Chapter 92 Cyrinne’s Scheme
Aelira’s POV
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“I’ve already expressed that I am not interested in taking this test, Alarion. It is both painful and pointless,” Cyrinne complained, her bright emerald eyes flashing with irritation as Oriana and I accidentally eavesdrop on their exchange from around the corner in the prenatal wing of Aethervale Hospital. “The pup is undeniably yours; why would you question me?”
Forcing my hand against my own expanding belly, I feel a wave of protective instinct wash over me. My wolf stirs restlessly within me, sensing a possible threat.
“I am not disputing you, Cyrinne,” Alarion’s recognizable voice responds, his tone attempting to soothe in a manner I’ve seldom heard during our marriage. “It’s merely a standard procedure for the pack
records.”
Oriana tugs at my sleeve, her eyes wide with urgency. “Let’s leave quickly before they spot us,” she whispers emphatically.
I agree with a nod, eager to avoid any conflict with Cyrinne. Our previous encounter had ended in disaster. We quietly retreat and hasten toward the exit.
“Did you catch that?” I murmur once we are outside and safe. “They’re conducting a silver–blood
amniocentesis.”
Oriana raises her eyebrows in surprise. “That’s the werewolf paternity test, isn’t it? The one where they draw blood from the pup before it’s born?”
“Exactly,” I respond, feeling a mix of vindication and disgust. “Seems like Alarion isn’t as certain about the pup’s parentage as Cyrinne hopes.”
We make our way to my car quickly, eager to distance ourselves from the volatile duo.
“Silver–blood testing is reportedly quite reliable,” Oriana remarks as she fastens her seatbelt. “But I’ve heard it can be manipulated if you know the right people.”
I sigh as I start the engine. “With Cyrinne’s connections, I wouldn’t be surprised if she has found a way to falsify the results.”
The drive to Lunar Herb Medical Center is thankfully brief. Unlike the esteemed Aethervale Hospital, where Cyrinne’s influence looms large, Lunar Herb focuses on werewolf reproductive health and
operates independently of pack politics.
Dr. Nancy Willis greets me with a warm smile as she walks into the examination room. Her calming presence always alleviates my anxieties.
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“How are you feeling today, Aelira?” she asks, her skilled hands already setting up the ultrasound
equipment.
“I’m doing well,” I respond honestly. “The morning sickness has finally started to subside.”
Dr. Willis nods in approval as she spreads the cool gel across my exposed abdomen. “That’s typical for this stage. Let’s take a look at your little one.
”
Oriana grips my hand for support as the doctor glides the wand over my belly. Moments later, the sound of my pup’s heartbeat fills the room, rapid and strong.
“There we go,” Dr. Willis says, indicating the screen where a small shape is clearly visible. “A strong heartbeat and good size for this point in development. Your pup is thriving.”
A wave of relief washes over me, my wolf purring contentedly within at the reassuring news. Amid all the turmoil in my life, my pup remains healthy.
“Everything appears perfect,” Dr. Willis assures me while she takes measurements. “No complications
at all.”
After completing the examination and wiping the gel off my skin, I sit up feeling lighter than I have in
weeks.
“Thanks, Doctor,” I express earnestly.
She gently touches my hand. “You’re doing great, Aelira. Just continue with your supplements and
make sure to rest well.”
As we exit the examination room, Oriana intertwines her arm with mine. “We need to celebrate! Lunch
is your treat!”
I chuckle, my spirits lifted by the positive news. “Alright, I’ll take you out for lunch.”
We agree on Lake Restaurant, a nearby eatery famous for its moon–sage dishes designed specifically
for pregnant she–wolves, promoting healthy pup development.
As we near the restaurant entrance, I hear a familiar voice call out, “Aelira!”
I turn to find Dr. Nyven Leyric waving at us from the host station.
“What a lovely surprise,” he greets us, his warm smile inviting. “I just wrapped up an early shift and
was about to grab lunch with a family member. Would you ladies like to join us?”
“That’s very kind of you,” I respond courteously, curious about which relative might be joining
Dr. Leyric guides us to a corner booth where, to my astonishment, Daelor Briarhallow is seated. His
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silver–gray eyes lock onto mine, causing my wolf to stir with unexpected delight.
“Daelor,” I exclaim, unable to conceal my astonishment. “I didn’t anticipate seeing you here.”
Oriana raises her eyebrows, glancing back and forth between Daelor and Dr. Leyric, a teasing smile on
her face.
“What an interesting coincidence to find you two together again,” she jests, sliding into the booth. “I’m beginning to think you two are arranging these encounters.”
Daelor’s lips curve slightly. “We merely have a shared preference for dining establishments,” he replies, a hint of amusement flickering in his silver–gray eyes.
Dr. Leyric places a hand over his heart in feigned offense. “Are you suggesting that I would orchestrate such meetings? I’m wounded by the implication.”
I find myself laughing at their banter, a refreshing diversion from this morning’s tension.
