Chapter 4 Tempting Offer
Aelira’s POV
I sit rigid in the passenger seat of Daelor Briarhallow’s opulent SUV, every muscle taut, hyper-aware of his formidable presence at my side. The charged quiet between us throbs with the pressure of unspoken things, heavy after the bombshell he just dropped.
“You can’t be serious,” I say at last, turning toward him, voice tight. “Breaking a mate bond isn’t something to make light of.”
Daelor’s storm-gray eyes flick over to me, brief and unreadable, before returning to the road. “Who said I was joking?” His voice is low, unhurried, disturbingly calm. “I have the means. The connections. If Alarion stays focused on Cyrinne, you deserve your freedom.”
Disbelief clutches at my chest. “You’re Alarion’s childhood friend.”
“And you’re the mate he just abandoned to chase after another woman,” Daelor counters, smooth and unflinching. “Friendship has its limits.”
His bluntness slices deep, mostly because it’s the truth. I turn away, watching the scenery blur outside the window, city lights bleeding into the dusk.
“Why are you going to Aethervale?” he asks, shifting the topic with a mercy I didn’t expect.
“My mother,” I answer quietly, my voice thinning with fatigue. “She’s fighting a rare blood disease. I visit her every day.”
Daelor nods, a flicker of real sympathy softening his severe features. “The kind that weakens werewolf regeneration.”
Surprise tugs at me. “Yes, that’s right.”
“I’ve heard of her case,” he says, gentler now, almost careful. “Emeris Prynn, isn’t she? She was a legendary healer before she got sick.”
The sound of my mother’s maiden name from his lips jolts me. My wolf stirs, restless in my chest.
“You seem well informed,” I say, grasping at any subject but my family’s pain. “I heard you’ve finally accepted the Alpha King title.”
Daelor—Alpha of the Nightshade Pack, the most dominant force in the Northern Territory—just inclines his head, a faint smile ghosting across his lips. “Word travels fast.”
“It was a surprise,” I press on. “Everyone thought you’d stick to running your security firm.”
“Life doesn’t usually care about our plans, does it?” There’s a heaviness in his words, as if he’s aiming them at me instead of himself.
Some knot inside me loosens at his candor. His directness is strangely grounding.
“You don’t have to stand on ceremony with me,” he says after a pause. “Call me Daelor.”
I try the name aloud. “Daelor.” It feels unexpectedly natural. “It’s strange we’ve never talked before.”
He laughs—a warm, genuine sound that startles me. “We have, actually. At the winter solstice last year. You helped my grandmother, remember?”
I search my memory and come up empty. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall.”
“You had other things on your mind,” he says with a shrug. “My grandmother had just announced her plans to expand Thunder Pack’s territory.”
He pulls into the hospital parking lot, glancing over. “She still talks about you. Said you have kind eyes.”
There’s something so casual in his praise it leaves me flustered, my cheeks warming. Before I can reply, he’s parking the car with seamless grace.
“You don’t need to come inside,” I say quickly, hand already on the door handle.
“I know,” he answers, already sliding out of the driver’s side.
I’m not prepared for the looks that follow us through the hospital lobby. The Alpha King of the Nightshade Pack escorting the Luna of Thunder Pack—every eye tracks us, curiosity and speculation flaring.
“Maybe this wasn’t the best idea,” I murmur as we reach the elevator.
Daelor doesn’t even break stride. “Worried about gossip? I doubt Alarion will hear it. He’s a little preoccupied with Cyrinne right now.”
The reminder twists like a knife. My wolf recoils, whimpering somewhere deep inside. Daelor catches it instantly, the shift in my scent.
“Sorry,” he says, and this time the apology is genuine, remorseful. “That was uncalled for.”
The elevator doors open, and I escape inside, grateful for the reprieve. We ride in silence to the third floor.
Outside my mother’s room, I hesitate. “She doesn’t know about everything with Alarion. I don’t want her to worry.”
