Chapter 29 Drunk Alpha
Aelira’s POV
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The reek of wolf–whiskey slams into me, thick and noxious, turning my stomach. Alarion sways drunkenly, his usually sharp amber gaze dulled and glassy as he staggers toward me.
“Aelira,” he slurs, arms snaking around me with a strength at odds with his unsteady frame. His grip tightens, crushing, suffocating. The blend of his Alpha scent and the acrid tang of liquor overwhelms me, nauseating in my heightened, pregnant state.
“Let me go, Alarion,” I snap, pushing at his chest. “You’re drunk.”
He ignores me, burying his face in my hair, his breath hot and ragged, “Why are you making this so hard?‘ he mutters, voice thick with self–pity. “We used to be happy.”
I twist in his arms, desperate for space. My wolf whines inside me, alarmed and fiercely protective of our unborn pup.
“Alarion, I said let go!”
He slackens his hold, but only barely. “Remember when I’d come home after drinking with the elders? You’d make that special tea for my hangovers. A wistful, broken smile touches his lips. “You always took care of me.”
The memory cuts deeper than I’d like. Once, there had been warmth between us.
“That was another life,” I say, voice hardening. “Everything’s changed. We’re ending things, remember?”
Suddenly, his arms cinch tighter, trapping me against the door. “Just let me hold you,” he whispers, desperate. “One last
time.”
Before I can protest, his mouth finds my neck, nuzzling–hungry, unsteady. My wolf recoils, tom between longing and revulsion, confused by the old bond’s ghost.
Then, without warning, his body sags, Alarion collapses, knees buckling, and he crashes heavily at my feet, blocking my
entryway.
“Great,” I mutter, stepping back, surveying his sprawled form. He’s dead weight, chest heaving, the stink of whiskey pouring off him in waves.
Another surge of nausea claws at me. I clamp my sleeve over my nose and try to think. Who do I even call? Luthen, his Beta, would be the obvious choice–but the last thing I want is pack involvement,
Before I can decide, Alarion’s phone vibrates in his jacket. I dig it out and freeze at the name on the screen: Cyrinne Wynthor.
I answer, venom in my voice. “Hello, Cyrinne.”
There’s startled silence, then her sugary tone oozes through the line. “Aelira? Why do you have Alarion’s phone?”
“Because your Alpha is passed out drunk outside my apartment,” I tell her coldly. “You might want to come collect him.”
“What?” Her voice spikes with outrage. “What did you do to him?”
I bark out a bitter laugh. “Nothing. He showed up like this completely wasted.”
“I don’t believe you,” she hisses. “You’re so clingy, even when he’s trying to get rid of you.”
The audacity stokes my anger. My grip tightens on the phone.
*Listen, Cyrinne,” I say, my voice cold and edged. “Don’t you dare accuse me of anything. Alarion and I are about to sever our bond. Whatever game you’re playing, it won’t work on me.”
There’s a sharp inhale on her end.
“You have half an hour to get him,” I continue, not giving her time to regroup. “If he’s still here after that, I’m calling pack security. Your move.”
< Chapter 29 Drunk Alpha
I end the call and toss the phone onto Alarion’s chest, disgusted.
True to my word, Cyrinne arrives twenty minutes later, breathless and visibly rattled, her flawless look marred by haste. A young male wolf–clearly a subordinate–trails behind, nervously deferential.
“What happened?” Cyrinne demands, hurrying to Alarion’s side.
I lean against the wall, arms folded. “He showed up drunk and passed out. That’s all I know.”
The assistant kneels, shaking Alarion by the shoulder. “Alpha? Can you hear me?”
Alarion stirs, mumbling, but doesn’t wake.
“Help me get him up,” Cyrinne orders the assistant. Together, they haul Alarion upright, his weight draped between them,
As they stagger toward the elevator, Cyrinne shoots me a venomous glare. “You know, Aelira, just because you can’t-”
Islam the door in her face, cutting her off mid–curse. The echo rings through my entryway, blunt and final.
Leaning against the door, I let exhaustion seep through me. This wasn’t how I’d planned my night. I’d meant to practice my herbal remedies, to be ready for Verdant Moon’s demands tomorrow–not to play nursemaid to a drunken ex–Alpha or spar with his conniving lover.
But after this, there’s no space in my mind for work. My hands tremble with the aftershocks of anger; my wolf paces, still bristling.
“Forget it,” I mutter, shuffling to my bedroom. “I try again in the moming.”
Sleep is a fractured, restless thing. My dreams swarm with shifting images Alarion’s desperate face, Cyrinne’s claws flashing, Daelor’s eyes watching from the shadows. When morning comes, I feel no more rested than before. My wolf is raw and uneasy.
I dress carefully, pulling on a crisp blouse and loose slacks for my first official day at Verdant Moon. Breakfast is little more than dry toast and tea; everything else turns my stomach.
Stepping outside, phone in hand to call a car, I freeze.
Daelor Briarhallow leans against his sleek SUV, impeccable in a charcoal suit. His silver eyes find me instantly, amusement crinkling at the corners.
“Good morning,” he calls, straightening up as I approach. “Need a ride?”
I blink, thrown. “What are you doing here?”
His smile widens as he opens the passenger door with a flourish. “I came across some interesting information,” he says smoothly. “Thought you’d want to hear it.”
Curiosity stirs, cutting through my fatigue. “What kind of information?”
“Get in, and I’ll tell you,” he promises.
I hesitate only a second before sliding into the passenger seat. I do have questions of my own.
The car smells like fine leather and Daelor’s crisp Alpha scent–a welcome reprieve from last night’s ordeal.
“So,” he says as we merge into traffic, “how are you feeling this morning?”
“Tired,” I admit. “Alarion turned up drunk at my door.”
Qaelor’s hands tighten on the wheel. “Did he bother you?”
I recount the whole mess–Alarion’s outburst, Cyrinne’s arrival, the humiliation of it all. Daelor listens in silence, his expression darkening at the worst parts.
Once I finish, I turn the conversation. “Speaking of Alarion–I’ve been wondering something.”
He glances over, brow lifted. “Hmm?”
“You offered to help with the mate bond severance,” I say, watching him. “But then you suggested Alarion get checked out
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Chapter 29 Drunk Alpha
at the hospital. Why?”
Daelor laughs, genuinely amused. “Is that what he told you? That I suggested it?”
I nod, confused by his reaction.
He shrugs, casual. “I only commented that he looked tired–dark circles, that sort of thing. Offhand suggestion to see a doctor. Never expected him to actually listen.”
My heart sinks. Such a small thing–just a passing remark–and it upended everything. Alarion’s discovery, the delay, all of
- it.
“So it really was just coincidence?” I ask, disappointment coloring my voice.
Daelor’s eyes meet mine, flashing with mischief. “Are you blarning me for ruining your plans?”
“No,” I say quickly. I still need him on my side. “It would’ve come out eventually.”
He seems satisfied, turning back to the road. “Good. Because I did look into Cyrinne, as you asked.”
I frown, momentarily thrown. “As I asked?”
Then I remember–the dinner at my apartment, mentioning Cyrinne at the hospital’s OB/GYN department.
My pulse quickens. “What did you find?”
Daelor’s lips curl into a slow, knowing smile. His silver gaze meets mine, bright and unreadable. “Something very interesting, actually.”
