Chapter 33 Three’s a Crowd
Aelira’s POV
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Alarion is unrecognizable from the man I saw this morning. The frantic, broken Alpha who’d seized my wrist in the parking lot is gone, replaced by someone sculpted for command–shoulders squared beneath a faultlessly tailored charcoal suit, amber eyes sweeping the room with the composure of a man who owns every inch of it. His golden–brown hair is tamed and gleaming, arranged with the meticulousness of someone who knows the
world is watching.
Cyrinne stands beside him, and she is luminous. Her emerald gown clings to her with a kind of reverence, the silk rippling over her figure so artfully that her pregnancy becomes a secret only she knows. Auburn hair spills in silken waves down her back, arranged to look effortless, her smile glittering as she clings to Alarion’s arm, every inch the picture of belonging.
They fit. The sight of them together slices deeper than I expect, as if their
unity is a verdict on all my failures.
I watch as they drift through the crowd, their laughter and shared glances weaving a story I never managed to write with Alarion, no matter how fate tied us together. There’s a quiet, intimate ease between them–a language of glances and gestures. I’ve never had that with him, no matter how hard I
tried.
All around, my werewolf hearing picks up the undercurrent of gossip–a
symphony of whispers, slicing through the music and conversation.
“I heard Alarion ditched the ceremony for Cyrinne,” a blonde murmurs
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behind her glass, her lips barely moving. “They say the mate bond is already being severed.”
A silver–templed wolf leans in, voice low and knowing. “Word is Alarion
already cut the bond. Didn’t even show up for the ceremony, and his Luna’s
mother died of shock.”
A third voice, sharp with schadenfreude, adds, “His poor Luna. What a
tragedy…”
The words tighten around my chest like a fist. This is what I’ve become to
them: a pitiful figure, abandoned and disgraced. The Luna who wasn’t
enough. The mate left behind.
It’s only been days since the failed ceremony, but my old life feels
impossibly distant. Everything has changed.
Alarion is deep in conversation with the territory’s elite–council members, the old money, the power brokers who steer the pack’s fate. Cyrinne never leaves his side, her laughter light, her gestures practiced, radiating the poise of the Thunder Pack’s Chief Healer. She’s careful to keep the mood buoyant, to charm those who might otherwise question her presence here.
No one confronts her–not with Alarion’s hand at her waist. She has
already been absorbed into his world, accepted as his next Luna, no matter
what scandal clings to her.
A warm breath grazes my ear, and Daelor’s low voice slips through the noise. “Do you know why I asked you to come tonight?”
I turn, startled by how close we stand–close enough to see my own wary reflection in his mercury–gray eyes. My wolf stirs beneath my skin, caught
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< Chapter 33 Three’s a Crowd
between caution and something newer, rawer.
“Why?” I manage, stepping back to reclaim space.
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Daelor’s smile is dangerous, a crooked half–grin that walks the line between arrogance and charm. He takes my hand, his warmth startling,
and draws me with him.
“Come with me,” he says, his attention fixed solely on me.
I don’t know what he intends, but as he leads me toward Alarion and Cyrinne, my heart pounds, nerves razored sharp. My spine locks up, my wolf shrinking back, bracing for disaster.
Daelor breaks the circle of conversation with pointed nonchalance. “Well,
what do we have here…”
He moves with the lazy confidence of someone who’s never been denied, his posture relaxed but predatory. His eyes flick over the group, betraying
nothing.
“Alpha Briarhallow, what a surprise to see you here…” One of the
dignitaries, a wolf with an air of practiced authority, turns to Daelor, his
tone deferential. “It’s been too long.”
Daelor’s smile is polite but distant. “I’ve been preoccupied with the northern expansion. Now I’m back–time to put my house in order.”
“Word is Alpha Briarhallow’s overhauling security for the territories,”
someone says, but the conversation loses color. My focus narrows to
Alarion, whose gaze feels like a brand scorching my skin.
He watches me with a ferocity that borders on violence. His eyes are
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< Chapter 33 Three’s a Crowd
molten, every muscle in his jaw taut.
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Cyrinne is stricken by my presence. Her emerald gaze darts between Daelor’s hand clutching mine and Alarion, uncertainty flickering before she draws herself up and presses closer to Alarion, her red lips curving with a
self–satisfied confidence.
Then, without warning, Alarion wrenches free of Cyrinne. His eyes seethe
with a savage, possessive anger as he rounds on me.
“Aelira, what are you doing here?” he demands, his voice stripped of all pretense, every syllable brittle with cold rage. Around us, wolves recoil instinctively from the force of his fury.
