Chapter 34 Feelings
Aelira’s POV
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Cyrinne’s glare cuts through the crowded hall, and the venom in her stare
is almost physical–an accusation hurled across the distance. For a moment, I wonder what’s fueling her bitterness; but then I remember
Alarion isn’t at her side anymore, and the thought brings only a hollow relief. Whatever drama she’s staging, it has nothing to do with me now. I
exhale, sharp and dismissive, and turn from her, refusing to let her petty
jealousy drag me into another silent war.
There are better things demanding my focus tonight than Cyrinne
Wynthor’s simmering resentment.
Around us, a knot of admirers has formed, each vying for Daelor’s
attention. I’m not surprised. The Alpha King of the Northern Territory rarely
graces events like this. All these wolves, dressed in custom suits and
designer gowns, jockey for even a thread of his notice, eager to curry favor
with the most powerful man in the room.
Daelor, though, seems almost bored by their fawning. Beneath his smooth
politeness, a flicker of impatience betrays him as he fields their questions.
His silver–gray eyes slide to me now and then, as if checking to make sure I
haven’t vanished.
Then, a businessman–sleek, sharp, and tailored within an inch of his life-
cuts a glance past Daelor and lands on me.
“Alpha Briarhallow,” he says, voice oiled with practiced charm, “is this your
intended mate?”
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My heart jerks, startled. The charade is spiraling further than I’d expected.
Daelor turns to me, his mouth curving into a confident, unhurried smile.
“Yeah,” he answers, as if it’s self–evident.
The effect is instant. Suddenly, I’m swarmed with effusive compliments from the very people who, moments ago, wouldn’t have looked twice at me.
“Such elegant taste in fashion!”
“Your eyes are mesmerizing in this light!”
“What a perfect pair you make!”
The absurdity almost makes me laugh aloud. Their adoration is nothing but calculation; if any of them knew I was Alarion’s discarded Luna, I’d be
invisible again.
Daelor leans toward me, dropping his voice so only I can hear. “You look
restless. Are you bored?”
I study him, taking in the transformation. In his black suit with its subtle, dark patterning, he’s left behind the lazy, tousled Alpha I’d grown used to. Now, every gesture is deliberate, kingly–he radiates command.
“No,” I answer, a dry laugh escaping, not wanting to seem ungrateful.
He tilts his head, eyes softening. “Want to step out for some air?” He’s
noticed my discomfort despite my denial.
I glance at the ring of powerful wolves still waiting for their audience with
him. It feels selfish to pull him away now.
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“No, Daelor,” I say quickly. “You handle your business. I’m just going to the
bathroom.”
His eyes linger on me, gentle and reassuring. “Go, but don’t stay away
long.”
too
I slip away, grateful for the escape. The hallway outside is hushed, a balm after the relentless press of bodies and perfume and expectation.
Moonlight pours through the wide windows, silvering the territory below. I
pause, breathing deep, letting my wolf unfurl inside me, soothed by the
quiet and the cold.
The moment shatters.
“So you’re Daelor Briarhallow’s new toy,” a voice sneers, slicing through my
solitude.
I turn, already knowing who I’ll find. Cyrinne stands framed by the moonlight, her emerald gown making her eyes burn even brighter with
rage.
“I’m not interested in your games, Cyrinne,” I say flatly, already angling to
move past her.
She steps into my path, her face a portrait of wounded dignity. “We need to
talk, Aelira.”
“We really don’t.” I try to sidestep, but she blocks me again.
“You have it all wrong about Alarion and me,” she insists, her tone urgent
but hushed. “And now you’re throwing yourself at his so–called friend?
Have you no shame?”
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Her accusation hits like a slap, and heat surges through me–anger, sharp and clean. She dares to call me desperate, after everything?
“That’s rich, coming from you,” I shoot back, my patience gone. “The
woman who came to my apartment to collect her drunk ex, then had the
nerve to act offended?”
Cyrinne’s eyes sharpen, a flash of hurt before she masks it. “That was
different. Alarion needed-”
“Spare me,” I cut her off. “I’m not interested in your justifications. If you want Alarion, take him. Just keep him out of my life.”
A strange, almost satisfied look flickers across her face–something sly,
even triumphant.
“That’s exactly what I wanted to discuss,” she says, voice shifting to brisk negotiation. “I’ll convince Alarion to sever the mate bond, if you promise to keep away from him.”
For a heartbeat, I’m stunned. Is she really offering this?
“I’ve been trying to walk away for weeks,” I say, disbelief sharpening my
words. “He’s the one who won’t let go.”
She waves it off. “I can handle him. Trust me–I’ll make him see reason.”
Suspicion prickles. “Why help me?” I ask.
Her lips twist into a knowing smile. “It works for both of us. You get your freedom, I get what I deserve.”
Her meaning is clear: she wants Alarion for herself, and I’m just an
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“Fine,” I say, seeing only benefit. “Get him to sign the severance papers,
and you’ll never have to see me again.”
Cyrinne nods, sharp and businesslike. “Consider it done.”
She sweeps past, the silk of her dress whispering against my legs as she
vanishes down the corridor.
I stand for a moment, reeling. Had Cyrinne just solved the problem that’s
been choking me for weeks? It seems impossible, too easy.
Shaking off the disquiet, I make my way back to the grand hall. The event is still in full swing, though Daelor is no longer hemmed in by admirers.
I spot him in a quieter corner, deep in conversation with Dr. Nyven Leyric. They don’t notice me at first.
“…still being stubborn about it,” Dr. Leyric says, his tone earnest but resigned. “You’ve wasted enough time already.”
Daelor’s posture tenses, a flick of conflict across his features. “I know. But
I don’t want to rush her. She’s suffered enough.”
“You’ve watched her for years, Daelor,” Dr. Leyric counters, voice low. “How many more chances will you let slip by?”
A woman. They’re talking about some woman Daelor desires. My wolf stirs, a strange ache threading through her–something close to disappointment, though I don’t want to name it.
Before I can sort out the feeling, Daelor notices me. Instantly, his posture
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shifts, all casual warmth.
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“Aelira,” he calls, inviting me in and ending the quiet intensity of their
conversation.
Dr. Leyric smiles, his expression open and kind. “I brought something I
thought you’d enjoy.” He offers a small box. “Wolf–apple pastries, from
Silver Glen Bakery.”
I blink, caught off guard. “How did you know I loved these?”
“Daelor mentioned it,” Dr. Leyric says, a teasing glint in his eyes as he
glances at Daelor.
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Daelor clears his throat, looking away. “You brought it up once,” he mutters, though I can’t recall ever mentioning wolf–apple pastries to him.
I take the box, genuinely touched. “Thank you–both of you.”
Dr. Leyric grins. “Don’t thank me, it was all his idea. I just did the delivery.”
The pastries are warm, their crust golden and dusted with sugar. I bite in, and the tart–sweet rush of wolf–apple floods my mouth–exactly what my body, and my hidden cravings, have been desperate for.
“This is incredible,” I say around a mouthful, savoring every bite.
When I glance up, Daelor is watching me. His eyes are dark, unreadable–a storm of longing and regret and something I can’t begin to decipher. The intensity of his gaze makes my skin flush, my heart thud painfully against
my ribs.
