Page 96 of Alpha Exile

Following the flow of power with my mind, I find places where the blood rot still festers, and banish it. Then I flow back towards my body, sensing each of my mates, and fold the last bits of the power into them. They'll need it in the days to come, since we have so much work to do around town.

After all, we have a house to rebuild.

Reaching into myself, I consider my own power reserves for a moment, and top them up. Then, chewing my lower lip, I fold my awareness further in, searching for a sign of new life.

I would know by now, after all. My awareness would tell me. Maybe there are little threads, leading from my chest towards a spark of life in my center...

My breath falls when I find nothing but the ache between my hips that tells me my period will be coming soon. Breathing out a little, I fold the very last surge of power into myself, using it to replenish the magic I spent fighting Delphine. Then I keep my eyes closed for a few moments longer, burying my disappointment deep.

After all, it's for the best. Roarke would've been crestfallen if he'd discovered that his reckless actions got me pregnant. And we still have so much to look forward to—there's plenty of time to grow our number with a new addition.

I can have a happily ever after with six quite easily. Seven can wait—at least a few months, if not a few years.

We should at least come up with a better name than Finn's suggestion ofFinnie or Finny.

"There, all done." Peeling my eyes open, I pull my fingers from the grass and rock back onto my heels. Looking around at each of my mates, I ask them, "Everyone okay?"

"More than okay," Finn says, reaching out to clasp my hand. "I've come back to life because of you. I'm like Jesus."

"Oh god." Lance rolls his eyes. "Now he has one more thing to get a big head about."

"Big head?" Waggling his brows, Finn coos, "Is there something else that'sbigand has aheadthat you're thinking about, Lancey boy? If so, I can't blame you. Seeing me come back from the dead was guaranteed to awaken feelings—"

In response, Lance stands up, holds out both his middle fingers, and stalks away. "I'm going to go check out that pedestal Delphine summoned from the ground, if I can find it. I want to make sure she didn't pull anything with those stones."

His words remind me of the rest of the Spirit Eyes, which were on Delphine when she died. Running my fingers through the grass, I find them, their surfaces reflecting the sun. I slip them into the pouch at my belt with the others, uncertain what to do with them.

There's time to figure it out, at least.

It's not as if they'll be going anywhere.

Forty-One

Delilah

Three Months Later

Standing back from the wall, I squint at the pale green paint. "Think this is enough coats of paint?"

"I think it'll do." Finn reaches out to snag me and draw me against his chest, smiling down at me. "Mostly because I can't even think about going to the hardware store one more time. At this point, I'm pretty sure they think we live there."

"You still live at your apartment,technically," I point out to him, snuggling in close against him, my hands resting on his broad shoulders. "Are you ever going to move the last of your things over here? Or tell your landlord that your month-to-month lease is coming to the end of its final month?"

Finn grumbles, swooping down to press his lips to mine. I lean back, drawing my hands behind his neck and tracing circles in his warm skin. We kiss slow and sweet, knowing we have all the time in the world.

He tongues my lips open just the barest hint, then moves his mouth back to murmur, "I want to keep my pots and pans."

Groaning, I slip out of his arms and stalk away from him. "You know Cat insists we use her line of pots and pans!"

"Cat doesn't live in this house," Finn points out, following me down the hallway towards the stairs, "she lives in Niall's house, and that's the only kitchen she should have domain over."

"You try telling her that," I complain, "since she won't listen to me when I tell her."

"What makes you think she'll listen to me?"

"You're a flirt," I point out. "Catlovesa flirt."

I notice as I head past the room at the end of the hallway that Bastian and Lance have finished sealing the floors in my father's old office, which now shares a Jack-and-Jill bathroom with one of the new bedrooms next to it. They've put paint samples up on the wall, various shades of lilac and eggplant patching the beige color. Leaning in, I take note of all the changes and improvements we've made: wider bookshelves built into the wall, new filing cabinets, an extra window, and of course, hardwood floors that are shinier than ever.

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