Chapter 26 Revelation
Aelira’s POV
The apartment yawns with emptiness the moment Daelor leaves. I sink into the sofa, every muscle aching with exhaustion from the day’s chaos. Deep inside, my wolf whimpers, bewildered by the storm that has swept through our lives.
The sharp trill of my phone slices the silence, making me jolt. On the screen: Alarion. His name alone sends a spike of anxiety through my chest. My thumb hovers, trembling, over the decline button–but something compels me to answer.
“Hello?” My voice is so fragile, I hardly recognize it.
“Come downstairs.” His words are clipped, stripped of their usual warmth. “I’ll sign your papers.”
My heart slams against my ribs. “What?”
“You heard me. If you want your severance, come down. Now,”
He hangs up. I stare at the dead screen, suspicion curdling in my stomach. After the way he reacted to Daelor, I wouldn’t put anything past him.
Yet, if there’s even the thinnest chance he’ll sign those papers…. I shrug on my jacket, fingers fumbling as I snatch a silver- tipped letter opener from my desk drawer and slip it into my pocket. A small, cold promise of protection.
The elevator crawl feels endless. My thoughts spiral, frantic, my wolf pacing beneath my skin–uneasy, alert. What has made Alarion change his mind so abruptly?
Outside, the evening air bites at my cheeks. Alarion leans against the old oak at the entrance, half–swallowed by shadow. His usual Alpha swagger is gone, replaced by a brooding, feral anger. A deep violet bruise spreads across his jaw where Daelor struck him–a dark badge of humiliation.
“That was quick,” he says as I approach, careful to keep distance between us.
“You said you’d sign the papers,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel.
Alarion’s amber eyes scan me, hunting for cracks, for secrets. “What’s going on between you and Briarhallow?”
His question lands like a slap. “That’s not your concern anymore, I say, cold.
He bristles–old instincts flaring. “You’re still my mate,” he growls, then reins himself in. “For now.”
A sudden chill seeps into me, and I fold my arms tight across my chest. “Where are the papers?”
“So it’s true, then?” He pushes off the tree, closing a little of the space. “Yob and Briarhallow?”
My wolf remains silent, unmoved by the mate standing before us. Her quiet is answer enough.
“Think what you want, I say, letting bitterness edge my words.
He shakes his head, disbelief etching his features. “It’s not real, it can’t be. He’s just using you to get to me.”
I let his accusation hang unanswered. Let him believe whatever gives him comfort, if it means he’ll let me go.
“It won’t last,” he insists, voice hardening. “Daelor Briarhallow would never mate for life with a she–wolf from low blood. Not someone like you.”
The words out, sharper than I expect. “At least he didn’t abandon me at our mating ceremony.”
Alarion winces, as if I’d struck him again. The aggression in his scent dissolves, replaced by a wounded, uncertain tangle- regret, maybe.
“I’m sorry,” he says, so quietly I almost miss it. “For Cyrinne. For the ceremony. For your mother.”
His apology catches me off guard.
1 handled it all wrong,” he confesses, dragging a hand through his hair.
- ir. “When Cyrinne called that day, told me she’d taken those pills… I panicked. I couldn’t let her die because of me.”
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<Chapter 26 Revelation
“And our ceremony?” My voice is barely a breath. “All those guests? My mother?”
Pain clouds his eyes. “I was coming back to you, Aelira, I swear it. By the time I got to the hospital, Cyrinne was stable. Her attempt wasn’t…” He hesitates, choosing his words with care. “It wasn’t as serious as she wanted me to believe.”
My wolf growls, low and feral, beneath my skin–vindication and fury tangled together.
“I was driving back when you called,” he continues. “I didn’t know about your mother until I arrived at the venue.”
that dreamed of being his Luna, bearing his pups.
A part of me aches to trust him–the part that loved him for twelve years.
“Let me try again,” Alarion pleads, his voice dropping to that old, tender cadence from our earliest days. “There’s nothing. between me and Cyrinne. It’s you, Aelira. You’re the one I want. The one I need.”
He takes a slow step toward me, his scent wrapping around my senses–familiar, once beloved, now tinged with loss.
“I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you,” he promises, amber eyes searching desperately for forgiveness. “Don’t throw away three years of mating over one mistake.”
