Chapter 10 Breaking Free
Aelira’s POV
The antiseptic tang of the hospital is almost comforting now, its sharpness woven into the fabric of my days. I sit at my mother’s bedside, watching each fragile rise and fall of her chest, holding on to every shallow breath as if it might be the
last.
Dr. Nyven Leyric stands across from me, his silver hair catching fluorescent light as he studies her chart. He looks up, his eyes gentle and grave. “We’re focusing on comfort now,” he says. “The new treatment should keep her pain at bay and give her the best quality we can.”
I nad, forcing the lump in my throat down. “How long?” The question tastes like surrender.
He hesitates, a doctor’s compassion in every line of his face. “It’s impossible to say with this particular condition. But minimizing stress is crucial now, Aelira.”
A surge of anxiety ripples through me. Keep her calm–when I’m falling apart? How am I supposed to shield her from the
storm my
life has become?
“I understand,” I promise, trying to inject confidence into my voice. “I’ll make sure she’s peaceful.”
My mother stirs, her eyelids fluttering open. “Aelira? Are you here, darling?”
“I’m here, Mother.” I reach for her hand, so thin and cool, and cradle it in both of mine.
She blinks, searching the room. “Where’s Alarion?”
The question cuts sharply, though I don’t let it show. Two days and still no sign of him since he went running to Cyrinne after her dramatic ‘suicide attempt.”
“Pack affairs,” I lie, forcing a smile. “You know how busy Alphas are.
She accepts this with a small, trusting nod. “And my grandpup?”
“Thriving,” I say, guiding her hand to rest over my still–flat belly. “The doctor said everything looks perfect.”
Dr. Leyric nods, backing my lie with a soft smile.
“A blessing.” my mother whispers, her eyes drifting closed again, peace settling over her face. “You and Alarion–destined mates, always.”
Her words lance deeper than she could ever know. I stay by her side until sleep claims her once more, the medication cocooning her in relief.
As I step into the corridor, I thank Dr. Leyric quietly. He lingers. “Aelira… if you need anything–Daelor mentioned-”
I cut him off with a gentle shake of my head. “I’m fine. Really.”
He doesn’t believe me, but he lets me keep my secrets.
Exhaustion swamps me as I slide into the back of the pack vehicle. The weight of pregnancy and grief presses down, heavier with every mile. I must drift off, because the world blurs and returns with a gentle touch on my shoulder.
“Aelira, dear, we’re here.”
I blink awake to Elysande Riven’s kind face. For a moment, I don’t recognize where we are.
*The ceremonial shop?” I frown, disoriented.
Elysande beams, her excitement radiant. “Your final fitting for the Luna gown, darling. The ceremony is almost upon us!”
I feel a cold drop in my stomach. I’d nearly forgotten about the formal mating ceremony I once hoped would mean everything.
“I’m not sure today-“I start, but Elysande is already helping me from the car,
“Nonsense! The designer cleared her schedule for us.”
Chapter 10 Breaking Free
I can’t bear to let her down. Elysande has always been my one gentle ally in this house.
Inside, the ceremonial shop is hushed and luxurious, reserved for the pack’s elite. The air shimmers with the scent of silk
and old magic.
“Elder Riven! Luna Riven! Welcome!” The designer appears, tape measure at her neck and an eager smile on her lips. She ushers us into a private room, where my gown awaits.
It is exquisite–silver–white silk, the Thunder Pack’s lightning motif dancing across it in shimmering thread. It gleams beneath the lights, a promise of a future that feels just out of reach.
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.
“Try it on, dear!” Elysande’s eyes shine with pride.
The designer helps me slip into the gown, her hands swift and skilled. But as she fastens the last closure, the fabric presses uncomfortably against my midsection.
She pauses, nostrils flaring almost imperceptibly. “Hmm. Interesting.”
“What is it?” Elysande asks, her voice edged with concern.
The designer cocks her head, eyes sharp. “Your scent has shifted, Luna. And your figure–perhaps we need new
measurements.”
Her meaning is clear. Werewolf senses miss nothing, especially trained ones.
