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Aelira’s POV
Following Daelor’s damning question, silence blankets the hospital corridor. My heart thunders in my
chest as I watch the confusion slowly replace the fury on Alarion’s face.
“What the hell are you implying, Briarhallow?” Alarion’s voice is low and razor–sharp, his amber eyes
blazing with rage.
Daelor steps forward, his Alpha presence consuming every inch of space. His silver gaze gleams with
chilling deliberation.
“I’m talking about your condition, Riven,” he says evenly. “The one that makes it impossible for you to
father children.”
A chorus of shocked gasps ripples down the hallway. Roderic Riven visibly loses color, while Cyrinne’s
emerald eyes go wide with disbelief. Inside me, my wolf stirs uneasily, shaken by the public
disclosure.
“Daelor,” I whisper urgently, tugging at his sleeve, “what are you doing?”
He gives my hand a soft squeeze, exuding steady confidence. Though unsure of his plan, the quiet gesture helps to settle my anxious thoughts.
Alarion regains his composure quickly, a sly grin appearing on his striking features as he turns toward his father. “Curious, isn’t it, Dad? You didn’t know about my condition? That would certainly clarify why
Aelira and I never had a child during our three–year bond.”
Roderic’s face reddens, a mix of fury and humiliation showing plainly. The sharp scent of his wolf
intensifies, filling the hall with the acrid stench of his anger.
“Don’t be absurd,” Roderic snaps, shooting me a scathing look. “The issue was clearly her inability to
conceive. The Sunmere line has always been frail.”
His insult hits like a blow, though I manage to keep my face emotionless. Almost unconsciously, my hand moves to rest on my abdomen–where Alarion’s unborn child is quietly growing.
Cyrinne, still guarding her stomach with both arms, glances between Alarion and Roderic. Her calm façade falters briefly before she regains composure.
“This is nonsense,” she announces, her voice ringing through the sterile corridor. “The child I carry belongs to Alarion. Without question.”
Her tone is firm, but her wolf’s scent betrays her unease. Daelor’s mouth lifts into a small, knowing
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smirk that chills me to the core.
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“Is that so?” Daelor says smoothly as he pulls a photograph from inside his coat and holds it to see. “Then maybe you can explain this.”
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for all
Cyrinne’s expression shifts subtly as she recognizes the image. Her bright green eyes go wide, and she visibly struggles to maintain control.
I lean in for a better view. The photo captures Cyrinne standing close beside a man, her smile warm and familiar. My heart lurches as I realize the man is Jornic–my brother–his features unmistakable
despite the casual setting.
“Who is that?” Alarion demands, stepping forward to scrutinize the picture. His amber eyes narrow
intently. “That’s Jornic Sunmere, isn’t it? Aelira’s brother?”
I give a small nod, equally baffled as to how or when Jornic and Cyrinne could have met. A flicker of betrayal stirs inside me, wondering if she and my brother had some hidden connection.
Cyrinne recovers with practiced ease, her polished smile returning. “Him? Just a werewolf admirer from a neutral region. We crossed paths during one of my healing exhibitions.”
“You appear quite close,” Alarion remarks, his voice laced with doubt.
“It meant nothing,” Cyrinne replies, waving the idea away with a dismissive hand. “A brief, harmless interaction. These accusations are reckless–and dangerous for my pregnancy.”
Though Alarion’s eyes reflect suspicion, he refrains from voicing it. A heavy silence settles as everyone processes what has just been revealed.
Then, Cyrinne lifts her chin suddenly, her green eyes alight with what seems like resolve. Her hand presses protectively against her belly as her voice turns resolute.
“If my child’s paternity is truly in question, I’m willing to prove the truth,” she states. “I’ll consent to a
silver–blood prenatal test.”
Her bold declaration leaves the room quiet. The silver–blood method, known for tracing pack lineage. through genetic markers, is accurate–but rarely performed during gestation due to its difficulty.
“This test will only validate what I already know,” Cyrinne continues, her tone unwavering. “The child
growing inside me belongs to the Riven line. It’s Alarion’s.”
Her certainty is disconcerting. Either she is fully convinced of what she says, or she possesses
knowledge the rest of us lack.
Before anyone manages to speak, two physicians step out of Esther’s room, their faces marked with
concern, though not despair.
