Page 13 of The Alpha's Betrayed Mate

Belmont had never felt anything as strong as the relief that washed over him when he opened the cottage door to find Rylan sitting at the kitchen table, wolfing down a bowl full of leftovers from the fridge with his backpack abandoned on the floor beside him. He was halfway across the room before he remembered to control himself, to pull back, and instead of crushing the boy to his chest in a suffocating hug the way he wanted to, he took a seat beside him at the table. They didn’t speak until Rylan had finished his meal, sending occasional worried glances his way.

“Are you hurt?”

“No,” the boy said softly.

“Can I trust you to stay in your room, or do I have to lock the door from the outside?”

“I came back,” Rylan said, sounding wounded. “I came back by myself.”

“You also ran away,” Belmont said, feeling frustration seethe in him now that the relief had faded. “Every wolf on the island is out looking for you right now. Do you have any idea how much trouble you caused? How worried we all were?”

“I won’t do it again,” Rylan said, his expression dark as he got to his feet. “Lock my door if you want, I don’t care.”

And then he was gone, stomping off down the hallway. Belmont wondered for a moment whether he should call him back, demand an apology—but right now, he couldn’t face another second of feeling like the world’s worst father. He’d always struggled when it came to parenting. None of it had come naturally—holding the baby close when he cried, comforting him when he was upset—but he’d always imagined it would get easier as the boy got older, once he could talk and think and reason like an adult. But it seemed the more Rylan grew, the harder he was to communicate with. Whoever the father was that the boy needed, Belmont was beginning to worry that it wasn’t him. And now that his mother was gone…

Belmont strode out of the cottage, putting those thoughts out of his mind. He called off the search, glad at least to be breaking good news for once to the wolves who’d searched for his son. And once he knew all the search parties were on their way home to rest, he headed for the library. Syrra answered the door, her blue eyes cool and her expression absolutely unreadable. He’d wondered, when he ran into Venna in the forest, whether she’d broken out of the library yet again—but one look at Syrra’s face told him that she’d had a co-conspirator. Syrra led him through the library without comment. Venna had been moved to a room on the ground floor with a window that could be barred, and she was in bed when he stepped through the door, looking for all the world as though she’d been there all day.

“Did Rylan come home?” Venna spoke the moment they were alone, her silver eyes burning through him. He nodded.

“Thank you, for whatever you did to make him come home.”

“I didn’t make him. I talked to him. You could try it.”

Belmont bristled, feeling the anger sweep through him again, realizing he was getting dangerously close to a level of exhaustion where the anger was going to win. Frustration with Venna seethed in him. Why couldn’t she just accept his gratitude? Why was she always needling at him, driving him towards his breaking point? He couldn’t be here any longer. He turned on his heel and strode out without another word, closing the door a little too hard behind him. If Syrra was curious about their interaction, she didn’t say anything, and he swept out of the library with his anger still burning in him. How dare she tell him how to parent his son? As if he hadn’t thought of just talking to the boy. As if he hadn’t tried, hundreds of times with increasing desperation to talk to Rylan, to understand what was going on with him, to make him understand in turn…

When the morning came, he’d barely slept. He’d lost count of how many times he woke in the night, terrified of finding Rylan’s bedroom empty again—he must have checked on him a dozen times, the relief of seeing his familiar shape sleeping in the bed never lasting longer than a few minutes. When dawn came, he was more exhausted than he had been when he’d gone to bed. But he didn’t stop being Alpha just because he was tired. Gritting his teeth, Belmont dressed quickly before he roused Rylan. After what had happened the night before, he didn’t intend to let the boy out of his sight again.

“Why didn’t you tell me I had an aunt?” Rylan asked as they walked through town, abruptly breaking a silence that had been festering between them all morning. Belmont looked down at him, surprised by the question, wary of the conversation it could lead to.

“You mean Venna.”

Rylan nodded. “She said she was my father’s—she was Marroc’s sister.”

“She was,” Belmont agreed. There was always a little awkwardness when it came to Rylan’s parentage. He and Tetra had agreed, before he was born, that Belmont would be his dad—but Tetra still wanted him to know about Marroc, about the man who would have been his father if not for the attack.

“And you didn’t tell me.”

“She’s an exile, Rylan. We don’t talk about exiles.”

“Well, she’s back now,” Rylan pointed out truculently. “She helped us. She helped fight off the demons who attacked us on the road.”

“She broke the rules,” Belmont said, not liking this line of conversation at all. “She was told to leave us alone for good, and she didn’t.”

“She came back to protect us!” Rylan sounded furious. “Youweren’t eventhere!”

“Enough,” Belmont snapped, feeling his temper rise up in him like a wave. “You’re talking about things you know nothing about. You’ve already embarrassed yourself in front of the pack by running away last night—not to mention me. Now bequiet.”

He knew, even as he spoke, that he was being too harsh. By the time they reached the community center, Rylan was sullen and teary, and refused to say a single word to any of the wolves who greeted him. Yara gave Belmont a questioning look, but he turned away before she could ask him anything more about the boy. It was almost a relief when Raske came to find him. Right now, he would have welcomed a long, boring conversation about tradition and precedent—anything was better than the sympathetic looks of his packmates, who could clearly tell how badly he was failing as a father.

“I’ve sent for the prisoner,” Raske said matter-of-factly once they were on the other side of the hall where they wouldn’t be overheard. “Have you made your decision?”

Belmont gritted his teeth. If there was one person he wanted to think about even less than Rylan, it was Venna. “I haven’t had time to hear from the pack.”

“Which is why I took that task upon myself,” Raske said pleasantly. “I’ve spoken with everyone about the matter, and they’re happy for me to speak on their behalf.”

Before Belmont could respond, the doors to the community center swung open again, and Venna was escorted in. He could tell at a glance how angry she was from her body language and the dangerous light in her eyes, and it wasn’t hard to see why—the wolves who’d fetched her had also seen fit to bind her hands and feet with rope, forcing her to walk in short, awkward strides. Her anger was justified. If she’d wanted to escape, she’d have escaped already. Still, he could see the way his pack were looking at her as she was escorted through the hall, and he knew he couldn’t be seen to show her any sympathy right now.

“Good morning, Alpha,” Venna said when she was brought before him, her eyes burning through his. “I understand I’m here to be tried and sentenced?”

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