Chapter 32 The Alpha’s Intended
Aelira’s POV
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Daelor’s invitation to Myrthale Lodge haunts me all afternoon. My focus splinters as I measure and grind, the scent of rare herbs swirling around
- me. Twice I spill precious moon sage, hands clumsy, cheeks burning as I
stammer apologies to my supervisor.
“Focus, Aelira,” I mutter, forcing myself to count out dried wolfsbane for a
fever remedy, trying to drown out the anxious flutter in my chest. But my
mind keeps circling back to the night ahead–Daelor’s phone call, his
promise to pick me up for a gathering I never imagined attending.
The irony isn’t lost on me. Yesterday I was desperate for any job; today, I’m
invited to the most exclusive venue in the territory–by none other than
Daelor Briarhallow. My wolf stirs, restless and bright beneath my skin, her
excitement a sharp contrast to my nerves.
I rush through my final assignments, determined to finish early, but end up
running late anyway. By the time I clean my workstation, the sky outside has already begun to darken.
“Leaving so soon, Ms. Sunmere?” Mr. Ferrow intercepts me on my way out,
his brow arched in mild surprise. “Your dedication is impressive.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say, mustering a quick smile before hurrying for the exit.
When I finally step into the lobby–half an hour later than planned–I freeze.
Daelor Briarhallow is waiting, leaning against the reception desk, scrolling through his phone as if this is the most natural place for an Alpha King to linger. Even in relaxed clothes, he radiates command; every female
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<Chapter 32 The Alpha’s Intended.
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employee glances his way, drawn by that magnetic, untouchable charisma, but none dare approach. 40E
hurry over, suddenly self–conscious in my wrinkled work dress, aware of
hair that’s fallen loose from its pins.
“I’m so sorry for making you wait,” I blurt, tucking a stray strand behind my ear. “I got caught up with the last batch.”
Daelor pockets his phone, lips quirking. “No apology needed. I just arrived
myself.”
The receptionist openly stares, curiosity and awe mingling in her gaze. Daelor seems oblivious as he gestures toward the door. “Shall we?”
Outside, his black SUV hums quietly at the curb. He opens the passenger
door for me a gesture so courteous it momentarily disarms me.
“Thank you,” I murmur as I slide in, heart thumping.
The drive is silent, but not awkward. The late sun turns the fields gold, the world soft and luminous. My wolf relaxes, soaking up the peace, letting the promise of tonight’s unknowns push aside our tangled worries.
When we reach Myrthale Lodge, I gape at the building’s grandeur–stone and glass rising elegantly against the twilight, every line illuminated by soft,
tasteful lighting.
Anxiety prickles as I glance down at my plain green dress. “Daelor,” I say,
voice tight, “I’m not dressed for this. And neither are you.”
He’s in a gray sweatshirt and jeans–at ease, but clearly out of place for an
event like this.
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Daelor just smirks, leading me past the doorman, who bows low in
greeting. “Alpha Briarhallow, welcome.”
I shoot Daelor a questioning look as we stride through the grand lobby, but
he only guides me to a private elevator, swiping a card and pressing his
thumb to a scanner.
“Your prints are in the system?” I ask, incredulous.
His eyes glint with humor. “You could say I’m a regular.”
The elevator opens on a private suite that takes my breath away. Floor–to-
ceiling windows frame a panoramic view of the territory. The space is vast,
flooded with warm light, every detail luxurious–deep navy and charcoal
furniture, modern lines softened by plush textures.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” Daelor says lightly.
I stare. “Humble? You live here?”
He shrugs. “One of my homes. It’s convenient for business in this area.”
I turn, eyes wide, taking in the wealth and power on display. This is what it
means to be Alpha King of Nightshade Pack–an empire, not just a
territory.
“I had some options sent up for you,” he says, nodding toward a closed door. “A few dresses. Take your pick.”
Before I can answer, he’s already unbuttoning his sweatshirt, revealing a flash of toned muscle. My cheeks flush and I turn away, stammering, “I’ll go look at the dresses.”
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In the bedroom, I lean against the door, heart racing. My wolf is oddly,
unsettlingly interested, but I force my mind back to the task at hand.
There aren’t just “a few” dresses. At least a dozen gowns are spread across the bed, each more exquisite than the last. Silk, satin, glittering
beadwork. Designer labels I’ve only ever seen in magazines.
“He can’t be serious,” I whisper, fingertips grazing the cool fabric.
After much deliberation, I choose a silver gown that drapes gracefully over
my body, glimmering with every movement–elegant but not revealing, the
kind of dress that feels like armor.
When I step out, Daelor is at the windows now, dressed in a black suit that
sharpens every line of his body. He turns, and I see him freeze for a
moment, eyes tracing from my hair to the silver heels I found in the closet.
“Well?” I ask, smoothing the dress nervously. “Do I look out of place?”
He clears his throat, voice dropping a register. “More than appropriate. You
look… stunning, Aelira.”
Warmth blooms in my chest, my wolf practically purring beneath my skin.
“Thank you,” I manage, cheeks hot. “You clean up pretty well yourself.”
His half–smile tugs at my heart in a way that unsettles me. “Shall we?”
I nod, taking his arm for balance, letting him lead me from the safety of the
suite into the unknown.
The grand hall is dazzling–crystal chandeliers pouring rainbows over a
sea of impeccably dressed werewolves. The air is heavy with perfume and
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Alpha pheromones, the hum of whispered gossip rising as Daelor and I enter. His hand rests at the small of my back; every eye seems to follow
- us.
A distinguished older wolf intercepts us, salt–and–pepper hair swept back with effortless style.
“Daelor!” he booms, smile wide. “I was beginning to think you’d stand us
up.”
“Councilor Rystan,” Daelor greets, warmth in his voice. “I wouldn’t miss
this.”
The man’s gaze lands on me, curiosity sharpening his features. “And this
lovely lady?”
I tense, uncertain how Daelor will introduce me. Friend? Business contact?
The woman he’s shepherding through a divorce?
“Aelira Sunmere,” Daelor says smoothly, his hand firm on my waist. “My
intended mate.”
Everything inside me goes still. Intended mate? My wolf jolts in surprise, and I fight to keep my face composed, to hide the shock that threatens to
spill over.
Rystan’s brows shoot up, just for a moment, before he recovers. “Well!
Congratulations to you both. You’re a lucky man, Daelor.”
He moves on, but the introductions keep coming. Each time, Daelor uses
the same words: my intended mate. I lose track of the faces and names,
my mind spinning with the implications.
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Finally, we find a quiet corner. I turn to Daelor, voice low and urgent. “Why are you introducing me that way? Wouldn’t ‘friend‘ be enough?”
He takes a slow sip of champagne, entirely at ease. “Does it matter?” he
asks. “It serves our purpose.”
I want to protest, but this is his world, his territory. I’m just a visitor, a pawn
in a game I barely understand.
“Fine,” I sigh, surrendering to the charade. “I’ll try not to embarrass you.”
I murmur to myself, trying to memorize the storm of names and faces.
my’s
Daelor leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to remember everyone,” I admit. “I don’t want to mess up and make you look bad.”
His laugh is soft, a low rumble that sends a shiver down my spine. “You don’t need to remember anything,” he says. “As my intended, they defer to
you. That’s all that matters.”
Before I can respond, I see them–Alarion and Cyrinne–gliding into the hall.
Cyrinne is radiant in emerald green, her hand wrapped tight around
Alarion’s arm. Their entrance draws nearly as much attention as ours.
My smile freezes.