But I don’t flinch. Not anymore.
I glance at Cyrinne, who scrambles to reclaim Alarion’s arm, mortified by his public outburst. My lips curl into a sneer.
“You’re here. Cyrinne’s here. Why shouldn’t I be?” I answer, holding his gaze, refusing to yield.
The muscles in Alarion’s face harden. He steps forward, reaching for my
wrist, as if he can drag me back by force.
“You’re coming with me,” he snarls.
Daelor is faster. He steps between us, shielding me, his arm a barrier as he
pulls me behind him.
“Alarion, what are you doing?” Daelor’s voice is calm, almost lazy, but
there’s steel beneath it. “You’re having your mate bond severed, yet you
can’t keep your hands off?”
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< Chapter 33 Three’s a Crowd
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The words explode in the crowd, sucking the oxygen from the room. The
whispers die. Every pair of eyes devours the scene.
I can see the calculation flash behind every glance: That’s her–the ex-
Luna. That’s Cyrinne–the new intended. Both women, side by side, as the
old mate bond splinters.
This will be the scandal of the decade.
“Who said we’re severing our mate bond?” Alarion’s voice is a snarl, his Alpha presence rippling outward, daring anyone to contradict him.
Daelor’s eyebrows lift, his gaze flicking to Cyrinne. “Didn’t you bring your
new mate tonight? Why hide it?”
“Daelor, enough!” Alarion jerks away from Cyrinne’s touch, color flooding his face. “Aelira is my Luna. There’s nothing between me and Cyrinne!”
“Nothing?” Daelor’s laugh is cold. “You really believe that?”
Alarion opens his mouth, but Daelor cuts him off.
“If the mate bond’s over, mind your own business.” Daelor’s grip on my hand is possessive, his smile razor–edged. “You know what makes a good
ex–mate, Alarion? They act like you’re already dead.”
“Daelor, we haven’t—” Alarion tries, but Cyrinne seizes his arm.
“Enough, Alarion,” she says, her voice velvet but fraying at the edges.
“Everyone’s watching. Don’t embarrass yourself.”
She hauls him toward a quieter corner, her words hissing after them. “Don’t disgrace yourself at an event like this. Daelor Briarhallow is a shameless
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Alpha playboy. The Thunder Pack’s reputation is at stake.”
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As Cyrinne drags Alarion away, satisfaction blooms in my chest, my lips
twisting in a private, satisfied sneer. To the world, she wears the mask of
Luna, but I see her for what she is—a usurper, a homewrecker.
Daelor’s voice breaks into my thoughts. “Well? Did you like that?” He grins,
wicked and pleased with himself. “After tonight, everyone in the North will
believe Alarion’s severing your mate bond.”
The truth crashes over me–this was his plan. Alarion never wanted the
bond broken, but public opinion will make denial impossible. Gossip is a
blade, and Daelor’s just driven it home.
A real smile cracks my composure. Rage drains away, replaced by a sweet,
dangerous relief. “It’s brilliant,” I whisper.
Daelor meets my gaze, his silver eyes glittering, something fragile and
bright flickering in their depths–a longing, maybe, an ache I don’t dare
name. But the moment vanishes as quickly as it comes. He slips back
behind his mask, pinching my nose with playful familiarity.
“See? You can breathe easy now.”
His gesture is too intimate, but his casual air reassures me. For a moment,
I wonder if I imagined the emotion I glimpsed.
“Thank you, Daelor,” I say, and I mean it.
He grins. “Don’t get formal on me.”
I laugh, poised to reply, when a tall figure approaches, cutting through the
crowd.
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“Ms. Sunmere, it’s been too long,” the man greets.
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I blink, recognition dawning. “Dr. Leyric? What are you doing here?”
Dr. Nyven Leyric offers a small, knowing smile, glancing at Daelor with something like amusement. “Didn’t you come to witness the spectacle?
Turning rumors into reality is quite the performance…”
“What?” I stare at him, confused.
Daelor scowls and kicks at him, light and harmless. “You’re talking
nonsense. Go mingle somewhere else.”
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Dr. Leyric sidesteps, laughing, the ease between the two men obvious. I’m caught off guard by the warmth of their banter, and I laugh too, the tension
in me slowly unwinding.
But suddenly, I sense it–a gaze so sharp it feels like a blade pressed to my throat. I scan the crowd, searching, until I find eyes locked on me, burning
with naked hostility.
Cyrinne Wynthor.
