Page 107 of Fated Exile

Maybe it has something to do with Cat's illness. She nearly fell unconscious in the backyard before anyone found her—one of Delphine's lackeys could've taken some of her blood then. But there's no reasonwhythey would want a human's blood, as far as I know, unless they plan to somehow use her to their advantage.

It should've occurred to me long ago that my mother might be a weak link. I've needed her too much to send her away, but that was selfish of me. I need to protect her better from now on.

There's quiet inside Peter's memory for a long moment as his body is jostled and moved to an undisclosed location. Then I hear the beginnings of a spell, its words wrapping around my mind.

"Ears are open, eyes are wide, let him take my orders in stride. Listen close and watch them well. Afterwards, to me you'll tell."

A long pause, then a low murmur I can't quite make out. Followed by a second spell, its words more sinister, the smell of something acrid burning in the air, smoke filling Peter's nostrils and settling in his lungs. He strains at straps that hold him down at the arm and leg, strong enough to keep even a werewolf still, or at least a thoroughly drugged one.

"Oculus et aures, da midi visnaya. Aures et oculus, da midi visnaya.Your mind is mine to have and control. I choose where you go, who you see, what you hear. If you do not follow my directions, terrible illness will befall you. Empty out your mind and give it to me.Mente et spiritum, da midi visnaya. Spititum et mente, da midi visnaya."

The sound of it pricks something inside me, and my mind starts working to come up with a plan. Peter's body is moved further into some sort of wet, dark space, which is when he wakes up, and I see the part of the memory that I viewed earlier.

Normally, spells are either in a common living language like English, and spoken with a certain amount of verse and rhyme, or they're in ancient languages that have been twisted, taken apart, and put back together. I recognize some butchered Latin in Delphine's spell, but the middle part was all English sentences without rhyme. That suggests to me that she spoke orders in the middle of the rhyme—orders for Peter to follow.

Right now, he's failed some part of the spell's sinister orders and he's suffering because of it. Likely, my discovery of Delphine inside his mind has triggered a defense mechanism. His mind is being slowly erased of memory, his awareness floating away, his consciousness drifting. If I don't intervene soon, he may never come back—and there's every chance that Delphine will find another pawn to send this way and get whatever observations she wants.

I can't let that happen. So I open my eyes, withdraw from his mind, and find the words to a spell Kerry made me memorize by repetition. I was frustrated by her grueling teaching methods at the time, but now I understand.

It's a spell to keep one's mind from being controlled or to undo unnatural hypnosis and influence. I don't know if it's strong enough to work here and now, but it's the only thing I've got to save Peter. His babies deserve to grow up with a father, and his mate will need him soon.

Licking my lips, I tug a spray of rosemary from my pocket—a trick pocket Kerry had sewn into all my clothing—and press it into Peter's forehead. Then I empty my mind of everything but a single, happy memory.

It's an afternoon in San Diego. I've lived with Cat for almost half a year, but I'm still struggling to fit in. My birthday is today, but I haven't told her because I don't want her to feel like she has to do something special for me.

Of course, she knows it's my birthday anyway. She picks me up from school in a red Corvette she borrowed from one of her many on-again off-again boyfriends. Beaming with a wide smile, she plays her favorite '90s pop songs as she drives us from boutique to boutique, buying me every cute outfit I even glance at.

Then we're heading home, and I spot an ice cream shop. I don't even have to say anything before she's pulling in. We each order a waffle cone with three scoops that mound out of the edges. In the parked car, we turn up Britney Spears in the car as we race each other to the waffle cone. She laughs when a bit of my chocolate fudge gets on my nose and smears across my face.

That moment was the first time after my exile when I truly felt like I had a home. It was so simple, but Cat gave me everything I wanted from a parent. Everything I'd never had from amom.

I infuse that happy memory into the spell as I speak the words, "My mind is my own, my body my home. No one may trespass. Ensure I'm alone."

The happy memory winds around and around in my head, and the rosemary heats beneath my fingertips. Peter makes a groaning noise—then jerks all over, his muscles tightening. His body spasms, his eyes open, and he gasps, the rosemary melting beneath my fingertips as it rapidly burns into a puff of odd-colored smoke that drifts away.

"I'm here." He blinks, then looks beside him in alarm. "Maura! Where is she? Where are my babies?"

"She's just outside." Roarke takes his arms and soothes him; Peter stays tense but doesn't fight his grip. "You were being affected by some kind of spell. Delilah had to lift it in order to save you. Now she's going to check to make sure you're okay."

I move into Peter's mind again, finding resistance, distress, and confusion. But no more dark memories or voices giving spells. Just an ordinary wolf, tired after long days of searching for a new home.

The only question is if he's found it. Based on what I discovered in his mind, he led his pregnant mate here solely because Delphine made him. Maybe that means they won't join the pack.

Then again, given how close she is to giving birth, maybe they will.

"He checks out," I tell Roarke, and we both sigh in relief. "Let's deal with anything else that needs to be dealt with before we head home."

* * *

Home, of course, is my house. And after a long day of dealing with mating threads, new recruits, strange spells, and listening to concerns of various pack members, I don't want to run a single step more. Thankfully, Roarke's apartment is near the town square, and his car is parked nearby. He picks me up and drives me towards home, a quiet melody drifting in through his car speakers.

"That was amazing, you know. What you did with those teens, then Peter." He shoots me a proud smile as we roll to a stop at a light at the edge of town. "You're really coming into your own as an alpha."

"Am I? I feel like I'm playing it by ear. I don't even know what I'm doing," I admit. "If that spell hadn't worked on Peter, I would've been out of my depth entirely."

"Sometimes I feel the same," Roarke admits. "I mean, just look at the other night. I forged a mate bond between fated mates, and it turned into a disaster."

"That wasn't your fault, though."

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