Page 42 of Fated Exile

Along with the eyes of the pack.

There's Ian in one corner, talking and laughing with some friends. They stop to look up at me, solemnity and curiosity in their eyes. Each of them is old enough to be mated, but when I squint my eyes I see only a hollow in their chests where mate threads should be.

So many others have arrived. Young and old, tall and short, they're watching me. Waiting. Either I prove myself to them here and now, and lay their fears to rest, or I risk losing them forever.

My mother Cat's words ring in my ears, from a weak moment when I was seventeen and whining about how much harder my life was compared to everyone else's:"You can see it that way, or you can choose to see your strength. You've survived so much, and you have so much to give. Believe in yourself. Have the same faith in yourself that I have in you."

I choose to do that, even though it's tough, and everything could go wrong. With more and more eyes on me by the moment, I reach my hand out and dip it into the bowl of the flame.

For a moment, nothing happens.

My chest pinches with horrifying fear: that I'm not strong enough to wake the pack flame, lift the curse, or heal the land beneath us. It'll all be lost. Ruined. And Delphine will revel in the ashes.

But the moment passes. There's a spark of heat beneath my fingers. Awhooshsound goes up in my ears. All at once, like an ocean's wave cresting the shore, blue flame rises and shoots up in front of me.

Grinning, I stretch my arm out and step back, tilting my chin up to see it.

Up and up it rises. Above my head, further, further, leaping and stretching to the heavens. There's a gasp in the crowd. A child cries out; another laughs with joy.

Silence descends.

Into the silence, a single voice shouts, "It's taller than the pillars! Taller than I've ever seen!"

"It's a sign!"

There are shouts and murmurs. I pull my hand back, and the flame remains, licking and dancing in the bowl. It keeps stretching and growing, not shrinking even though I'm not actively feeding it. The heat and strength of it is greater than it was even days ago, when I last brought it to life. In that short time I've grown, discovered more of my own strength, and accepted who and what I am.

And the men I'm going to be with.

My eyes move past the flame, to the five of them. I feel their gazes on me. Lance is beaming with quiet pride. Finn has his fingers in his mouth and is whistling loudly, hooting and hollering. Bastian is watching with quiet awe, his hair shining blue in the flame's dancing light. I can feel Roarke's rippling presence in the crowd, his soft, lopsided smile beaming just for me even as he instinctively reaches out to buoy the pack, sharing their jubilation and lifting their spirits. And Kieran, who I've known for so long that coming back to him feels like breathing again, just subtly winks at me, mouthingI always knew you could.

I grin. There's wetness in my eyes, which I shake off with a quick swipe. Then I peel back the paper on the ink bar to expose more of its carved, slightly magical end. Shoving it forward, I hold it in the flame until it smokes. Then I swallow my fear and press it down onto my wrist, carefully lining the edges up just right.

It seems to almost wiggle in my touch, drawing line to line and curve to curve, responding to the faded ink beneath my skin.

The heat of it sucks the breath from my chest. I inhale sharply, but force a smile to my face, looking out into the crowd. Some of the children are watching, awe and fear on their faces. I force myself to be brave for them.

After a long count of three, I draw the stick away. Some of the ink has crumbled from the end. I tap it against the torch's bowl, and it floats away as ash, leaving it clean for the next wrist. Then I look down at my skin.

The sight of the fresh runic tattoo is like a punch to the gut. I never expected the emotions welling within me. After all this time, it's meaningful. I let myself study its shape, really looking at it for the first time since I was exiled at fourteen.

It's two crescent curves with their backs to each other, shaped a little like the moon, or twin scythes. The shapes are enclosed in a large circle, their edges dipping against its curves. In the negative space, tiny glimmering stars shine, four-pointed and delicate.

Glass Pack.Mypack. My home. Forever this time.

"Delilah Glass, welcome back."

Roarke's voice rises above the crowd. He steps in front of the torch, and I step down from it, standing near enough to the platform that I can light it again if it dies.

He takes my hand and pulls me close to him. "I'm glad to welcome Delilah back into the pack. I know you haven't elected me as your alpha yet, but I've spoken to all the totem bearers, to the pack's living elders, and to the warriors. Tonight, I will be elected. I will be mated—to Delilah, who I am fated to be with. Then I will invite my mate to stand beside me as my co-alpha, along with my four mate-kin, my brothers in ceremony if not in blood."

There's a murmur in the crowd again. Warmth gathers in my chest at Roarke's words, even as my gut pinches and rebels. The dry, thick sandwich I forced down in the car ride over is suddenly making its presence known. I swallow.

Someone in the crowd calls out, "What the fuck is a mate-kin?"

There's a laugh, and Roarke explains, "When my mate and I are joined, I won't be her only mate—"

There's a cry in the crowd that turns into a scream. My stomach pitches, and I tell myself that the pack will get over this, that they'll understand. We have to repair the pack, and they'll come to understand that it'll work better this way. Besides, with so many females passed away, maybe—

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