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“Alpha Riven,” one of them addresses Alarion directly. “Your mother’s condition has stabilized, but she requires close observation. The stress has significantly worsened her state.”
“Can I go in?” Alarion asks, quickly diverting his attention from Cyrinne.
“For a short while,” the doctor answers. “She mustn’t be disturbed. Only one visitor at a time, and she needs complete calm.”
Alarion agrees with a nod and walks toward the door to his mother’s room, pausing to send a warning glance toward Cyrinne and his father. Then his amber gaze meets mine–filled with a storm of emotions I struggle to interpret.
“We’ll talk about this later,” he says, his tone short and firm.
I instinctively move back, only to bump into Daelor’s solid frame. His hand settles firmly on my shoulder in a reassuring gesture.
“I believe that’s enough for today,” Daelor says, his voice brooking no disagreement. “Aelira needs to rest.”
He doesn’t wait for anyone to respond. Instead, he guides me toward the elevator, and I can feel Cyrinne and Roderic’s stares burning into my back as we leave.
Once inside Daelor’s luxurious SUV, I finally release the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. My thoughts whirl as he steers us out of the hospital’s lot.
“Why did you expose Alarion’s condition like that?” I ask, turning to observe his composed profile. “In front of everyone?”
A faint smile touches Daelor’s lips as his silver–gray eyes stay fixed on the road. “It was a calculated
move.”
“Calculated in what way?” I press, genuinely intrigued. “All it seemed to do was provoke everyone.
“It sowed uncertainty,” he says. “In Alarion’s mind–about whether the pup is truly his.”
“But if Cyrinne takes a paternity test and it proves the child is Alarion’s…” I begin, anxiety tightening my chest.
“It probably will,” Daelor admits without hesitation, his honesty catching me off guard. “But not because they conceived naturally.”
My forehead wrinkles in confusion. “What are you saying?”
His silver eyes flick briefly in my direction before returning to the road. “Cyrinne is more cunning than we assumed. She likely underwent a fertility procedure using Alarion’s DNA.”
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The implication hits me hard. “You mean she did it without telling him?”
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Daelor gives a grim nod. “It’s not uncommon among ambitious she–wolves who want to tie themselves
to a high–ranking Alpha.”
I sink back into the seat, trying to absorb the weight of what I’ve just learned. “So, revealing his condition was meant to… what? Serve as a warning?”
“It was the trigger,” Daelor clarifies. “Now Alarion will demand a paternity test, which will prove the pup is genetically his.”
“And that ruins everything we’ve worked for,” I say, disappointment washing over me.
But Daelor’s confident smirk returns. “Quite the opposite–it completes the plan. The test will solidify
Cyrinne’s hold on him.”
Realization begins to dawn. “And he’ll be even more eager to dissolve our mate bond quickly.”
“Exactly,” Daelor confirms, his silver eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Sometimes the best strategy is
to engage the enemy on their own terms.”
I can’t help but admire the precision of his scheme, my wolf surprisingly at ease with his measured
approach–so unlike Alarion’s impulsive nature.
“What about my brother?” I suddenly blurt out, the image from the photograph flashing back into my
mind. “Where did you get that picture? And where is Jornic now?”
“The photograph came from Draven Cook,” Daelor responds calmly. “As for your brother’s location, my wolves are tracking him down.”
“Do you think Cyrinne might try to reach out to him after seeing that photo?” I ask, anxiety tightening
my chest at the thought of Jornic being dragged into this.
“That’s highly likely,” Daelor replies with certainty. “From what I can tell, your brother plays an
important part in whatever Draven is planning against Cyrinne. I’m still working to understand the full
extent.”
As I turn to look out the window, the city blurs past, and my hand instinctively settles on my stomach. “I’m scared for him. If there’s any chance he’s connected to Cyrinne…”
The thought is deeply unsettling. Could my own brother be tangled up with the woman I suspect of poisoning my mother–in–law? The same woman, I believe, helped drive my own mother to an early
grave through relentless stress.
“We’ll find him,” Daelor promises, his voice steady. “My enforcers are unmatched in this region. If Jornic is anywhere in the North, they’ll track him down.”
I give a small nod, reassured by his certainty, though my worry lingers. “I just want him to be okay. And
pray he hasn’t made any terrible choices.”