“How did your appointment go?” Daelor inquires, his voice casual yet his gaze focused.
“Very well,” I respond, surprised by how easily I open up to him. “The pup is developing wonderfully.”
His expression softens for a moment, and I catch a glimpse of warmth in his gaze before he regains his usual composed facade.
As lunch continues, the conversation flows effortlessly. Dr. Leyric shares entertaining stories from the hospital while Oriana relays gossip from the neutral territory’s business circles. Daelor mostly listens,
occasionally interjecting with dry remarks that bring laughter to us all.
I realize I’m relaxing in their company, momentarily putting aside the complexities of my life.
When we finish our meal, Dr. Leyric announces he has errands to take care of, and Oriana conveniently recalls a business meeting.
“I can give you a ride home,” Daelor suggests as the others leave us alone at the table.
I pause for just a moment before agreeing. “Thank you, that would be lovely.”
In his luxurious SUV adorned with the Nightshade Pack emblem, Daelor’s strong Alpha scent envelops me, oddly comforting rather than daunting.
We drive in peaceful silence for several minutes until he breaks it.
“I received an invitation today,” he states, his deep voice carefully neutral. “To Alarion and Cyrinne’s marking ceremony.”
My stomach tightens at the mention, although I had anticipated this news.
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“It is set for the end of the month,” he adds, stealing a brief glance at me before returning his focus to the road. “The same day your mate bond severance becomes official. I thought you ought to know.”
I swallow hard, taking in the unsettling information. This isn’t a mere coincidence–Alarion is making
sure that he can claim Cyrinne the moment our bond is legally dissolved.
“Would you like me to accompany you to the event?” Daelor suggests out of the blue. “It could show
them that you’ve moved on.”
His proposal catches me off guard. “You want us to go together?”
“Only if that’s something you wish,” he clarifies. “Sometimes living well is the best form of revenge.”
I contemplate his words with care. A part of me desires to retreat and tend to my wounds in solitude that day. Yet, a stronger part of me, which has developed since I left Alarion, wants to demonstrate
that I am not broken.
“I’ll think it over,” I finally say.
The following morning at Verdant Moon Herbalists, I am tidying my workstation when I catch snippets
of raised voices coming from my manager’s office. Intrigued, I edge closer to the partially open door.
“The collaboration would be mutually beneficial,” a familiar voice asserts–it belongs to Barbara, Cyrinne’s manager from the Thunder Pack’s healing center.
“Ms. Wynthor has an unmatched reputation in the healing community,” my manager diplomatically
responds.
Ice courses through my veins as I realize what’s unfolding. Cyrinne is attempting to initiate a
collaboration that would almost certainly place me under her authority.
I step back from the doorway just as it swings open, revealing Cyrinne, her pregnant silhouette
radiating malicious delight as her emerald eyes catch sight of me.
“Aelira,” she sings out sweetly. “What perfect timing! We were just discussing a new partnership
between our facilities.”
My wolf stirs uncomfortably beneath my skin, sensing the threat. Instead of responding, I turn and
make my way toward the stairwell, desperate to escape before I say something I might regret.
“We need your herbal expertise for some specialized preparations,” Cyrinne’s voice trails after me,
floating down the corridor.
Pushing through the stairwell door, my heart races. The thought of working for Cyrinne sends a shiver down my spine, especially given everything I know about her relationship with Roderic Riven and her
manipulation of Alarion.
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<Chapter 92 Cyrinne’s Scheme
As I reach the first landing, the door swings open behind me.
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“Running away again, Aelira?” Cyrinne’s words bounce off the walls. “That’s all you ever do, isn’t it?”
I take a deep breath and continue down the stairs, resolved to ignore her.
“I’m addressing you!” Cyrinne hisses, her footsteps quickening in pursuit.
Before I know it, she grips my wrist tightly, her claws barely breaking the skin.
S
“We’re not finished here,” she declares, her emerald eyes flashing with unmasked animosity. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? With your special herbal skills and now this cozy arrangement with
Daelor Briarhallow.”
I attempt to yank my arm away, fully aware of the risks of this confrontation. “Let me go, Cyrinne.
“Not until you agree to prepare the remedies I need,” she demands, her hold growing more painful.
hem “Alarion can make you comply, you know. The severance of the mate bond isn’t final yet.”
“That’s not how it works,” I counter, finally matching her gaze. “And deep down, you know it.”
Her expression distorts with fury. “You’ve always been so difficult. It’s no wonder Alarion couldn’t stand being mated to you!”
==
As I struggle to break free, my wolf seething beneath my skin, Cyrinne’s demeanor shifts to something
colder and more calculated.
“You know,” she speaks quietly, “accidents happen all the time in stairwells.”
Before I can fully comprehend her statement, she unexpectedly pushes me with surprising force.
I feel my balance falter as I start to tumble backward toward the stairs. Time stretches as I fall, with one hand instinctively moving to shield my belly where my unborn pup is developing.
