Chapter 48 Option
Aelira’s POV
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I am meticulously measuring specific amounts of dried moonflowers for a
remedy suitable for pregnancy when my supervisor comes over to my workstation. Her expression conveys tension.
“Aelira, the manager would like to see you,” she informs me, her tone
tighter than usual.
I frown and set my measuring tools aside. “Did he mention the reason?”
“You have a visitor.” Her demeanor suggests everything I need to understand–this meeting is unlikely to be a pleasant one.
With a frustrated sigh, I take off my work apron and make my way to the
manager’s office, my stomach knotting with apprehension. Outside the
door, I straighten my simple green blouse and smooth down my hair,
attempting to present myself well despite the inevitable herb dust clinging to my clothing.
Upon entering, I discover that my manager is not alone. A short woman
with a sharp look and impeccably styled black hair stands next to his desk.
She is dressed in an expensive, tailored suit adorned with distinctive red
accents. Her expression is haughty, instantly causing my wolf to bristle in
response.
I recognize her immediately–Barbara, the representative and business manager for Cyrinne Wynthor’s pack. She is the one who has been pressuring Verdant Moon for weeks to have me work solely for Cyrinne.
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“Ms. Sunmere, I appreciate you coming,” my manager says, his discomfort
evident in his forced smile. “This is Barbara-”
“I am aware,” I interject coldly, recalling our previous unpleasant interaction
in the herb storage area.
Barbara’s lips curl into what could be interpreted as a smile, but it
resembles more of a predatory grin. “Ms. Sunmere, let’s not waste time.
We need to address your ongoing refusal to collaborate with Chief Healer
Wynthor.”
My manager’s eyes widen in surprise, revealing that he has likely not been
informed of all the details. I can see him shifting uncomfortably in his
chair.
“I thought I made my position clear when your assistant contacted me,” I
respond, maintaining a professional tone even as irritation simmers within
- me. My wolf stirs anxiously beneath my skin.
Barbara dismisses my words with a flick of her wrist, silver bracelets
clinking softly. “I took it to be a matter of compensation. Chief Healer
Wynthor is willing to provide you with three thousand moon–silver each
month for the exclusive rights to your herbal remedies.”
I blink in astonishment. That amount is three times my current salary. With
that kind of income, I could easily take care of myself and my pup without financial worries. For a fleeting moment, I feel tempted.
Then, memories of Cyrinne’s smug expression as she departed from my
apartment with a drunken Alarion flood my mind. I recall her cold smile at
my mother’s funeral and the scratch she left on my hand, drawing blood without an apology.
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“Not interested,” I assert firmly, my wolf growling in agreement.
Barbara’s gaze sharpens dangerously. “Four thousand, then.”
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“The issue is not money.” My hands tighten into fists at my sides.
“Five thousand,” she retorts, her tone as pointed as a knife. “That’s my final offer. You would be foolish to decline. Do you realize how many herbalists would kill for this chance?”
My wolf bristles at her tone and her condescension. “I’m not interested in
this deal.”
Barbara’s expression darkens with anger, her professional facade
beginning to crack. Indignation flashes in her eyes as she steps closer to
- me.
“A mere herbalist apprentice, why do you act so superior? Believe me, I can ensure you fail in this field!” Her voice escalates with every syllable, causing my manager to wince.
“Ms. Barbara, please,” he implores, clearly unsettled. “I’m confident we can
come to some kind of agreement that-”
“I have made my stance clear time and again,” I cut in, struggling to contain my fury. My wolf roars inside me, eager to confront this woman who is f oolish enough to threaten us. “I’m intrigued; if your Chief Healer is so e steemed, what is driving you to pursue a mere herbalist apprentice like my self?”
The pointed inquiry strikes its target. Barbara appears as if she has been struck, her mouth opening and closing without any sound. We both
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recognize the truth–Cyrinne wants me under her influence, not just my
remedies.
“If that is all, I’ll be heading back to my tasks,” I state, one hand
unconsciously sliding to my abdomen where my unborn pup is developing,
my wolf’s protective instincts flaring. “Have a good day.“.
I exit without pausing for an answer, my wolf growling in satisfaction
within me. Behind me, I hear Barbara’s furious voice and my manager’s
soothing attempts, yet I do not look back.
Throughout the day, I pick up on whispers and sidelong glances from my
coworkers. News of my encounter with Barbara has circulated swiftly. By
afternoon, I have acquired a new title-“Alpha Mate Aelira“-alluding to my
alleged connection with Daelor Briarhallow.
“Did you catch that she turned down five thousand moon–silver?” one
herbalist murmurs to another as I walk by.
“With Alpha Briarhallow’s support, she doesn’t require Cyrinne Wynthor’s
wealth,” the other responds.
