Page 11 of The Alpha's Betrayed Mate

Syrra was gravely quiet for a long moment. “I’m not surprised Belmont kept that part back,” she said quietly. “But I can’t say it surprises me, given the way he handles his emotions.”

Venna snorted. “Emotions, plural? Belmont’s got anger and nothing else. He keeps it under wraps, but he’s either cold or furious. Don’t let him fool you otherwise. He didn’t grieve Marroc when he died, and he’s not grieving Tetra now, and he didn’t feel a damn thing when—“ She caught her breath, aware she was letting herself get carried away. “Sorry. I’m criticizing him but I’m doing exactly the same crap he always does. Marroc was my brother.” She exhaled, surprised that saying that aloud hadn’t hurt the way she’d expected. “When I saw Rylan, I—couldn’t help but say how much he looked like him.”

Comprehension was dawning on Syrra’s face. “Rylan doesn’t know about you?”

She shrugged helplessly. “Exile means exile. If I’d died, they might have told him I was his aunt. As it is… as far as he’s concerned, I’m a total stranger who disrupted the funeral and used to know his father. And if he’s anything like Marroc, Belmont telling him to go to his room instead of explaining who I was would have made him absolutely furious. I’m not surprised he ran away. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to…” She trailed off, feeling a terrible certainty crystallize in her belly.

“What?”

“Syrra—I know I have no right to ask this of you, given how much I’ve broken your trust already today. But—“

“Do you think you know where Rylan is?”

“I have a hunch.”

“Go,” the lorekeeper said simply. Venna stared at her.

“Just like that?”

A faint smile. “Just like that.”

“After what Belmont said about me being a prisoner?”

“Belmont’s not my Alpha,” Syrra reminded her, eyes glinting. “Nor is he yours. As senior Lorekeeper—and as a mother, by the way—I answer only to what’s best for this community. And if you can find this lost child before he gets himself into trouble, then you should be out there doing that.” She gave Venna a meaningful look. “Just promise you’ll try not to reopen any of those wounds, alright?”

“I’ll try.” Venna felt torn between joy and suspicion, worried this was some kind of elaborate trap. Syrra gestured to the door.

“Go, then. Come back when Rylan’s safe at home.”

“I will. I promise.” She was on her feet, her pain and exhaustion forgotten as adrenaline surged through her. Still half expecting the other shoe to drop any moment, she strode out of the door and into the mild night air. No guards leapt out to stop her, no sudden bolt of lightning struck her dead… and she let herself wonder, just for a moment, how different things might have been if her pack had a senior lorekeeper like Syrra, instead of the stern, icy Raske. She couldn’t imagine that old man bending the rules with such ease. He had always been more interested in what was correct in principle than what was right. He’d never have let a prisoner out, even to search for a lost child.

A lost child. Venna reminded herself to focus. She couldn’t let Syrra down, not after she’d taken such a risk. Senior Lorekeeper or no, defying a direct request from an Alpha was still a politically significant move. But as much as Venna loathed Belmont right now, she knew the man wouldn’t be able to justify punishing Syrra if Venna was the one who found Rylan. She moved quietly through the night, keeping to the shadows in the treeline, hoping that the search parties that were combing the island wouldn’t run across her. She was so focused on avoiding the wolves with torches that she didn’t notice who was walking through the dark trees toward her until it was too late to hide.

Belmont. He always had been able to move in almost complete silence, and the years had only improved that skill. She tensed as his eyes fell on her face, freezing in place as she waited for the inevitable storm of anger, ready for him to seize her by the shoulder and march her right back to the library. But to her shock, he only sighed.

“Why am I not surprised that you’re out here?”

“I heard Rylan was missing. I want to help.”

Was that a flicker of gratitude on that expressionless face of his? He really must have been beside himself if he was letting things slip like that—before she could stop herself, she moved closer, reaching out to touch his arm. His skin was warm and she felt a familiar shiver run through her. She always had been surprised by how warm he was to the touch. A man so cool and remote ought to have felt like stone, or cold metal… focus, she reminded herself sharply. It was a mark of how worried he was that he didn’t move away from her touch, and she tightened her hand around his arm a little. How long had it been since she’d touched another person, she found herself wondering? Not that any other person in the world made her feel the way he did…stop it. Focus.

“We’re searching the whole island, but he’s nowhere. Venna, this place is… the demon presence isn’t what it was, but it’s still not safe, and he’s—”

“I get it,” she said quickly, heart thudding against her ribs. This time of night was one of the most dangerous for demon activity. Belmont nodded, clearly fighting to compose himself, and she felt a thrill of guilt for telling Syrra that he didn’t have any feelings except anger. It had been unfair of her. She knew him better than that. “I’m on it. I’ll bring him home safe. Promise.”

“Are you armed?”

She grinned, letting herself look a little more cocky than she felt. “Do you even have to ask?” She tapped at her belt. Worn and ragged as her clothes were, she always made sure they stayed in good enough repair to hide her knives. And though part of her wanted to stay here with Belmont in the shadows, in this curious temporary alliance that had formed between them, she knew she had to go. Still, the feeling of his warmth lingered on her palm as she moved with new purpose through the trees. Rylan. She pictured his face in her mind, so like her brother’s at that age that it still took her breath away. Marroc had always been the pack’s reigning champion of hide-and-seek, but she’d always been able to find him. And knowing how much it was going to hurt, Venna took a breath, then let herself imagine she was searching for her brother.

He was on the beach, of course. Sand at one end, and a huge jumble of rocks at the other, perfect for exploring, climbing or hiding. Mindful of Syrra’s warning about her bandages, Venna moved carefully through the rocks, resisting the urge to jump or scramble quickly. It wouldn’t do to spook the boy—either by startling him, or appearing out of the darkness covered in fresh blood. A slight sound drew her attention, even over the roar of the waves, and she slid carefully down between two rocks, eyes widening as she realized there was a kind of natural cave here, hard to see from above.

“How’d you find me?”

A small, defiant voice. She squinted into the darkness down here, wishing her eyes would adjust quicker, or that there was more moonlight to see by—but she could make out a figure kneeling on the rock just ahead.

“Who says I was looking for you?” she responded, feeling her heart threaten to break. It was what she’d always said to Marroc whenever she discovered him in one of his particularly ambitious hiding places. To her delight, she heard Rylan laugh a little, then quickly stifle the sound.

“I’m not going back to that house.”

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