Chapter 67 Moved
Aelira’s POV
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I gaze at the ceiling of my bedroom, my hand resting softly on my slightly rounded belly. The morning sickness has finally dissipated, leaving me with a persistent fatigue that keeps me in bed as prescribed by the doctor.
My mind wanders to thoughts of Daelor. Since our conversation by the
roadside, he has kept his distance. He still drives me to work occasionally, but the playful banter and intense looks have ceased. It’s exactly what I
desired–wasn’t it?
Part of me feels relieved. His feelings for me seem to have diminished,
saving us both from the turmoil of complicated emotions. Yet another part
-a small, quiet voice I attempt to ignore–feels unexpectedly let down.
I shake my head, pushing these thoughts away. This is for the best. The
esteemed Briarhallow family would never truly accept a she–wolf like me-
pregnant with another Alpha’s child and in the midst of a severance of our
mate bond.
“I won’t repeat past mistakes,” I murmur to my unborn pup. “No more
pursuing what can never be.”
A knock at my apartment door interrupts my introspection. I don’t
anticipate any visitors, and Oriana has her own key.
Wrapping a cozy robe around myself, I pad barefoot to the door and glance
through the peephole.
Daelor stands in the hallway, his tall figure burdened with grocery bags.
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Quickly unlocking the door, I express my confusion. “Daelor? What brings
you here?”
His silver–gray eyes survey me, noting my disheveled appearance with a
hint of concern. “You’ve been on bed rest for three days. I thought you
might need some groceries.”
I look down at the bags he is holding. “That’s… really thoughtful. But I could
have arranged for delivery.”
“I see,” he replies, stepping into the apartment. “But I promised you moon-
seared lamb shank, better than any restaurant. I’m here to fulfill that
promise.”
The recollection of our dinner at Lake Restaurant floods back to me–how
he critiqued the lamb and insisted he could create a superior dish.
“You plan to cook for me?” I inquire, unable to conceal my astonishment.
He places the bags on the kitchen counter and starts to unpack the ingredients. “Is that difficult to believe? I’ve told you, there’s much about me
that remains unknown to you.”
I observe in awe as he navigates through my kitchen with surprising ease,
finding pots and spices as though he has prepared meals here numerous
times before.
“Take a seat,” he orders, gesturing towards a stool at the kitchen island.
“You’re meant to be resting.”
Too taken aback to protest, I settle on the stool and watch him as he
moves. His actions are assured and accurate while he skillfully trims the
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lamb and mixes a marinade that fills the air with a tantalizing fragrance.
“Where did you acquire such cooking skills?” I ask, genuinely intrigued.
A subtle smile graces his lips. “My grandmother taught me. She believed
every wolf, regardless of rank, should know how to nourish themselves
properly.”
The mention of Elowen Briarhallow evokes memories of our visit to the
Nightshade Pack territory–how unexpectedly warm and welcoming she had been toward me despite my complex situation.
“Elowen doesn’t strike me as someone who would spend much time in the
kitchen,” I comment.
Daelor laughs softly, the sound igniting a warmth within me. “You’d be
surprised. Before taking on the role of matriarch, she was renowned
throughout the territory for her culinary prowess. That’s how she captured
my grandfather’s heart.”
As he continues cooking, our conversation flows naturally, his presence
enveloping my apartment with a cozy energy that makes me forget my
earlier determination to maintain my distance.
Suddenly, my phone rings, interrupting our pleasant exchange. I glance at
the screen and freeze.
“Roderic Riven,” I whisper, my voice barely audible.
Daelor’s expression darkens. “Your father–in–law?”
I nod, my finger hovering hesitantly over the accept button. What could he
possibly want from me?
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“I need to take this,” I murmur, more to myself than to Daelor.
I answer the call with a tentative, “Hello?”
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“You manipulative bitch!” Roderic Riven’s voice blares through the speaker,
loud enough for Daelor to look up sharply from across the room. “What
have you been telling Daelor Briarhallow about me?”
I pull the phone away from my ear, grimacing at his volume. “I don’t know
what you mean.”
“Don’t act innocent with me! The Nightshade Pack just shut down my
racetrack. Years of investments, gone! And my sources claim it was Daelor Briarhallow’s direct command.”
My eyes widen in shock, instinctively seeking Daelor’s gaze in the room.
His face is expressionless, but I notice his jaw tighten slightly.
“I had no part in that,” I assert firmly. “I haven’t spoken to Daelor about-”
“Liar!” Roderic interrupts. “First, you attempt to keep my son from his true
mate, and now you’re leveraging your new Alpha toy to ruin my business!”
Anger surges within me, my wolf stirring beneath the surface. “I am not
responsible for your son’s choices or Daelor’s business decisions. And I
am not manipulating anyone.”
