Chapter 3 Luna’s Exit
Aelira’s POV
“Nothing?” My voice barely registers, thin and trembling. “You expect me to believe there’s nothing between you and Cyrinne?”
Alarion’s amber gaze sharpens, a coldness fortifying his features as he steps closer. “She means nothing to me, Aelira. You are my Luna. My true mate.”
His words should wrap around me like a balm, but after everything I’ve just witnessed, they echo hollow, brittle as glass.
“Then why did you run to her the instant she cut herself?” My wolf bristles inside me, claws scraping beneath my skin. I can’t keep the accusation from my tone.
Alarion exhales, raking a hand through his golden-brown hair, frustration etching lines at his temples. “It was instinct, Aelira. That’s all. I’ve known Cyrinne my entire life.”
“You never told me you were engaged to her,” I whisper, my heart bleeding through every word.
He reaches for me, drawing me into his arms. I tense out of habit, startled by the rare warmth in his embrace.
“Our families arranged it.” His voice is low, lips brushing my hair. “But when my wolf chose you, none of that mattered. Not anymore.”
I want to believe him. Three years ago, I would have melted against his chest, desperate for this tenderness. But now… Now everything is tainted.
“She severed her mate bond with Beta Draven.” I pull back, searching his eyes for any flicker of guilt. I unlock my phone, pulling up Cyrinne’s post. “Look.”
Alarion glances at the screen, his face unreadable. “And?”
“And now she’s everywhere,” I say, voice shaking. “She’s Chief Healer. Visiting you at work. Calling you ‘Alex’ like she never stopped.”
His gaze stays steady, unwavering. “Cyrinne and I are from the same pack. We grew up together. That’s all.”
I lower my voice, letting the vulnerability bleed through. “She wants you back.”
He cups my face, palms warm and steady. “It doesn’t matter what she wants. You’re my mate, Aelira. We will live our own lives.”
His answer is perfect—reassuring, decisive—but something in his tone twists my stomach, and doubt slithers in.
He turns away. “Luthen!”
As if summoned, Luthen appears in the doorway, a silent sentinel, hazel eyes sliding between us before settling on Alarion.
“Cancel my afternoon appointments,” Alarion orders, full Alpha now. “And arrange a consult with Dr. Nyven Leyric at Aethervale. Aelira’s mother deserves the best we can offer.”
I blink, stunned. My mother’s decline has haunted me for months, but I never expected Alarion to take charge himself.
“Yes, Alpha.” Luthen dips his head and vanishes as quietly as he came.
Alarion faces me again, his expression softening. “Your mother matters to you. That means she matters to me.”
For a fleeting moment, my wolf calms. Maybe I am letting paranoia gnaw at me. Maybe Cyrinne is nothing but a ghost from Alarion’s past, and I am the future.
I’m carrying his child. My mother is holding on for our mating ceremony. Maybe—just maybe—things aren’t as broken as they feel.
“Alarion, I—” I start, but his phone rings, sharp and insistent.
He glances at the screen, jaw tightening. Cyrinne’s name flashes in bold white.
My heart slips. He declines the call, but the phone immediately lights up again. This time, his expression shifts.
“What is it, Cyrinne?” he answers, irritation leaking into his voice.
I turn away, unable to watch, my hand unconsciously circling my belly. Eiryn whimpers, matching the ache inside.
“What?” His voice jumps, sharpened by alarm. “Are you hurt? Where are you?”
I freeze, back rigid. The raw concern in his voice is unmistakable.
“Stay there. I’m coming now.” He hangs up, already striding toward the exit, that protective drive blazing in his eyes.
He barely glances at me. “Cyrinne’s been in an accident outside the pack house. I need to check on her.”
My throat tightens, a thread drawn too taut. “Of course you do.”
“I’ll send Rulian to take you home.” He’s already halfway out the door. “We’ll reschedule your mother’s hospital visit.”
Just like that, Cyrinne comes first. Even over my dying mother.
“Alarion,” I call after him, voice cracking—but he’s gone, the closing door a final, echoing verdict.
I stand alone in his office, the emptiness pressing in until it’s hard to breathe. My hand settles over my belly, fragile and protective, as tears blur everything.
“Your father doesn’t even know about you yet, little one,” I whisper to the life inside me. “And I don’t know if he’d care if he did.”
Eiryn howls, her pain a raw, wild harmony to mine. What future can I promise this child, in a home where its father’s heart belongs to someone else?
I force myself to move, wiping my cheeks, and make my way downstairs, determined to see this so-called accident for myself.
Outside, Cyrinne’s silver car sits almost pristine—just a shallow dent on the fender, the kind of bump that would barely scuff the paint.
I watch as Alarion arrives, Luthen at his side explaining quietly. Cyrinne emerges from her car, moving with theatrical fragility, her posture graceful even as she feigns distress.
“Alarion!” she cries, stumbling into his arms. “Thank goddess you came!”
She clings to him, emerald eyes shining with desperate need. Alarion leans in, inspecting her for injuries, all concern and gentle authority.
That’s more than I can bear. The dam breaks. Tears spill down my cheeks and I turn away, unable to watch their pantomime another second.
“Are you alright?” The voice is low, unfamiliar, edged with power.
I lift my head to see a sleek black SUV idling at the curb, passenger window down. A man with piercing gray eyes studies me from behind the wheel, his presence impossible to ignore.
It takes a moment for recognition to spark: Daelor Briarhallow, Alpha of the Nightshade Pack. Alarion’s old friend, though I’ve only seen him at distant gatherings. His reputation precedes him—dominant, formidable, respected even among Alphas.
“I’m fine,” I lie, scrubbing my cheeks.
He doesn’t buy it. His aura fills the space, formidable, magnetic. “You don’t look fine.” His gaze flicks past me, settling on Alarion and Cyrinne. “Need a ride?”
I shake my head, voice small. “No, thank you.”
His lips curve in a knowing half-smile. “You sure? I could call your mate for you.”
“No!” The word rips out before I can stop it. My wolf’s hackles rise at the suggestion. I force myself calm. “No,” I repeat, softer. “I just need to get to Aethervale Hospital.”
Daelor raises a brow. “Let me drive you. I’m heading that way.”
I hesitate, glancing back at Alarion—still wrapped around Cyrinne, oblivious to everything but her.
“Alright,” I agree, the word heavy with resignation.
Daelor leans over, opens the passenger door. I slide into the luxury interior, enveloped in the scent of leather and something wild, unmistakably wolf.
As we drive away from the pack house, relief loosens the knot in my chest—a brief escape, if nothing more.
After a stretch of silence, Daelor glances at me. “Want to talk about it?”
“About what?” I keep my gaze locked to the window.
His chuckle is low, almost sympathetic. “About why the Luna of Thunder Pack is crying outside her own territory while her mate tends to another woman.”
I stiffen. “It’s not what you think.”
“No?” His eyes flick to me. “I heard most of your argument with Alarion through his office door.”
Humiliation burns in my cheeks. “You were eavesdropping?”
“I was waiting to speak with him.” His tone is smooth, unapologetic. “But what I overheard was… enlightening.”
I say nothing, wishing he would stop, wishing I could disappear.
He presses on, voice casual. “Especially the part about severing your mate bond.” His eyes glint, and a sly, amused smile flickers—almost daring, almost dangerous. “If you want to sever it, Aelira, I’ll help you.”