Elysande’s eyes widen, flickering with a question she doesn’t voice.
I’ve been eating more,” I say quickly, trying to sound light. “Stress from my mother’s illness.”
The designer accepts this with a knowing smile that tells me she’s not fooled. “I’ll make the appropriate adjustments.”
She leaves, and Elysande turns to me, her expression suddenly grave.
“Aelira, where is Alarion? The truth.”
I can’t look at her. “I haven’t seen him since the hospital.”
She touches my shoulder, gentle but unyielding. “I can smell Cyrinne’s scent on your clothes. Was she there?”
My wolf bristles, anger and shame rising. “She attempted suicide. Alarion rushed to her side. Again.” Elysande’s eyes flash amber, her anger barely contained. “Again. Always a crisis when he should be with you.”
“What do you mean?” My voice is sharp with sudden hope and dread.
Elysande sighs, her sadness deep. “This isn’t the first time. When Alarion announced your mating, Cyrinne collapsed. When you became Luna, she had a breakdown. Every time you step forward, she pulls him back.”
The revelation crushes me. Cyrinne’s manipulation runs deeper than I ever imagined.
“I didn’t know,” I whisper, voice breaking.
“You deserve better, Aelira.” Elysande’s words echo Daelor’s–words that have haunted me for days.
The designer returns, and the moment ends. I stand for the final adjustments, numb, my energy drained to nothing.
“I need to rest,” I murmur as we leave. “I have remedies to prepare for Mother.”
Elysande squeezes my hand. “Of course. But know this–I’ll be confronting my son about his choices.”
Back at the pack house, I drag myself to our den. Alarion’s scent lingers, faint now, a memory more than a presence. I curl up on the bed, one hand over my belly.
“What are we going to do, little one?” I whisper into the silence.
I drift into uneasy sleep and wake to the sound of someone entering. Alarion’s Alpha scent floods the room, familiar and complicated.
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<Chapter 10 Breaking Free
“Aelira?” he calls softly. “Are you awake?”
I don’t move. “I’m awake.”
He approaches, hesitant. I’m sorry I left you at the hospital.”
“And ran to Cyrinne. Again.” My bitterness is sharp and cold.
He sighs, rubbing his hand through his hair. “She tried to kill herself. What was I supposed to do?”
“How convenient,” I sneer. “Somehow, she always finds a crisis when you and I need to talk.”
His eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I sit up, fury giving me strength. “Your mother told me this isn’t the first time. Cyrinne always finds a way to draw you in when you’re supposed to be with me.”
“That’s unfair, Alarion protests. “She’s genuinely struggling.”
I
“And I’m genuinely tired of being second in my own mate’s life,” I snap back.
He sits beside me, reaching for understanding, but I shift away. The hurt on his face is sharp, but I can’t let myself care.
“It isn’t what you think,” he insists. “Cyrinne and
“Don’t,” I cut him off. “You’ve made your priorities clear.”
“She’s lost everything because of me. Her mate is disabled because he saved my life. I can’t just ignore that.”
“Then your debt is to Draven,” I reply, my voice icy. “Not the mate who left him alone in his suffering”
He recoils, the truth wounding him. “You don’t understand-”
“I understand perfectly. What I don’t understand is why your guilt for her outweighs your loyalty to me.”
He slumps, defeated. “It’s over. Whatever was between me and Cyrinne–I ended it. I swear. I won’t let what happened at the hospital happen again.”
My wolf whimpers, exhausted by broken promises.
“Just go, Alarion,” I whisper, turning away. “I’m too tired for this.”
He catches my hand, desperation trembling in his touch. “Aelira, please. Not now. Your mother is sick. This isn’t the time to talk about severing our mate bond.”
I freeze. “How did you know I was considering that?”
He looks away, shame and frustration in his eyes. “Daelor told me. He said you might ask for his help.
Of course. The truth settles, heavy and cold. His concern was never really about me–it was about control, about keeping
up appearances.
*Please,” Alarion says, his voice soft but the threat beneath it unmistakable. “For your mother’s sake, let’s not do this now. The stress could kill her.”
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