Page 102 of Alpha Exile

"Give me a moment," I murmur to my mother Celeste, who has spent a lifetime waiting to be at peace, in the place where she was meant to be buried. "I want yours to be special."

Taking the metal box in my hands, I press my fingers into it and close my eyes.

First I center myself in the earth.

Then I draw the power of fire from my chest, tugging on it effortlessly.

I push the heat of the flames into the material in my hands until it glows with so much heat that it flutters against the back of my closed eyelids.

Finally, I imagine a shape in my head. A delicate filagree urn, with vining flowers and twisting scrolls. Something strong yet feminine, a vase fit for a queen—or the mate of an alpha.

When I open my eyes, it's in my hands, beautiful and light.

I set it inside the drawer, open the bag of ashes, carefully tip them inside. They flow quickly and easily, none of them falling to the ground below, swirling inside the urn as if they were merely waiting for it.

After the last of them flutter inside, I press my fingers against each of the urns in turn, and murmur my goodbyes.

Then I close everything up, head back through the long rooms of warriors and poets, mothers and mates, and take the stairs up with lighter feet.

Everything is taken care of now.

A kick inside my belly reminds me—well, except for two more things.

Those will be straightened out soon though, and that day can't come quickly enough for me.

I really miss being able to see my feet.

Forty-Four

Roarke

Two Years Later

"I'm telling you, she's gotten taller," Finn boasts, pointing to Willa as she races around the backyard through the fire flowers, screaming her head off, black hair flying. "I mean, just look at her. Nearly as tall as her brother. I bet she'll outgrow him."

Kieran gives Finn a doubtful look. "Archer may be small now, but that's common for us Salt men. He'll shoot up in puberty."

"Wanna bet on it?"

"How much? And when do we collect our earnings—sixteen years from now?"

"Give it an extra few. She'll keep growing until she's twenty-one, like all Barber women."

I tune out the argument, knowing neither of them truly mean it as more than a playful thing. My eyes stray over to Archer, who's sitting in the sandbox playing quietly, his hair dark and messy, his eyes fixed on the sand castle beneath his fingers.

Sensing my attention, he looks up at me, and I smile. Waving his chubby fingers, he grins so big and so hard that it hurts my heart a little—because he couldn't look more like his father if he tried.

Whereas Willa, of course, has Finn's coloring and wild streak. She's racing towards her father now, her legs carrying her faster than any two-year-old should be capable of going. Grabbing onto the belt loops of his pants, she tugs hard—and pants him before he can even turn around to yell at her.

"Good one, Willa," I cheer as she races past me and into the house, holding my hand up for a fierce high-five. At Finn's arched brow, I just shrug. "I taught her that one. Someone had to."

It isn't the only naughty thing she knows. That girl is going to be trouble—and then some. I don't look forward to the day Delilah and I have to find a mate for her, a day that's thankfully many years away.

At least we have our choice now. The pack has exploded in number, so large that we've had to build more apartment buildings, using the pack funds to attract developers. Every retail space in the square is full, and foot traffic is heavy in the middle of town. There's even a small coven, led by Kerry and big enough now that their presence has caused our buzzing army bees to fall back.

Not that I expect we won't run into problems over the years, with the federal government and with other threats. The vampires are licking their wounds, but they could easily get bold and try to attack some of our more rural pack members. Not to mention, there are rumors of a threat rising out to the east—an alpha who claims to be a resurrected version of the First Alpha, whose strength created the first pack, and whose violent betrayal resulted in the first Summit.

It's a ludicrous claim. Werewolves aren't reborn. If they were, the First Alpha would be the last to jump into a new flesh suit and boast about it. He's probably somewhere in the afterlife, enjoying the perks of being worshipped for so long.

---