Chapter 37 Hearts in Crisis
Aelira’s POV
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Daelor’s lips move, but his words barely register as the city rushes past in a
blur of steel and neon. His hands clamp the steering wheel, knuckles
bloodless, his jaw set in stone.
“Elysande Riven had a massive heart attack,” he says, voice taut as wire. “Nyven just called from Aethervale Hospital.”
A chill slices through me. “Alarion’s mother? She was fine the last time I
saw her!”
“It was sudden,” Daelor says, accelerating through a yellow light that flares gold on his hard features. “Nyven said she collapsed at a pack meeting.”
Despite the mess between Alarion and me, I’ve always cared for Elysande. She was nothing like Roderic, never cold or cruel. As Luna, she was my only refuge in that house, the single voice of gentleness. The thought of her suffering twists something deep in my chest.
“How bad is it?” My voice is a scrape, barely audible.
“Bad enough Nyven called me himself,” Daelor answers, pushing the car harder. “She’s in emergency surgery.”
We reach Aethervale in record time. The hospital is a harsh, sterile world- glass, metal, and the sharp tang of antiseptic. Lights glare in my eyes as we hurry through the sliding doors.
Dr. Nyven Leyric waits in the lobby, all gravity and fatigue. “She’s still in
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surgery. The family’s upstairs, third floor.”
“Family?” The word sticks in my throat, dread already pulsing.
He nods. “Roderic and Cyrinne are here.”
Perfect. The last people I want to see.
The elevator crawls upward, my wolf pacing, agitated beneath my skin.
When the doors slide open, I spot Roderic Riven instantly–looming,
restless, pacing like a caged beast. Cyrinne perches on a bench, emerald
eyes glued to her phone, posture perfect.
She looks up, her face snapping from surprise to icy accusation when she sees me–and then Daelor at my side.
“What is SHE doing here?” Cyrinne’s voice is sharp, brittle. She rises, anger radiating off her in waves. “Haven’t you done enough damage?”
I ignore her, moving toward the operating room, drawn to the blurred shapes behind the frosted glass.
But Roderic blocks my path, amber eyes–so like Alarion’s–burning with fury. “You’ve got some nerve showing up,” he growls. “You’re the reason my mate’s fighting for her life.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I try to sidestep him, but his
presence is a wall.
“Elysande was perfectly healthy until she heard about your… antics with Briarhallow.” He spits Daelor’s name like poison. “The shock was too much
for her.”
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Cyrinne is beside him now, arms folded defensively. “And you bring him here? To rub it in our faces?”
“I came for Elysande,” I snap, voice trembling but clear. “Not to play politics. Unlike some people, I don’t use pain for leverage.”
Roderic’s face twists with rage. Before I can brace myself, he shoves me hard. I stumble, falling back.
Daelor catches me, arms strong and steady, his body a barricade. His eyes
are glacial as he looks at Roderic.
“Touch her again,” Daelor says, voice low and lethal, “and you’ll regret it.”
Roderic flinches but backs down, the threat from the Alpha King enough to
break his bravado. “She shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, slinking back to his
bench.
“That’s not your call,” Daelor fires back, every word edged in ice.
I move to the window, clutching the sill, peering through the haze at the
shapes clustered around Elysande’s body on the table. My heart aches- fear, guilt, helplessness all fighting for space inside me.
Time crawls. Roderic and Cyrinne sit stiff and silent, refusing to meet my eyes. Daelor stands behind me, a silent sentinel.
Then the elevator dings. Alarion barrels out, pale and wild–eyed.
“How is she?” he demands, voice sharp with panic.
“Still in surgery,” Roderic replies, grim.
<Chapter 37 Hearts in Crisis
Alarion’s eyes find me, his face hardening. “Why are you here?”
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Before I can answer, the operating room doors burst open. Dr. Leyric emerges, pulling down his mask, exhaustion etched into every line of his
face.
“She’s stable,” he announces. My knees buckle with relief: “The surgery
went well, but she’s critical. We need to observe her closely for at least
forty–eight hours.”
“Can we see her?” Alarion asks, voice desperate.
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Dr. Leyric shakes his head. “Not tonight. She needs rest. I suggest you all
go home and come back tomorrow.”
“I’m not leaving,” Roderic insists, voice iron.
“There’s a family room down the hall,” Dr. Leyric concedes. “You can wait
there. But she won’t be conscious until morning.”
Everyone files toward the waiting room. I stay by the window, letting the relief wash through me. Daelor appears at my side, quietly dragging a chair
over.
“Sit,” he says, gentle now. “You look like you’re about to faint.”
I drop into the chair, grateful. “Thank you.”
Dr. Leyric approaches, voice low. “Daelor, can I have a word?”
Daelor squeezes my shoulder, then follows him away down the corridor.
Left alone, dread creeps back in. Something isn’t right. Despite Roderic’s
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claims, Elysande never had heart problems. The timing is too neat, too cruel. My wolf sniffs at the air, wary.
I get up, determined to talk to the surgeon myself. But Alarion intercepts me, his amber eyes smoldering with accusation.
“Are you happy now?” he growls, voice a barely contained’snarl.
“What are you talking about?”
“The rumors,” he hisses. “Everyone’s saying we’re severing our mate bond. My mother heard it three times today.”
So that’s what did this to her. I sigh, tired to the bone. “Alarion, I’ve been
trying to end our bond for weeks. You’re the one refusing.”
“And I’ll keep refusing,” he snaps. “Now that I know why. You really think I’ll
just let you run to Daelor? Never.”
I look at him, too weary for anger. “This isn’t about Daelor. It’s us–how you
left me for Cyrinne, how you weren’t there when my mother died.”
“I’ve apologized for that-”
“Apologies don’t erase the past,” I cut in. “When can we go to the Registry
and finalize this? I’m done with these games.”
Alarion’s jaw locks. “Never,” he says, ice–cold. “I will never sever our mate
bond. You’re mine, Aelira. Always. I don’t care what it takes–Daelor will
never have you.”
I shake my head, turning away from his burning stare. I find the surgeon- Dr. Roeswyn, according to his badge–just outside the OR.
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“Excuse me,” I say, forcing a calm I don’t feel. “I’m Elysande Riven’s daughter–in–law. May I ask about her condition?”
He nods, leading me to a consultation room. “What would you like to know,
Ms. Sunmere?”
“Was there any warning before she collapsed? She’s always been healthy.”
Dr. Roeswyn consults his tablet, brows furrowing. “That’s the strange part. No cardiac history, no risk factors. The abrupt failure is… concerning. We’ll be investigating further.”
“Could it have been… induced?” I ask quietly.
His eyes sharpen. “Are you suggesting foul play?”
“Not directly,” I hedge, “but the timing is… odd.”
“We’re running tox screens as protocol. If something’s off, we’ll know in twenty–four hours.”
“Thank you,” I say, scribbling my number on a slip of paper. “Please let me know if you find anything. I care about her.”
He nods. “I’ll keep you updated.”
As I step back into the hallway, Cyrinne is waiting–leaning against the
wall.
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