No one dares to confront me directly; their wolves instinctively hold back
from challenging someone linked to such a formidable Alpha. The irony
isn’t lost on me. For years, I endured barely concealed disdain as Luna of
the Thunder Pack. Now, a mere whisper of association with Daelor has
garnered me respect I never received as Alarion’s mate.
As I tidy my workstation at day’s end, my phone begins to ring. Daelor’s
name lights up the screen, causing my heart to leap unexpectedly.
“Hello?” I respond, turning away from prying eyes.
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“I’m outside,” Daelor says, his deep voice creating an unexpected flutter in
my chest. “I figured we could grab dinner before we shop for your Nightshade Pack visit.”
“I’ll be down shortly,” I assure him, quickly collecting my belongings. My wolf rises in anticipation at the thought of seeing him.
I’m on my way to the exit when Jastor Halden steps into my path, his friendly green eyes filled with concern. His light brown hair looks slightly disheveled, as if he has been anxiously running his hands through it.
“Aelira, may I speak with you for a moment?” he asks, nervously adjusting the leather cord necklace he always wears–a charm filled with protective
herbs.
“I can’t at the moment, Jastor. Someone is waiting for me.” I attempt to
move past him, but he shifts with me.
He acknowledges me but remains where he is. “I heard about your encounter with Barbara this morning. Everyone is discussing it.”
I sigh, shifting my weight impatiently. “I’m not surprised.”
“You need to be cautious,” he cautions, lowering his voice so that others
cannot overhear. “Cyrinne Wynthor has powerful ties with the Riven family. Did you know Alarion Riven canceled his mating ceremony for her? It caused quite a stir.”
The casual reference to that painful day causes a tightness in my chest. My mother is crushed; her already delicate health deteriorates rapidly following that public humiliation.
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“I know the story well,” I respond flatly, my wolf whimpering softly at the
recollection.
Jastor’s eyes widen in realization, horror crossing his features. “Oh, right. Of course, you would know. My apologies; I wasn’t considering that. You
were the one he abandoned, weren’t you?”
“It’s okay,” I reassure him, although it isn’t. The memory still hurts, even
now.
“Look, if you’d like, I can speak to Barbara on your behalf. My father has connections in the Thunder Pack’s healing division. Perhaps I could help
ease things a bit.”
While his offer is kind, it is also naive. Jastor doesn’t grasp the intensity of
the conflict between Cyrinne and me.
“I appreciate it, Jastor, but it won’t change anything. Cyrinne and I have…
history. This issue involves more than just herbs or remedies.”
“But-”
Suddenly, a potent Alpha scent fills the lobby, unmistakable even before I
see Daelor striding through the entrance. His commanding presence
instantly hushes the bustling activity around us, with every werewolf
nearby instinctively turning to acknowledge him.
He sports a simple black t–shirt that highlights his muscular frame,
complemented by dark jeans and a leather jacket. Even in relaxed attire, he
exudes undeniable Alpha authority.
Jastor’s demeanor shifts immediately; his shoulders hunch slightly as his
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wolf instinctively lowers its head in reverence to the dominant Alpha. The reaction is so ingrained that he likely doesn’t even recognize he’s doing it.
“Ready to head out?” Daelor inquires, his silver–gray eyes briefly scanning Jastor before returning to me. There’s a possessive quality to his stance that I can’t fully interpret.
I nod and turn to Jastor, who appears completely daunted. “This is Jasto r Halden, a colleague. Jastor, meet Daelor.”
Jastor extends his hand, visibly striving to mask his intimidation but failing miserably. “It’s an honor, Alpha Briarhallow. I’ve heard excellent things about the security measures you’ve put in place for the northern
territories.”
Daelor shakes Jastor’s hand for a moment, his grip noticeably firmer than necessary, causing Jastor to flinch slightly. “Thank you. Aelira, we need to
leave if we want to catch our dinner reservation.”
His hand rests casually against the small of my back as he leads me toward the exit, the warmth of his touch penetrating through my thin
blouse.
“Goodbye, Jastor. See you tomorrow,” I call back, feeling a bit of pity for
him.
“We need to find you some appropriate clothing for the Nightshade Pack territory,” Daelor mentions as we approach his car. “Don’t humiliate me in front of my grandmother.”
Despite his teasing tone, I sense an underlying tension, almost akin to irritation.
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“I would never,” I reply playfully, waving goodbye to Jastor through the
glass doors.
Daelor opens the car door for me and leans down, his voice shifting
slightly. “Jastor Halden, was it?”
“Yes,” I reply, intrigued by his sudden interest.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he states, his silver–gray eyes revealing an
unreadable emotion as his Alpha scent sharpens a little.
