The Triplet Alphas' Curse: Rejected by the Wolfless Luna.

Aire unexpectedly winced.

The sound was barely noticeable yet Lysander noticed it immediately.

He stopped walking, and his grip loosened around her wrist.

"My wrist," Aire said quietly. "It hurts."

His eyes dropped instantly.

The faint amusement lingering on his face vanished.

Purple veins spread beneath her skin where the vines had been wrapped too tightly. The bruising looked worse than it had a few moments ago.

Lysander frowned.

Without a word, he changed direction.

Aire immediately recognized the route he now took. She sighed softly as she followed him without protest to his room.

The moment they entered, Lysander released her wrist.

"Wash up." He ordered her.

Aire opened her mouth. "No." She refused. Absentmindedly, she realized ’no’ have become her most used word since she came I to this realm.

"Yes." Lysander countered.

"No."

"Yes."

Aire glared at him.

Lysander ignored her completely. He lifted a hand, and snapped his fingers. Just like that, steam immediately rose from the bathwater.

Aire froze.

Slowly, she turned toward him.

"Did you just do something to the water?"

Lysander looked genuinely offended. "I made it hot." He defended himself.

Aire narrowed her eyes.

He sighed. "Did I do something to harm you? No."

Aire folded her arms across her chest. She looked around his room warily, and bit her lower lip. "Please take me back to my cell. I’m good."

His expression flattened. "No, you’re not." He refused.

She remained stubborn. Especially after what she had just witnessed. He had snapped his fingers, and the water obeyed.

For all she knew, he could have done fifty other things to it.

Lysander seemed to realize exactly what she was thinking. "I swear on my life, I didn’t."

His gaze drifted back to her wrist. "Now take a bath so I can fix that before the vines fall out of my spell."

Aire frowned. "Spell." She repeated. She hated that word. Her eyes narrowed. "Is that what you’re doing to me?"

Lysander blinked at her.

Aire went on, her voice accusing. "Am I under your spell?"

A laugh escaped him. "No, my dear." He crossed toward his wardrobe. "You can be rest assured that nobody is putting you under a spell."

He pulled out a simple brown gown, and then tossed it toward her.

"Vaelor already tried."

Aire caught the gown automatically. Her stomach tightened. She immediately flashed back to the court, the strange pressure, the feeling inside her head, and the way everyone had suddenly become tense.

"In the court today?" She guessed curiously.

Lysander nodded casually. "Right."

Aire stared at him. The memory replayed itself. The strange sensation that brushed against her mind, and the casual question Vaelor had asked her explained a lot.

Aire looked down at the gown.

Questions piled inside her.

Unfortunately, she suspected nobody intended to answer them. Eventually she disappeared into the bathing room.

Lysender shut the door behind her the moment she crossed the door, and silence filled the chamber.

Lysander released a long breath, and collapsed backward onto his bed.

The mattress dipped beneath his weight.

He dragged a hand over his face. The room suddenly felt much quieter without her arguing, and much quieter than he preferred.

.......

The bath took longer than Aire intended.

She inspected everything first. The water, the stone, the walls, the soap, the towels, and everything.

Only after deciding none of it looked immediately deadly did she finally wash.

When she eventually emerged, her silver hair hung damp down her back.

Droplets slid from the ends, but she refused to use the towel on its or even a brush. A lock of her hair already caused so much damage.

The brown gown fit surprisingly well.

It felt so simple, comfortable, and dangerously flattering.

Aire immediately disliked that fact.

The moment she stepped out, Lysander sat upright. His eyes found her instantly.

For a second he said nothing, then he nodded once as though approving her appearance.

Aire rubbed her hands together awkwardly.

The silence stretched between them.

Lysander’s gaze drifted down on her, then lower, and back upward. His eyes lingered a second too long on her before realization crossed his face.

He cleared his throat immediately to distract himself.

Aire caught a glimpse of his gaze, but did not react to it.

Lysander pointed toward the bed. "Sit."

Aire obeyed this time. Mostly because her wrist genuinely hurt. The mattress shifted beneath her when she sat.

Lysander crouched before her.

His hand reached for her wrist, then he suddenly stopped.

His eyes dropped lower.

Aire followed his gaze, and she found him staring at her ankle. The purple marks spread there too, caused by the shadows from the court.

Lysander muttered a curse.

Apparently escaping had damaged more than her dignity.

His fingers wrapped gently around her wrist, and soft controlled dark magic gathered. This felt nothing like Vaelor’s.

Aire stiffened immediately.

The magic flashed once, then vanished, and the bruising disappeared completely. Her skin looked untouched again.

Lysander moved to her ankle. And did the same thing. Once again, nothing remained there.

Aire immediately pulled back.

Her fingers wrapped around her healed wrist protectively, and her eyes sharpened with suspicion.

"What happens to me now?"

Lysander looked up at her face. "Nothing."

She clearly didn’t believe him.

His expression softened slightly. "You’re healed."

Then, before she could move away completely, he reached out again.

His thumb brushed across her wrist in slow thoughtful circles. He seemed absent-minded, almost as though he were checking something.

Aire swallowed. Her chest tightened in memories of her mates.

His attention felt heavier than the bruises had.

Lysander released a slow breath, then the room became strangely quiet.

Aire studied him carefully. A dangerous useful thought surfaced. She had spent weeks powerless, and trapped. Weeks being dragged from place to place.

Perhaps, she wasn’t entirely powerless. Perhaps there were other ways.

Her eyes lowered to his hand, then back to his face.

A small soft harmless, yet calculated smile appeared on her face.

Lysander gaze narrowed at the sight of her smile.

Aire slowly lifted her wrist toward him. "You can drop a kiss, if you want." She gently permitted him.

Silence. The room instantly fell into complete silence.

Lysander raised his eyes to hers.

His expression revealed absolutely nothing. "No." He refused her immediately.

Aire tilted her head. She decided to push. "You want to." She urged him.

Her voice lowered, gentle and testing.

Lysander didn’t answer. His eyes dropped to her wrist.

Aire immediately felt her pulse jump.

His gaze returned to hers, and once again, neither back down from the staring contest.

The silence stretched between them. It stretched on longer, until it became uncomfortable, and Aire almost convinced herself she had miscalculated.

She almost did, but Lysander took that thought off her mind, as he moved. He moved so slowly she almost missed it.

His fingers tightened slightly around her hand. He lifted her wrist, his eyes closed, and he pressed a deep kiss against the place the bruises had been.

The gesture felt strangely deliberate. It wasn’t hurried, or careless, but with reverent. As though he were handling the most fragile being of his existence.

Aire sucked in a sharp breath.

Her entire body went still. For one second she forgot this had been her idea.

Lysander remained there briefly, and all she could see was Alaric.

He softly pulled away, and opened his eyes.

Aire’s heartbeat suddenly felt very loud. She felt so hot, and the room felt smaller. The air felt warmer.

This had been a mistake.

Aire forced herself to remember that she urged him, and she urged him to do it so she could get informations.

Lysander released her wrist.

His gaze lingered on her face.

Aire immediately looked away first.

The silence stretched again.

Finally, she awkwardly stood. The mattress shifted beneath her again.

Lysander looked up.

Aire clasped her hands together, then inhaled carefully. "I would like to leave now."

Lysander stared at her for several seconds. His eyes drifted briefly toward the door, and something unreadable crossed his face.

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