Chapter 49 Conflict
Aelira’s POV
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“We have arrived,” Daelor announces as his opulent SUV stops at the
refined entrance of Lake Restaurant.
I nervously adjust my dress. Lake Restaurant stands out as the premier
werewolf establishment in the Northern Territory, celebrated for its
extraordinary cuisine and elite clientele.
“I’ve never dined here before,” I confess, taking in the sleek stone facade
and the silver crescent moon logo displayed above the doorway.
Daelor beams at me while handing his keys to the valet. “You must try their
moonberry tarts; they’re worth the trip alone.”
As we near the entrance, a middle–aged werewolf with salt–and–pepper hair
hurries to welcome us.
“Alpha Briarhallow! It’s truly a pleasure to see you again,” he exclaims,
inclining his head slightly. His wolf inherently acknowledges Daelor’s Alpha
status.
“Joshua,” Daelor acknowledges with a nod, his voice exuding a casual authority that appears effortless. “A table for two, please.”
“Certainly, sir; your usual private dining room is prepared,” Joshua responds, gesturing for us to follow.
The interior of the restaurant is stunning. Crystal chandeliers cast a warm
glow over the polished wood and silver accents. The appetizing scents fill
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the air, causing my pregnant wolf to stir restlessly within me.
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As Joshua leads us through the main dining area, I suddenly halt. An all- too–familiar scent envelops me before I even see them.
Alarion and Cyrinne.
They occupy a corner table, with Cyrinne absentmindedly rubbing her barely visible belly while Alarion scans the surroundings with marked
impatience. Neither appears to notice us just yet.
“I’m struggling with morning sickness,” Cyrinne says, her voice carrying across the room. “The chef had better cater to my cravings, or I will-”
She stops mid–sentence when she catches sight of us. Her emerald eyes widen momentarily before narrowing. Alarion turns to see what has drawn
her attention, his amber eyes locking onto mine.
For a suspended moment, silence reigns. My wolf instinctively bristles
protectively, while my hand moves to shield my own stomach, guarding my
secret.
“Aelira,” Alarion finally addresses me, his tone rigid. “Daelor.”
Daelor places his hand gently on the small of my back, a subtle sign of
support that does not escape Alarion’s notice, causing his jaw to visibly
tense.
“What an unexpected coincidence,” Cyrinne states, her smile strained and
her emerald eyes icy. “Alarion brought me here to satisfy my pregnancy
cravings. The baby has specific demands!”
A bitter laugh threatens to escape me. Just days prior, Alarion had stood at
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the Unified Land Registry, seeking assurances of my love, nearly pleading
for another opportunity. Yet here he is, acting the role of a devoted father-
to–be for Cyrinne’s child.
“How delightful,” I respond, my tone laced with insincerity.
Cyrinne leans into Alarion with an air of possession. “Having a supportive
mate during pregnancy is so crucial. Alarion has been nothing short of
amazing.”
Alarion shifts awkwardly, avoiding my glance. His visible discomfort is
almost gratifying to observe.
“We should proceed to our table,” Daelor suggests, his silver–gray eyes
assessing the tense atmosphere.
“Oh, but we’ve barely caught up!” Cyrinne interjects with a forced cheer.
“How are you, Aelira? I assume the severance of the mate bond is going
smoothly?”
Joshua, the restaurant manager, glances between us, suddenly
understanding, his nose twitching as he detects the intricate dynamics at
play.
“I’ll lead you to your table right away, Alpha Briarhallow,” he whispered, clearly eager to steer us away from this uncomfortable situation.
“Naturally,” I responded to Cyrinne, disregarding Joshua’s interjection. “Alarion signed the documents without any hesitation.”
Alarion flinched ever so slightly. For an instant, Cyrinne’s smile wavered
before she regained her composure.
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“Well, it seems everything has turned out for the best, hasn’t it?” Her tone is sweet, yet her gaze remains steely. “If you hadn’t been so indifferent to Alarion, pushing him towards finding solace elsewhere, we might never
have revitalized our bond.”
My wolf growls beneath my skin. The nerve of this woman! Accusing me of
causing her affair?
Before I can reply, Daelor moves forward, his commanding Alpha presence
enveloping the space between us.