I freeze, his plea rooting me in place. For a heartbeat, I imagine surrendering–slipping back into the comfort of our shared | ife, the safety of being Luna of the Thunder Pack.
But my wolf remains silent, unmoved. She should be howling for her mate, desperate for reunion. Instead, only emptiness. Her silence is my answer.
“No,” I tell him, quietly but unyielding. “I can’t forget. You broke something in me that day–something I can’t repair.”
His face collapses, hope drowning in desperation. “Aelira, please
“You hurt me,” I cut in, my voice catching. “Not just at the ceremony. For months before that. Every time you ran to Cyrinne. Every time you left me behind.”
My hand drifts to my abdomen, protective, instinctive–where our pup grows, a secret he still doesn’t know
“Let me go,” I whisper.
His
eyes rim crimson, his wolf straining beneath the surface. “Does it have to end like this?” he rasps.
I nod, sorrow and relief washing over me in equal measure. We were happy, once–before Cyrinne came back. Before the weight of failed pregnancies crushed us both.
“I’ll sign,” he says finally. “Tomorrow. Territorial Registry Office. Nine sharp.”
I blink, startled. The Territorial Registry–the place where mate bonds become official, and where they can be cleanly. severed, no pack council, no territory judges, no endless legal war. So much simpler than the fight Beryn Quillon was bracing for.
“Thank you,” I say, gratitude raw in my chest.
I
Alarion turns away, then hesitates. “You’ll regret this, Aelira,” he says, not looking back. “One day you’ll know what you’ve lost.”
He strides off, shoulders stiff with agony he refuses to show. I watch him go, feeling the finality settle inside me–the last page of a chapter, turning.
When he’s gone, relief floods through me so fiercely my knees threaten to buckle. My wolf exhales, finally, sinking into calm for the first time in days.
I fumble for my phone and dial Oriana. She picks up on the second ring.
Aelira? What happened?”
“He’s going to sign,” I blurt, joy breaking through. “Tomorrow at the Registry.”
There’s a heartbeat of silence, then Oriana shrieks–a wild, delighted sound. “Are you serious? What made him change his mind?”
“I don’t know,” I admit, heading for the elevator. “Maybe it was Daelor. Or maybe he finally wants to be free–with Cyrinne.”
Chapter 26 Revelation
“Wait, I need to see your face,” Driana says, and suddenly we’re on video. Her grin lights up the screen, her happiness contagious. “I can’t believe it. No legal battle, no Roderic Riven breathing down your neck, no more Cyrinne and her. poison!”
I laugh, hope swelling inside me as I step into my apartment. “It doesn’t feel real. Not after everything.”
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“Oh, honey, there’s nothing easy about what you’ve survived,” she says, her tone softening. “But now you get to start over. No more pack duties, no more pretending.”
Her excitement is infectious–I can’t help but smile. “It’s actually happening, isn’t it?”
“It is! Want me to come with you? Moral support?”
I pause, considering. Then shake my head. “I need to do this alone. It’s just signatures.”
Oriana nods. “Call me as soon as it’s done. We’ll celebrate.”
“I promise.”
“Happy Mate Bond Severance!” she cheers, ending the call.
I set the phone down, a strange new weight settling inside me. Tomorrow, I’ll stop being Aelira Riven, Luna of the Thunder
Pack. I’ll be Aelire Sunmere again–just Aelira.
My wolf is silent as I ready myself for bed–neither mourning nor rejoicing. Perhaps she’s as torn as I am. Three years of mating, twelve years of loving Alarion–ending with the soft click of a pen.
Sleep comes easier than I expect, exhaustion stealing me away–the rough tides of the day, the slow drain of early pregnancy, finally too much to fight.
In the morning, nervous electricity thrums through me. I dress with care–a simple blue dress, a cardigan–wanting to look composed when I face Alarion for the last time.
Hours crawl by. Noon approaches; no word from him. Anxiety claws at my insides, my wolf’s restlessness echoing my own. Has he changed his mind?
I call. No answer.
Fifteen minutes later, litry again.
On the fourth ring, he picks up.
“Alarion?” I begin, ready to ask about the Registry.
But his voice, when it comes, is icy and precise:
“You knew I have weak seed and can’t sire pups,
right?”
