Page 75 of Mated Exile

Roarke and I take the thin, treacherous path up a steep hill towards the circle's location. Past the stone peaks that jut into the horizon, I can see the sharper, more distant peaks of the mountains that stretch across the northern side of the Glass Pack Territory. Those mountains are the ones where my father supposedly met my mother—and betrayed his mate bond with Laura Glass.

I consider them both for a moment, but neither quite fits who I imagine when I think the wordMomin my head. Cat Banks is the only one who slots into that space. She may have come into my life late, full of wickedness and lurid wisdom, but Cat has been more of a mother figure to me than anyone else in my life. In a way, I'm glad for that, because I can't imagine how I would've felt if I discovered only now that the woman who raised me wasn't truly my mother.

It takes Roarke and I several long minutes to hike up the path to the clearing that holds the Mating Circle, making me glad that he insisted we set out on time. This trail is meant for us to climb in our human forms, handholds and railings to show up to guide our way. As I grab onto a rope strung between two trees and heave myself up the last steep bit of incline, Roarke turns around, grabs my waist, and effortlessly takes me the rest of the way.

"There you go." He smiles and brushes a bit of lint off my shoulders. "You know, we could've done that as wolves."

"Now you tell me." I huff in his direction and shove a finger in his chest. "Seriously?"

"I thought you were saving the big reveal for later," he says, though amusement dances in his eyes. "By the way, you've got a big hole in your pants."

I gasp, twisting around to search for it—only to realize he's fucking with me. Again. Scowling, I punch him in the shoulder, but he just laughs, catching my fist and drawing me against him.

As I fall into his chest, his warmth caressing mine, I look into his eyes and feel the breath leave me. His gaze is full of dancing amusement, his mouth twisted up in a careless smile. This is the boy I remember from my youth, the one who was just as likely to prank you as grab your hand.

Leaning down, he sweeps a kiss across my lips, which part instinctively. His mouth draws back after a mere moment, leaving me wanting more.

"C'mon. We've still got a ways to go."

I grumble, but he keeps my hand in his, turning his playful grab into a more romantic hand-holding, which appeases me. Thankfully the rest of the hike to the Mating Circle is far easier than the path up the trail. There are no longer thick trees in the way as well, giving us a clear view of the stones.

Like a small henge, the circle of stone columns rises up towards the sky, crossbeams at the top of each pillar reaching across the distance between them. Thick carvings curve along their circular forms, most of them of wolves, men, and bits of nature. The ground in the center of the circle is stonework as well. Limestone tiles are patterned in a loosely spiraling shape, and stone benches dot the outer edges, near the columns. A scattering of people are sitting on those benches now or gathered across the open spaces of the columns.

In the middle of the circle is a four foot tall bowl-shaped cauldron that currently has no flame in it. On nights where Mating Ceremonies are held, the alpha's words bring the flame to life, and it illuminates threads between intendeds. It also burns to a low, soft light when two mates begin to strip each other naked, giving them some semblance of privacy as instinct takes over.

I feel my breath quicken at the sight of it all, and I'm glad for Roarke's hand. Seeing all this brings me back to that moment, but it's bittersweet now for more reasons than one. Now that I know my father's words are what forced the boy I cared for to turn me aside, and I've seen all the ways in which the pack has suffered for it, I no longer feel sadness for just myself at the memory.

As we draw closer, my eyes land on specific parts of the circle: the large stone statues that are positioned between each of the twelve outer columns. Each statue is about six feet tall and dwarfed by the columns themselves, which stretch nearly twenty feet above them. Though I can't see the features of the statues themselves from this distance, I can recite their names by memory: Lanya, Gregor, Vivia, Ewan, Sorcha, Tyee, Katrina, Logan, Peony, Callum, and Rae.

Our elders formed the territory to protect their people from threats that rose as the US federal government was formed. Other werewolves found safety within their immigrant communities, or among Native Nations, but many outsiders were without a place to run to when federal raids began. So our packs made treaties, settled land, and helped fight off invading armies.

History since then has grown complicated, and not all werewolf packs have had peace with the Natives, or stood on the right side of history. More than one pack owned slaves, and many have grabbed land in underhanded ways.

Our elders, as flawed as they may have been, hold knowledge and wisdom that can't be found elsewhere. I hope that I'll be able to speak to their spirits one day—preferably, one day very soon.

As Roarke and I walk beneath the lintel of two stones and draw close enough to be seen by the council members, I feel a few curious glances in my direction, and hear some hushed whispers. One face stands out among the many. Niall is here, leaning up against one of the benches with a pack member near his age, Vincent Shine. Despite the years on him, Vincent's black hair still shines dark in the late afternoon light, and he doesn't show his age. Though when I brush my awareness up against him, I sense the scar of a broken mating bond, twin to many others among the pack members assembled, most of whom are male.

One young female catches my eyes. I frown in her direction, spotting shiny blonde hair and pale skin. It takes me a moment to place her from my youth: Sasha Hill. She was a couple of years younger than me, and if she'd moved on the right timeline, should be mated by now. Letting my senses curl around her reveals quickly how she's still standing. Like one of the female wolves at the bar, she's repressed her wolf, no doubt with a chip in her neck.

"Roarke, good to see you." A man in his mid thirties with brown hair and tanned skin interrupts us as we stroll towards an empty bench, his gaze falling to our joined hands. He frowns. "What are you doing here? Do you have an announcement to add to the one you made last time?"

I glance curiously at Roarke, and he explains, "I told them that we'd found out the curse was definitely caused by the mate bonds." To the man he says, "Bennett. I came to ask a few questions, is all. I was hoping to speak to Jonathan."

"He's over on the other side of the circle." Though Bennett has been ignoring me up to now, his eyes fall on me, and there's no mistaking the fact that his frown is for my presence alone. "What is the shiftless doing here? No offense, but her father exiled her. She's not like Sasha or the few other females we have. She doesn't belong."

Roarke opens his mouth to defend me, but I step in before he can, dropping my hand and stretching up to my full height. "I'm the alpha's daughter, and one of the few surviving female members of this pack, whether you like it or not." Turning over my right arm, I expose the pack rune that darkens my skin. "I still bear my pack's mark, and what's more, I'm no shiftless—I have a wolf. This ismypack and I won't be kept from it."

Bennett tilts up his chin, eyes flaring for a moment, and my wolf surges up to the surface of my skin. His nostrils flare lightly as he inhales. A moment later his eyes widen, and he stares at me in surprise, head tilted.

Then he looks back to Roarke again and raises a dark brow. "While your eagerness is to be appreciated, if you came here to speak to the council about approving a new Mating Ceremony, you shouldn't have bothered. We've already decided that any new mates can be bonded following the Summit—as long as, god willing, the new alpha takes over and is able to lift the curse."

I scowl in his direction, feeling a thread of anger flare within me. The urge to put him in his place is strong, but Roarke puts a steadying hand on my shoulder, and I pause for a moment.

"We're actually here to talk about that, and a few other developments." He looks to me. "Isn't that right, Delilah?"

Taking a deep breath, I nod sharply.

It's time to tell the pack who and what I am. They may or may not accept me—I don't doubt things will be tough at first. My foray into their minds has revealed as much.

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