the time. They must—he's smoking hot, the kind of man you want to climb for days. No doubt he's mated; every werewolf is by the time they come of age, and he'd be no exception. If I had my wolf I'd be able to smell his mate on him, maybe even see signs of the bonding threads, but all I see is classic werewolf physique and charm.

"I was just about to look through his office—I haven't started yet. It's probably a mess," I warn him. As he steps in, and I close the door behind him, I cautiously ask, "What is it that you’re looking for?"

"What is anyone looking for around here?" His voice has a tinge of something like sadness or exhaustion in it, though it dissipates a moment later as he rolls his shoulders back, like he's throwing off tension. "Just hoping maybe William got close to figuring out a cure before he... passed away."

"What do you—"

"Oh my god." Lance's eyes widen, and he wipes his brow, his face suddenly distraught. "I shouldn't have—I mean, so flippantly. Of course, you still must be in shock. I'm so sorry for your loss. Forgive me for not saying that first. God, I'm such an ass."

Seeing such a tall, hot, muscular man trip all over himself to apologize to me brings a little smile to my face. It's rare to see most werewolf men acknowledge their mistakes or make nice. Especially with such earnest, awkward handsomeness.

"Don't worry about it," I tell him, wincing at my own words a moment later. "I mean—I'm still in shock, you're right."

It would be callous to mention the estrangement. Though he must know. Everyone in Juniper must know. A werewolf being rejected by their mate? Especially the alpha's only offspring? It's not the kind of thing you just forget about.

"Still. I'm sorry anyway. Let me know if you need anything."

"Directions to the nearest liquor store?" I joke—only half a joke. "I was underage the last time I was here, and I could use some alcohol."

"I'm sure," he says softly. "It's down Grey, by the food mart."

"Food mart?"

"Ah—it used to be a pancake house. The owner moved away a year or so ago."

Theownerswere a mated couple, Bernie and Layla, who never would've left town in a million years. But Lance seems to be a new member of the pack—he wasn't around when I was growing up—so maybe he doesn't know the full story. Probably they just retired or sold the place, and he's confused.

"The office is just up here," I tell him, setting my feet on the stairs. He follows behind me at a respectful distance, and all I can think ishe's just at the right position to stare at my ass.I try not to let it make my voice wobble too much as I tell him, "I have no idea if there'll be anything useful to you up there. It's not like my father would've expected the Summit to happen. He probably thought he'd be alpha for another forty years."

"Oh—it's not the Summit I'm concerned about. It's the curse."

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