Daelor nods. “Understood. I’ll be discreet.”
Steeling myself, I push the door open. “Mother? I brought someone to meet you.”
Emeris Sunmere reclines against a pile of pillows, her beauty thinned by illness but not erased. Her amber eyes—the same eyes I see in the mirror—ignite with fierce love when she sees me.
“Little wolf,” she greets, her voice tender, then her gaze sharpens on Daelor.
She senses his power instantly, even through the fog of sickness. Some vestige of the healer she was flickers in her eyes.
“Mother, this is Daelor Briarhallow,” I say, suddenly nervous. “Alpha of the Nightshade Pack.”
Daelor approaches her bedside with a gentleness that catches me off guard. “Mrs. Sunmere, it’s a privilege. Your skills as a healer are known far beyond pack borders.”
My mother smiles, pleased but a little bemused. “Thank you, Alpha Briarhallow. I never expected a visit from you.”
“I gave your daughter a ride,” he answers smoothly. “And I’d like to have Dr. Nyven Leyric consult on your treatment, if you’ll allow it.”
The name hits me like a shock. Nyven Leyric—the most renowned doctor in werewolf medicine.
“That’s very generous,” my mother says, her eyes flickering between us. “But surely Alarion has already arranged—”
“Alarion’s busy with the mating ceremony preparations,” I cut in, too quickly. “He wants everything to be perfect for you.”
The lie is acid on my tongue, but it lights my mother’s face with hope. “Oh! He’s finally agreed to the ceremony?”
I nod, mute, swallowing the pain in my throat.
When my mother looks away to adjust her blankets, I murmur, “Thank you,” to Daelor.
He shrugs, as if offering the best specialist in the country is nothing. “Nyven owes me. He likes unusual cases.”
As if summoned, a tall man with gentle brown eyes and silver hair steps into the room.
“Speak of the devil,” Daelor says, amusement threading his tone.
“Daelor,” the newcomer greets, then turns to me. “You must be Luna Sunmere. Nyven Leyric.”
I shake his hand, stunned. “Thank you for coming, Doctor. I didn’t expect—”
“Daelor called. Told me it was urgent,” he says, moving to my mother’s bedside. “Mrs. Sunmere, I’ve read your file. May I review your treatments?”
While Dr. Leyric leans in, voice low and reassuring, I draw Daelor aside.
“Why are you doing all this?” I ask, baffled by his sudden generosity.
Daelor’s eyes meet mine, silver and unflinching. “Maybe I’m hoping you’ll remember my offer, when you’re ready.”
A flash of sound and color draws my attention to the television in the corner. The news anchors’ voices blur until a name slices through me.
“…Chief Healer Cyrinne Wynthor, who recently ended her mate bond with Beta Draven, appears to have found new happiness…”
My blood freezes as Cyrinne’s radiant smile fills the screen, arm entwined with a man whose face is blurred for privacy—but I know that posture, that proud tilt of the head. Alarion.
And the backdrop is unmistakable: his office window, the same place I saw them together just hours ago.
The reporter’s voice is almost gleeful. “Sources from Thunder Pack suggest there’s more than professional collaboration between the Alpha and the new Chief Healer…”
The room spins. I can’t breathe. Every promise, every reassurance from Alarion—lies. Betrayal crashes over me, raw and absolute.
Daelor moves instantly, blocking the television with his broad frame. His Alpha presence radiates comfort, wrapping me in a shield of heat and protection.
I reach for his wrist, desperate to anchor myself, terrified by how quickly everything is crumbling. “I’m sorry,” I gasp, snatching my hand away, mortified at the intimacy.
Daelor doesn’t flinch. His eyes, clear and steady, hold only concern. “It’s alright,” he murmurs, voice pitched for me alone. “Breathe, Aelira.”
A nurse barrels through the door, face stricken. “Luna Sunmere! Your mother—she saw the broadcast and collapsed!”
