Chapter 30 The Truth About Cyrinne
Aclira’s POV
I stare at Daelor, breath held tight in my chest, waiting for his revelation about Cyrinne. Sunlight streams through the windshield, painting gold along his sharp cheekbones as he navigates the morning traffic, perfectly composed.
At last, he glances over, a sly smirk flickering at the edge of his mouth. “Cyrinne Wynthor is pregnant.”
The words land like a fist to my gut. My jaw drops. For a moment, I can only blink, struggling to process.
“Pregnant?!” It comes out as a strangled gasp, my mind spinning with implications. “Whose child?”
Daelor’s chuckle is dark and knowing. His silver–gray eyes meet mine before flicking back to the road. “Doubt it’s Alarion’s. Didn’t you just tell me he can’t sire pups?”
The bitter irony nearly makes me laugh: Alarion’s former and current mates both carrying children at the same time, despite his supposed infertility. Fate has a vicious sense of humor.
I almost blurt out my own secret, a confession trembling on my lips… but I swallow it. Now is not the time. With the mate bond severance still unresolved and everything so precarious, I can’t risk it. My hand slips unconsciously to my belly, a gesture that’s beboming habit..
Daelor’s eyes catch the movement. “You were about to say something.”
I shake my head, forcing composure. “Just surprised, that’s all.” I keep my secrets locked away for now.
He lets it go, his attention shifting back to the road. “Most likely, the child is Cyrinne’s ex–husband’s. That’s what I’ve gathered.”
“I was thinking the same thing, I murmur, piecing together the implications. If Cyrinne’s pregnant with her ex’s child, she needs Alarion more than ever–for safety, status, someone to play the role of father. No wonder she’s desperate.
Before I can chase the thought further, my phone vibrates violently. Alarion’s name flashes across the screen. I reject the call, jaw tight, But the phone rings again–relentlessly, stubbornly.
“Persistent,” Daelor notes, dry amusement curling his lips.
Suddenly, he extends his hand, palm open and expectant. “Let me.” His tone brooks no argument.
Curiosity wins out over caution. I hand him my phone.
Daelor answers and puts the call on speaker,
“Aelira, are you insane?” Alarion’s voice explodes into the car, taut with rage. “You left me with Cyrinne! Do you even understand what you’ve done? You-”
“Alarion.” Daelor’s voice is calm, almost lazy.
A heavy, stunned silence falls on the line. I can almost hear Alarion’s world tilt on its axis.
“Daelor?!” Alarion spits, the name venomous.
“Why are you answering Aelira’s phone?” he snarls.
I sit frozen, watching Daelor’s easy confidence as he steers the conversation. Once, these two had been inseparable- Alpha sons, dominating the basketball court at pack gatherings, their rivalry electric but playful. Now there’s an invisible chasm between them, and I’m stranded right in the middle.
“What do you think?” Daelor replies, each tap of his fingers on the wheel a calculated reminder of his power.
Alarion’s roar nearly cracks the speaker. “Daelor, Aelira and I aren’t severed yet! She’s still my Luna!”
My wolf bristles at his possessive claim, anger flaring hot.
“Even if I’ve made mistakes, it’s between us. You have no right to interfere! Stay away from her, I’m warning you.”
Daelor’s laugh is low and sharp, dangerous. “And if I don’t?”
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“Daelor!” Alarion’s voice drops into that Alpha register that makes most wolves tremble.
Daelor doesn’t even blink. “Let me give you some friendly advice,” he says, voice light but edged with steel. “Sign the severance. Soon, Don’t force me to act.”
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Despite the easy smile on Daelor’s lips, a chill runs down my spine. The threat is unmistakable–and I know Daelor never bluffs. The Nightshade Pack dwarfs Thunder Pack in strength.
Alarion must realize it, too. The line goes dead without another word.
I retrieve my phone, unease prickling under my skin. Gratitude for Daelor’s intervention mingles with a wary suspicion–his methods are too smooth, his motives too opaque. What’s really driving him to help me?
Before I can dwell on it, Daelor pulls the car to a graceful stop.
“We’re here,” he says, nodding toward the gleaming glass facade of Verdant Moon Herbalists.
“Thanks for the ride,” I murmur, gathering my things and climbing out.
To my surprise, Daelor exits as well, straightening his suit and falling into step beside me.
“You’re coming in?” I ask, unable to hide my confusion.
Before he can answer, a group of men in crisp business attire stride toward us. My heart skips as I recognize Mr. Ferrow, the business manager for my department
“Alpha Briarhallow!” the middle–aged man calls, face alight with excitement. “You’ve finally arrived! Thank you for your generosity–your support has transformed Verdant Moon and the herbal industry.”
My mouth falls open. Daelor–connected to Verdant Moon?
Mr. Ferrow sidles up, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Ms. Sunmere, how do you know Alpha Briarhallow?” he whispers.
“He’s… my senior from university,” I reply quickly, not ready to explain the tangled truth, “He offered me a ride.”
Mr. Ferrow’s eyebrows shoot up. “Really! You should have mentioned it at your interview!”
He leans closer, voice dropping conspiratorially. “Alpha Briarhallow is our biggest outside investor. His funding turned our rare herb program into the envy of the territory.”
I force myself to remain neutral, mind reeling. No wonder Daelor seemed so pleased when I got the job.
We’re soon joined by Mr. Hyllorn, Verdant Moon’s CEO. His eyes brighten as Mr. Ferrow explains my supposed
“connection.”
“Ms. Sunmere!” Mr. Hyllorn beams, shaking my hand with both of his. “What a wonderful coincidence! Since you’re acquainted with Alpha Briarhallow, you’ll be handling all future communications with him.”
My heart sinks. This is exactly the kind of complication I wanted to avoid.
“I’m sure Ms. Sunmere will excel,” Daelor chimes in, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he watches me squirm.
After more pleasantries, the business leaders disperse, leaving Daelor and me alone on the walkway.
I exhale sharply, tension spilling out. This morning feels like a fever dream.
“Something wrong?” Daelor asks, the teasing in his voice unmistakable. “Don’t like your new responsibility?”
I roll my eyes, unable to keep the exasperation from my face. “Next time you’re going to drop a bomb like this, could you warn me first?”
He grins and, before I can react, reaches out to ruffle my hair. The gesture is so unexpectedly tender it disarms me.
“Promise,” he says.
With that, he turns and heads for his car, leaving me rooted on the sidewalk, struggling to process everything that’s happened since sunrise.
I shake my head, trying to clear the fog, and head toward the building. I barely make it two steps before someone clamps a
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hand around my wrist.
