Page 9 of Rejected Exile

"It can't be, there's no way—"

Horror and revulsion hit me all at once, and I go silent, feeling the world drop away beneath me.

The letters.

He sent at least six or seven. I stopped counting at a certain point—or stopped caring, because I felt I had to in order to survive.

There's no way my father wouldn't tell me about something like that if it were true.I can't say that because for all I know, hedidtell me. I just didn't want to listen—or read, in this case.

Licking my lips, I try to broach this next topic carefully. "I've been exiled for—for a while."

"So I've heard."

"I haven't exactly been in contact with anyone. Including my father." I take in a breath, ignoring the way that half-truth knots my stomach. "So while I know things, I don't know how... I mean, I know how my father died, but no one told me how Queenie... I just realized that I don't know how she died."

Lance stops suddenly. He leaves the filing cabinet open and turns to me. His rich dark brown eyes are full of sympathy, which is how I know, before he even says the words.

"I'm sorry, Delilah. Your stepmother... it was the curse that took her. She died like all the others."

Four

Delilah

It's hard to keep your emotions buried when a tall hot hunk of a man is staring at you in sympathy, but somehow I manage to swallow them down. Lamely, I tell Lance, "No one mentioned that in the notice they sent to me."

"I'm sorry." He puts a broad hand on my shoulder, his palm engulfing me. "I really keep putting my foot in my mouth, don't I?"

"It's not your fault."

"Someone else should be breaking all this news to you. Somebody who you didn’t just meet. Is there someone I should go get? One of your friends or... another family member?"

I shake my head, hating that Cat isn't here with me. "It's okay, really. Queenie and I weren't that close—I barely knew her. I just hate to think of her dying like that."

"I hate to think ofanyonedying like that." His hand falls away from my shoulder, and I feel the absence of his warm touch. "If it's any consolation, she went quick. By the time the curse took hold of her, the deaths weren't long anymore. They were just alive one minute, and the next..."

"A curse." I shake my head. "I can't believe it's not in all the papers and all over the TV. No one in San Diego talked about this."

"Does it surprise you?" Lance arches a thick dark brow. "Humans don't believe in the things we talk about. Researchers have shown up to traipse through the town and try to figure out what's going on. They all just conclude that it's blood rot and leave in disappointment. None of them listen when we tell them the cursepreceededthe blood rot, and not the other way around."

"Blood rot. Oh, god." I find myself swaying, but helpfully the loveseat is nearby. Collapsing onto it, I put my hands on my knees and try to accept this new reality. "When did it start? How—how come my dad didn't stop it?"

Vampires cause blood rot. Specifically, by draining werewolf blood. A pack is connected to the earth, and each pack member is connected to each other, by blood, mate bonds, and pack bonds. When vampires drain werewolf blood to the point of weakening the pack, it also weakens the land—and weak land leads to scarce prey, which weakens the pack further, until things get dire.

Blood rot is how werewolves were decimated, once. It's been weaponized by humans before to steal our land. Pack territories are federally recognized now, and humans are no longer on friendly terms with vampires; that ended the instant they realized just how much they were being drained as well as us. But the vamps still hover at the edges of packs, stealing weak members and hypnotizing the unwary. Idiotic werewolves have even been known toletvamps drain them for the high that follows the encounters.

"Your dad tried to stop the blood rot," Lance says, abandoning the filing cabinets entirely. He wheels the desk chair over and sits across from me, and I have to say, the early morning light from the windows above the loveseat really emphasizes how drop dead gorgeous he is. Which is why it's hard to concentrate on his words as he explains, "He even reached out to other packs for their help. But few came—no one wanted to risk the curse traveling to their pack. And as more and more females died during their shifts, mate bonds were weakened, and the pack's protection fell into disarray.

"Your dad was researching what might've caused it, and looking for a cure. At least that's what he said. And I'm hoping to find that in his papers."

"Right. A cure."

I nod weakly, feeling numb inside. My mind keeps going back to those moments I threw away the letters from my father, and I cringe regretfully from head to toe.

Finally, I shake it off, meeting Lance's sympathetic eyes, and I feel like crawling beneath the floor. He's looking at me with such pity—like I'm weak or something. No doubt he's wondering how an alpha's daughter could fall so far as to not even know what was happening in her own pack.

But it isn't my pack anymore, I realize with a pang. Though it's stupid, some part of me was hoping that when I came back here, it would feel likehome.A werewolf’s home isn't the land or the house, though. It's the connection to the pack—a connection I'll never have, because I'm too broken to shift, much less mate.

Absentmindedly, I scratch my neck. Lance watches my movements, his eyes on my bared skin, and I feel a flush go through me. I want him so bad—my body responds to every flex of his shoulders and shift of his eyes—but I'll never have him.

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