“That’s an intriguing viewpoint, Cyrinne,” Daelor comments, his tone deceptively relaxed. “I’ve always been fascinated by how homewreckers
tend to rewrite history to soothe their conscience.”
Cyrinne gasps, her hand flying to her chest in a show of false offense. “How dare you—”
“And regarding conscience,” Daelor continues as though she hasn’t
spoken, “have you stopped to think about what kind of karma your unborn
child will inherit?”
Cyrinne’s complexion visibly pales. Alarion stiffens, his amber eyes
flashing with the onset of anger.
“Daelor-” he begins with caution.
Daelor shifts his attention to Alarion, his expression unreadable. “You
might want to contemplate the paternity of that child, Alarion. Just a
friendly piece of advice.”
All color drains from Cyrinne’s face completely. Her emerald eyes widen
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with a flicker of genuine fear before hardening once more.
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“Let’s go,” Daelor says softly to me, placing his hand gently on my elbow as a guide. “Our meal awaits.”
We leave Cyrinne sputtering indignantly in our wake, Alarion’s face a blend
of confusion and dawning suspicion.
Joshua guides us to a secluded private dining area, shutting the door
behind us with apparent relief. The room boasts elegance, featuring a large window that overlooks a moonlit garden. A table is already arranged
with silverware and crystal glasses.
“That was intense,” I remark once we find ourselves alone, settling into the
plush chair Daelor has pulled out for me.
Daelor chuckles as he takes a seat opposite me. “Cyrinne Wynthor
deserves far worse than a public confrontation.”
I can’t argue, yet concern gnaws at me. “Do you believe Alarion will
genuinely question the paternity?”
“Perhaps,” Daelor answers, unfolding his napkin with practiced elegance.
“Would that trouble you?”
I nibble on my lip. “If he realizes the child isn’t his, he could reconsider
ending our mate bond.”
The notion fills me with dread. After all I’ve endured, the last thing I wish for
is Alarion to change his mind.
Daelor reaches across the table, squeezing my hand in reassurance. His
touch is warm and oddly comforting.
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“Don’t fret about Cyrinne. She’s fully capable of managing Alarion,” he says
confidently. “She’s manipulated him this far, hasn’t she?”
Before I can respond, raised voices echo from the corridor beyond our
private room.
“How could you even ask me that?” Cyrinne’s voice rings out, shrill with
indignation. “After everything we’ve been through, you would believe
Daelor’s insinuations?”
“I merely asked a straightforward question,” Alarion replies, his tone strained with frustration. “Is it so wrong to want reassurance?”
“Wrong?” Cyrinne’s voice increases in volume. “I’m carrying your child,
Alarion! Your child! What kind of Alpha are you to doubt the mother of your
offspring?”
I share a glance with Daelor, who smirks slightly. He clearly anticipated
this response.
“I’m not questioning you,” Alarion retreats, adopting a soothing tone. “I
simply asked. It was just a casual inquiry.”
“There’s nothing casual about doubting whether this is your child!” Cyrinne
retorts sharply. “If you lack trust in me, I might as well end this pregnancy!
See if you ever have another opportunity to be a father!”
I feel my jaw drop at her overt manipulation. She knows precisely which
buttons to push with Alarion, who desperately longs for a child after years of battling fertility struggles.
“Cyrinne, please,” Alarion’s tone softens, almost turning into a plea. “I
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believe you. I truly do. Let’s go home and discuss this privately.”
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Their voices diminish as they move away from our secluded dining area. I sit back, stunned by the interaction.
“See?” Daelor remarks with a knowing grin, lifting his glass of wolf-
whiskey. “Cyrinne knows how to handle him perfectly.”
I grab my sparkling water, still processing the argument I just heard.
“I almost feel pity for him,” I confess.
Daelor’s silver–gray eyes meet mine over the rim of his glass. “Don’t waste your sympathy. He made his decision.”
I nod slowly, recognizing Daelor is correct. Alarion made his choice when
he deserted me at our mating ceremony, when he opted for Cyrinne
instead of me, when he prioritized his guilt and obsession with her over our
mate bond.
“To the new life,” Daelor suggests, raising his glass.
I clink my glass against his, feeling a burden lift from my shoulders. “To
new beginnings.”
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