Chapter 16 Three Slaps
Aelira’s POV
The sting in my palm is sharp and satisfying as I slap Alarion for the third time, His amber eyes flare, the wolf inside him breaking through his fragile mask of composure.
“Enough!” he snarls, lunging at me, wild and unrestrained.
I brace for the violence of his grip, but it never comes. Instead, I watch as he whirls, spinning to attack the one restraining him. His fist slices through empty air–Daelor sidesteps with effortless grace, never loosening his iron hold on Alarion’s
wrist.
“Control yourself,” Daelor says, his tone glacial, dangerous. “This is a hospital, not your territory to throw tantrums in. Alarion’s chest heaves, barely reining in his rage. “Release me now, Briarhallow. This doesn’t concern you.”
“It became my concern,” Daelor replies, voice flat and merciless, “the moment you abandoned your mate on your ceremony day
Elysande steps forward, her face pinched with grief and desperation. “Please, both of you–this isn’t the place.”
Alarion yanks his arm free, straightening his wrinkled suit jacket with a brittle dignity. The red marks from my hand burn on his skin, proof of everything he’s done.
“Aelira, we need to talk privately,” he says, reaching out for me.
I recoil, my wolf surging protectively. “Don’t touch me.”
“You bastard!”
The shout ricochets down the corridor, Jornic barrels toward us, face twisted in grief and fury. Before he can reach Alarion, Luthen Brielle materializes, intercepting him with a practiced, ruthless efficiency.
“Let go of me!” Jornic thrashes against Luthen’s hold, grief boiling into blame. “He killed my mother! His selfishness-
“Stop this immediately!” Elysande’s voice slices through the chaos, sharp as glass. “My God, Emeris just passed away. Have some respect!”
Nurses cluster nearby, their faces taut with concern and judgment. One reaches for the phone, no doubt about to summon
security.
“Get him out of here,” I say to Luthen, nodding toward my brother. “Please
Luthen nods, guiding Jornic away despite his curses and struggling.
Daelor moves between me and Alarion, broad shoulders blocking the path, “You need to leave,” he tells Alarion, his command brooking no argument. “Your Luna needs space.”
“You don’t speak for my mate,” Alarion spits, Alpha dominance crackling in his voice.
“No,” Dr. Nyven Leyric interjects, materializing at Alarion’s side, “but I speak for the hospital. And I’m telling you to take this elsewhere. There are patients who need peace and rest.”
Daelor doesn’t wait for permission. He grabs Alarion’s arm, dragging him away with force. Elysande gives me one last, pained look before trailing after them, her posture crushed with the weight of loss.
The hours, then days after my mother’s death pass in a colorless blur. I keep myself moving, immersed in the mechanics of mourning–funeral arrangements, casket selection, flower orders, endless condolences. All the while, grief is a physical weight, pressing down until I nearly can’t breathe.
Nights are the worst. When the world goes silent, sorrow presses down on me, suffocating. My wolf paces inside, mourning my mother and circling protectively around the tiny life inside me.
The Thunder Pack sends food and flowers. Pack members arrive with awkward words, their sympathy stiff and insufficient. Alarion, mercifully, stays away.
7.78%
Chapter 16 Three Slaps
Each moming I wake, stunned that I have survived another night inside this hollow ache. Each day I move through the rituals of loss like a ghost. Oriana remains at my side, managing what I cannot.
“You need to eat,” she reminds me, again and again, nudging plates I barely notice.
Jornic drifts in and out, unmoored by his own pain. We orbit each other, bound by blood and grief, but unable to reach across the chasm between us.
A week after the funeral, Oriana drives me back to Aethervale Hospital to collect my mother’s belongings. A nurse greets us with a cardboard box, her manner gentle and mournful.
“Her clothes, some books, her toiletries,” she says quietly. “We also cleared her bedside drawer.”
I nod in thanks, unable to speak. The box is light–impossibly light–for all that it holds.
In the corridor, I can’t wait. I set the box down and begin to sift through it, desperate for any trace of her. Beneath her nightgown, wrapped in crinkled tissue, I find something small and soft.
A tiny, half–finished baby hat. Yellow yarn, gentle as sunlight, the knitting needles still threaded through the last rows. Next to it, a matching ball of yarn.
My breath catches, sharp and ragged..
M
“She was knitting for the baby,” I whisper, fingers trembling as I touch the delicate stitches.
Oriana leads me to a bench as my knees threaten to collapse.
“She was so excited to be a grandmother,” I sob, tears streaming down my face. “She talked about all the things she’d teach her grandchild. She wanted to be here for everything.”
The yellow hat blurs as I cry. My mother poured her love into every stitch, racing against time, growing weaker each day, refusing to let go until she’d left something behind for my child,
“It’s my fault she’s gone,” I choke, pressing the tiny hat to my heart. “If I hadn’t lied about Alarion if I hadn’t pretended everything was fine-
“No,” Oriana says, her tone fierce, grabbing my shoulders. “Your mother had a terminal illness, Aelira. Nothing you did could have changed that.”
“But she died because of shock! Because she heard Cyrinne’s voice on Alarion’s phone! My grief flares into rage.
“The disease took her Oriana insists. “Not you. Never you.”
But I do blame myself. And him. And Cyrinne. The guilt is a poison, swirling through me, eating away at anything that might heal.
I stare down at the little yellow hat, the symbol of everything I’ve lost and everything I still carry. This child will always tie me to Alarion–every decision, every milestone, every heartbreak. There will never be freedom.
“I want to sever our mate bond,” I say, the words falling from my lips before I know I’ve spoken them.
The air between us stills. The words hang there, heavy, irreversible. But as soon as I say them, I feel something inside me release–a hint of relief.
Oriana’s eyes widen. “Aelira, that’s not something to take lightly. Severing a mate bond isn’t like getting a divorce. It’s dangerous. It hurts.”
don’t care,” I say, and my voice is iron. “I can’t stay bound to him.”
Her gaze slips to my stomach. “What about the baby?”
The decision crystallizes in me, hard and hard–edged. “I’m going to terminate the pregnancy.”
Saying it is like tearing open a wound. My wolf howls inside, wild and wounded, desperate to shield the life within
“Are you sure?” Oriana asks, her voice gentler than ever. “That’s not something you can undo.”
“I need a clean break,” I say, reverently wrapping the hat and placing it back in the box. “This baby would tie me to Alarion
174
< Chapter 16 Three Slaps
forever, I can’t spend my life bound to him.”
Oriana is s quiet f
for a long time. Then she takes my hand.
“If that’s truly what you want, I’ll stand by you,” she promises, her eyes unwavering. I’ll go with you to the clinic. I’ll be with you through everything.”
Tears well up, gratitude mingling with sorrow. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’ll never have to find out,” she says, pulling me close.
Two days later, we drive to the Riven estate. I need personal belongings. I need to see Elysande. I owe the Thunder Pack an explanation. I can’t simply vanish.
on here, it never f
felt like home
e pull My hands shake as we up to the imposing house. Even after years living here,
Elysande meets us at the door, genuine worry etched in her features. She pulls me into a gentle embrace.
“Aelira, dear. You look exhausted. Come in, come in,” She leads us into the sitting room, the warmth of her hand on my back almost undoing me. “How are you holding up?”
Her kindness nearly shatters my resolve. But I steady myself, drawing my spine straight, meeting her gaze unflinchingly.
“I’ve come to tell you,” I say, “that I want to sever my mate bond with Alarion.”
