Page 6 of The Alpha's Betrayed Mate

“I suggest justice is the least they deserve. But I take your point. The situation is complex, and evolving.”

“The captive is also yet to wake,” Belmont said, thinking back to the still figure in the bed. Even unconscious, he’d barely been able to keep control of himself in her presence. What the hell was he going to do when she woke up?

“Then we’ll reassess once she does,” Raske said briskly. A fractional pause—so short that only someone who knew Raske as well as Belmont did would have been able to observe it. “I know that you and Venna were close once. As close as you and Marroc, even, before that awful day came.” Belmont knew one of Raske’s little tests when he saw one. The old wolf had always been suspicious of his friendship with Venna. But nobody knew the full story of that awful day. At least, that was what he’d thought before he’d seen her lying there on that stretcher…

“I did not allow our friendship to affect my judgment then, nor will it do so now.” He didn’t let his expression flicker, and he could see the approval in Raske’s eyes. The two of them parted ways shortly after, the old wolf leaning hard on his staff as he made his way back towards the community center. Belmont watched him go, and only when he was sure he was out of earshot did he let out the shaky breath he was holding.

How much longer was he going to be able to hold himself together?

Chapter 4 - Venna

She could feel her wounds healing, but Venna maintained the illusion of unconsciousness whenever Syrra came to check on her. She knew it wasn’t a strategy that she could rely on for long, but she needed all the time she could get to come up with a plan, and the longer she could put off the lorekeeper, the better. She had to push back the inevitable confrontation with Belmont at all costs. It had been hard enough hearing his voice when he’d come to check on her—she had no idea what was going to happen when she was forced to actually speak to him.

It was the next morning when Syrra came to change her bandages again. She did her best to feign unconsciousness as she had each time the woman had spoken to her the previous day, but she must have flinched a little too readily as the lorekeeper peeled back the bandages from her wounds.

“I can tell you’re awake,” the blue-eyed woman said, and though Venna considered continuing the charade, there was something in the measured amusement in her tone that told her that the game was up. She opened her eyes reluctantly, and Syrra smiled faintly as she continued with her work. “I’m glad to see you’re conscious. If you’d stayed asleep any longer, I’d have started to worry you’d sustained a head injury we wouldn’t be able to treat here.”

“How long?” Venna asked, wincing a little at the unpleasant rasp of her voice. “How long have I been here?”

“The pack came through the portal the day before yesterday,” Syrra said, looking at her closely. “Do you remember the attack?”

“Yes,” Venna said shortly. How could she have forgotten? She didn’t deserve such a blessing, after what she’d done. “How many dead?”

Syrra hesitated, but Venna had gotten enough of an answer from the expression on her face. “Are you a member of Belmont’s pack?” she asked after a pause. Venna looked at her closely.

“You know I’m not.”

“I know very little.”

“We have that in common.” Venna folded her arms across her chest, narrowing her eyes at the woman. But Syrra, gentle as her voice and hands might have been, didn’t flinch.

“Why don’t we help each other, then?”

Venna gritted her teeth. Of course it was going to come down to a trade-off—and it wasn’t like she was in much of a position to make demands. “Fine. My name is Venna. I was a member of the pack when I was younger, and then I was exiled, and now I’m nobody. Now will you tell me how many of my family are dead?”

Too harsh, she wondered? But Syrra took in her words calmly, ignoring the jab. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I introduced myself earlier, but I’m not sure if you were awake. I’m Syrra, Head Lorekeeper here on Kurivon. I can tell you that the injured wolves who came through with you are all recovering well. Yours were the most serious injuries by far.”

That made sense, she thought with a grimace. When you fought with no regard for whether you lived or died, you tended to take some damage. Syrra seemed to be waiting for a response, but she shrugged her shoulders, unwilling to surrender any more information than she’d already given.

“I couldn’t help but notice that these are far from your first serious wounds,” Syrra said finally. “You have quite a collection of scars for a woman your age, Venna.”

Venna shrugged again. What reason did she have to feel self-conscious about the scars that littered her body? Let Syrra put the pieces together about what eight years living alone in the wilds could do to a person. “Tell me about the pack.” She didn’t like how unsteady her voice was. The way it shook and creaked with disuse made her sound emotional. She didn’t want to sound emotional. It was bad enough that she had to feel it.

Syrra sighed. “The Alpha has warned me to keep such information from you,” she said, but through Venna’s burning anger she could see the careful way the lorekeeper was choosing her words. Some gut instinct told her to handle this woman with a little more care. It was possible the lorekeeper could be an ally, not just another foe.

“Did he say why?” A measured pause. Venna snorted. “Of course not. Belmont hoards information like currency. He doesn’t even like telling people his name unless he gets something in return.”

“I’m guessing it has to do with your status as an exile from the pack.”

“You’re guessing right,” she said, grimacing as a quick movement jarred her midsection. Syrra clicked her tongue.

“Be careful. You’ve got three broken ribs, and at least two more that are cracked,” she said reprovingly. Venna decided against remarking that that was a pretty good result, all things considered. She’d recovered from worse in the wild—and that was without anyone to fuss over her like this. “And while we’re on the subject of your injuries, I’d ask you not to try to get out of bed for at least another day. I know it’s tempting, but—“

Syrra broke off mid-sentence, and it wasn’t hard to see why. The door behind her had swung open, but when Venna looked up, she couldn’t see anyone at all in the doorway. Still, Syrra made an exasperated sound and rose to her feet. Venna flinched with shock at the sound of a sudden, high giggle, and the thunder of running footsteps rapidly disappearing down the corridor. Venna leaned forward in the bed, a mixture of curiosity and dread churning in her stomach as Syrra turned back with an exasperated smile.

“Sorry about them. They’re extremely curious about all the new arrivals, and impulse control is hard when you’re three.”

“Three?”

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