Chapter 11 Alpha’s Regret
Aelira’s POV
I stare at Alarion, stunned, his words heavy as stone between us.
“For your mother’s sake, let’s postpone this discussion. The stress of a mate bond severance could kill her in her condition.”
The manipulation is so bald, so shameless, it renders me breathless. I wrench my hand from his, unable to bear the hypocrisy of his touch.
“That’s low, even for you,” I whisper.
His amber eyes widen, as if surprised I would confront him so directly. “Aelira, I’m just stating facts. Your mother’s-” “Don’t,” I cut him off, voice steely. “Don’t pretend you care about my mother when you’re only protecting your own image.”
I move to the window, gazing out across Thunder Pack territory, the land that once felt like a promise. I remember my first days here as Alarion’s mate–how hope had burned in my chest, how certain I’d been that this was home, that he was destiny. Back then, Alarion and Daelor had been the golden heirs of our world–young, powerful, revered. I’d felt blessed, chosen, when my wolf finally recognized Alarion after years of secret longing.
Now that innocence feels like it belonged to another girl.
Behind me, Alarion’s voice softens, nostalgia curling around his words. “Do you territorial council? You were eight.”
remember the first time we met? At the
I don’t turn. “I remember.
“You were behind the meeting hall, collecting herbs. You had dirt on your cheek, leaves tangled in your hair.”
The memory tugs at something tender inside me. I’d been so nervous to meet the young Thunder Pack heir, so eager to
impress.
He moves behind me, hands gentle as he lays them on my shoulders, turning me to face him. I let him, but feel nothing. “There’s nothing between Cyrinne and me,” he insists, eyes searching mine. “Not in any way that matters. You are my mate, Aelira. My Luna.”
Once, those words would have set my heart alight. Now, I feel only emptiness,
The shrill ring of his phone slices through the moment. Alarion winces at the screen: Cyrinne’s name, lighting up again and
again.
A bitter smile twists my lips. “What a coincidence.”
“I won’t answer,” he says quickly.
I step away, gesturing to the phone. “Go ahead. We both know you want to.”
“No.” He declines the call, jaw clenched. “I meant what I said.”
The phone rings again, insistent. Without hesitating, I take it from his hand, scroll quickly to his contacts, and block Cyrinne’s number. Alarion tenses but lets me.
“There,” I say, returning it to him. “Problem solved.”
brace for anger, for protest. Instead, his shoulders drop, relief softening his face as if I’ve freed him from a burden.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
His response unsettles me. Is he truly grateful, or is this just another performance?
“I really am sorry for leaving you alone at Aethervale,” he says, reaching for my hands, voice earnest. “It won’t happen again.”
A month ago, I would have clung to these words. Now, only fatigue fills me.
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“My mother’s health is my only concern now,” I say, letting truth shield me from the chaos of my feelings. “She wants to see us properly mated before. My voice chokes on the truth I can’t say aloud.
Alarion nods, solemn. “We’ll give her that. The formal ceremony will go ahead.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, meaning it despite everything.
The days that follow blur with ceremony preparations. To my surprise, Alarion is attentive, present. He consults me on every detail, from the invitations–embellished with both our pack sigils–to the ceremonial offerings for the elders: rare herbs, precious stones, tokens of fertility and prosperity.
“What do you think of these?” he asks one afternoon, holding out a tray of ceremonial candles, their aroma of mountain herbs soothing the air.
I inhale, letting the scent calm me. “They’re perfect.”
He smiles, truly pleased by my approval. For a while, it almost feels like we’re the couple everyone believes us to be.
Cyrinne’s absence speaks louder than words. No sudden calls, no emergencies, no unannounced visits. The silence. should be a balm, but it only leaves me tense, waiting for the inevitable storm.
It doesn’t take long.
We’re in the family sitting room reviewing ceremony menus when Cyrinne sweeps in, Roderic Riven close behind. She’s in white as always, emerald eyes sweeping the room before she fixes on Alarion.
“I thought I’d offer my help with the ceremony,” she announces, her smile brittle. “I have so much experience with traditional rituals.”
Roderic beams. “What a thoughtful gesture!”
1 force a smile. “How considerate.”
Alarion barely glances up from the tablet where he’s choosing the feast. His lack of enthusiasm is new, and I watch it closely.
“We’ve got it under control,” he says, voice flat.
Cyrinne moves closer, peering at the menu. “Oh, you’re picking the food! Let me see.”
I watch, wary. In the past, Alarion would have welcomed her, made room for her opinions. Now, he remains closed,
resolute.
‘What about silver moon cakes?” Cyrinne suggests. “Remember your parents‘ anniversary? You loved those.”
“Be quiet, Cyrinne,” Alarion snaps, the harshness in his voice shocking everyone.
Cyrinne recoils, masking her shock with practiced hurt. “I was only trying to help. No need to bite my head off.”
Her voice softens, coaxing him back into their old intimacy. “You always had a sweet tooth. Remember sneaking into the kitchens at Winter Solstice? Your mother caught us, faces smeared with sugar.”
Alarion’s lips twitch, memory tugging at him. “And you blamed me.”
“Because you were a terrible liar. Cyrinne laughs, the sound too intimate.
I stand, invisible, watching the history between them–a world I can never enter.
Abruptly, Alarion sets down the tablet and takes my hand, leading me from the room. Cyrinne’s voice follows us, brittle and plaintive.
“Where are you going? We’re not finished!”
He doesn’t answer, pulling me up the stairs to our den. I glance back; Cyrinne’s emerald eyes burn with fury. A flicker of satisfaction stirs inside me.
“The mountain trout with juniper berries is best for the main course, Alarion says, settling into the window seat as if nothing happened. “It’s traditional for Thunder Pack.”
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I blink. “You didn’t have to leave just to tell me that.”
He shrugs, relaxed. “I thought we could continue in private.”
We turn to flower arrangements and music, but my mind is on him–on how his behavior with Cyrinne has shifted. Is it real, or just another show?
“After the ceremony,” I say carefully, “I’d like to have a checkup at Aethervale Hospital.”
He looks up, worry flickering across his features, “Is something wrong?”
“No. But once my place as Luna is secure, I think I’ll have some good news.”
He misreads me, his smile gentle. “Aelira, you don’t need to worry about conceiving. It will happen when it’s meant to.”
I let him believe it. Let him hold on to hope, not knowing our future is already growing within me.
“The doctors at Aethervale are thorough,” I say. “I’m hopeful.”
He squeezes my hand. “We’ll have a family soon. I know it.”
And despite everything–the doubts, the wounds, all the shadows between us–I find myself smiling at the thought of Alarion as a father. I wonder how he’ll react when he learns the truth: that our family has already begun.
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