Roderic’s harsh laughter slices through the line. “You really think the timing
is just a coincidence? The day after your visit to my house, the Nightshade Pack decides to end their agreement with my racecourse?”
“I don’t care what you think,” I respond, my patience dwindling. “I had no part in it.”
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“Listen here, you insignificant little thing,” Roderic snarls, his Alpha
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presence somehow evident even over the phone. “Whatever you believe you’re accomplishing by sleeping with the Nightshade Pack Alpha, it won’t
succeed. You’re merely Alarion’s castoff, and as soon as Daelor
Briarhallow figures that out-”
Before I can reply, Daelor steps in beside me, taking the phone from my hand. His face is icy, and his Alpha energy fills the space.
“Roderic Riven,” he speaks, his voice dangerously calm. “This is Daelor
Briarhallow. I suggest you think very carefully about what you say.”
Silence reigns on the other side of the call.
“The choice to end our agreement with your racecourse was entirely mine,”
Daelor continues, his tone leaving no opportunity for dissent. “It has
nothing to do with Aelira and everything to do with your own behavior.”
Without waiting for a reply, Daelor terminates the call and places my phone
gently on the counter.
I look at him, my heart racing. “Did you really shut down his racecourse?”
Daelor returns to the kitchen, continuing to prepare the lamb as if the
conversation never happened. “Yes.”
“Why?” I’m puzzled by this new information.
Inn
He locks eyes with me. “Because he laid his hands on you and put your pup
in danger.”
My breath hitches in my throat. “How did you know-”
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“You mentioned he shoved you against a wall,” Daelor reminds me. “That very day, you ended up in the hospital with a threatened miscarriage.”
I hadn’t realized he had connected those events. The fact that he took
strong action on my behalf leaves me momentarily speechless.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I finally say, though my tone lacks firmness.
Daelor’s silver–gray eyes soften slightly. “Don’t let him affect you. Stress isn’t good for the pup.”
Tears unexpectedly brim in my eyes. “Thank you,” I murmur.
Suddenly, the sharp smell of something burning disrupts the moment.
“The lamb!” Daelor exclaims, hurrying to the stove as smoke begins to curl from the pan.
He swiftly moves the charred meat aside, waving away the smoke with a
kitchen towel. The expression of distress on his normally collected face is so amusing that I can’t help but chuckle.
With the tension alleviated, Daelor joins in, his deep laughter resonating
through my kitchen. “So much for showcasing my cooking abilities.”
“You’re still a better chef than I am,” I assure him, grinning.
As Daelor salvages what remains of our meal, my mind drifts to the
photograph Draven Cook had given me. “Daelor, what can you tell me about Cyrinne’s ex–mate? Draven Cook?”
He looks up, his interest piqued. “Why the sudden curiosity about Draven
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Cook?”
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“I encountered him outside the hospital,” I confess. “He handed me
something… peculiar.”
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Daelor sets down his knife, focusing entirely on me. “The Cook family was
once considerable in werewolf society. They were known for their
perfumes and scent blockers–skills that were highly valued. Draven is the
last of his lineage with that talent.”
“What happened to them?” I inquire.
“They fell out of favor when Draven’s father sided with the wrong faction
during a territorial conflict. Draven was trying to restore their reputation
when he got injured saving Alarion.”
“And that’s when Cyrinne ended their mate bond?” I prompt.
Daelor gives a nod. “She asserts that his injuries are too grave for him to
ever recover. The pack council allowed the separation based on compassion. Why are you inquiring about him now?”
I pause for a moment, then retrieve the photograph from my pocket. “He
handed me this.”
Daelor examines the photo, his gaze sharpening as he focuses intently.
“Your brother and Cyrinne Wynthor?” He looks up abruptly. “When did they
first meet?”
“I have no clue,” I confess, confusion clear in my voice. “I didn’t even know
they were acquainted.”
“Have you reached out to your brother about this?”
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I shake my head. “He won’t answer my calls. He holds me responsible for
our mother’s death.”
Daelor returns the photo to me, his demeanor serious. “If you’d like, I can
find someone who can locate him.”
“You would do that for me?” I ask, moved by yet another offer to assist.
“Absolutely,” he replies frankly, as though it’s completely normal.
Despite the singed edges, the lamb tastes delightful. We share a meal at
my modest dining table, the dialogue flowing freely between us.
“Whatever happened to your plan of returning to your old apartment?”
Daelor suddenly inquires, a playful twinkle in his eye. “I thought you were
eager to escape my presence.”
I feel warmth creeping into my cheeks. The truth is, I no longer feel a pressing desire to distance myself from him. Whatever his initial feelings were, he seems to have moved on, making it comfortable for me to stay.
“I think I’ll remain here,” I reply, locking eyes with him. “If that’s okay with
you.”
The smile that brightens his face is sincere and warm.
“Better than okay,” he says, and I can’t help but mirror his smile.
