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

This Chapter is dedicated to Jennifer Mckern. ❤️‍🩹💞 I honestly wish I can give a mass release of 10 Chapters at once.

Sadly, I have exams for the next two weeks, and I am so sad that I can’t show how grateful I am by flooding in Chapters.

....

The cell felt smaller than before as Aire paced around. She took three steps forward, turned, and took three steps back again.

Mud squelched beneath her bare feet.

The gown Lysander had given her still felt strange against her skin. It felt too clean, and too soft for her current home.

Aire turned sharply remebring his question about her hair.

She took an involuntary three steps, and then turned around yo take three more.

Her thoughts refused to settle. They kept circling back to the same thing, and the same conversation she had with Lysander, and the look on his face when she told him her hair was a curse.

A curse?

The memory surfaced so clearly she could almost hear him again.

Aire stopped pacing. Her jaw tightened and then, she folded her arms, and then unfolded them again.

No matter how many times she replayed the conversation, the result remained the same.

Lysander hadn’t laughed at her.

That was the problem.

If he had mocked her, she could have dismissed it. If he had insulted her, she could have ignored it.

But he hadn’t.

He had looked confused, and almost concerned. As though she had said something completely absurd.

Could it be that ger whole life was a lie and a misunderstanding, just like the prophecy? She almost wished it was, but that would hurt her more than cure her currently.

Aire resumed pacing.

Silver hair means a curse. Everyone knew that. She had grown up hearing it. Children whispered it, and adults whispered it louder.

Silver hair meant misfortune.

Silver hair meant bad luck.

Silver hair meant something had gone wrong. Silver hair meant illegitimate child, and infertility from a wolf against his mate.

It always had.

Aire frowned.

Then why had he looked at her like that?

She took her automatic three steps, turned in thoughts, and took three more again.

Her stomach twisted. For one terrible moment.... One tiny moment, Lysander had sounded certain.

Certain that she was wrong, and her hair wasn’t a curse.

Aire exhaled sharply. ”No.” She said softly. ”Perhaps, this is just a ploy to manipulate me.”

She wasn’t doing this. She wasn’t allowing a dark fae to rewrite her entire life because of one conversation.

She wasn’t allowing him into her head.

Aire paced faster.

The vines around her wrists rustled faintly. The sound irritated her. Everything irritated her.

The realm.

Morrigan.

Vaelor.

Lysander.

Especially Lysander.

Aire stopped again.

Her gaze drifted toward the far wall. A memory tugged at her mind unexpectedly when she saw the darkness.

Her mind drifted back to strands of dark hair.

The realization hit her suddenly.

Aire went still.

Black. Her hair had once been black. She remembered that faintly. Her hair had been black before her father’s death, before everything changed, and before the silver appeared.

Aire slowly lowered herself against the wall.

The movement felt automatic.

Her back touched stone, then she slid downward slowly, trapped in thoughts. Now, she was sitting in the mud again, with her knees drew toward her chest, and her arms wrapped loosely around them.

Flashback:

Little Aire couldn’t have been older than five.

Six perhaps. However, she was small enough that doors felt enormous, small enough that adults seemed like giants, and small enough that the world still felt safe.

The drawing was crumpled by the time Aire reached the study.

She had spent nearly an hour making it.

It was supposed to be a landscape.

A field, a river, a tree, and a sun.

Instead it looked like a collection of crooked lines fighting for space on the page.

Aire thought it was beautiful anyway.

She ran down the corridor clutching the paper in one hand, her small shoes tapping excitedly against the stone floor.

”Papa is going to love it.” She squealed, with her black curls bouncing in delight.

The study door stood slightly open.

Aire slowed when she heard voices drifting through the gap. She heard the voive of her parents, but neither sounded right.

Even at five years old she knew that sharp, quiet, and tight doesn’t sound right. It made her little stomach feel strange.

Aire hesitated, then pushed the door open.

The conversation stopped immeidately, and silence flooded the room.

Her smile faded.

Her father turned away from the dor immediately she opened it, and stood near the window.

His shoulders got rigid, and his back remained perfectly straight. His clenched his hands behind him.

Across the room, Aire’s mother stood beside the desk.

Tears glistened on her cheeks.

Nobody moved when she came in. That was strange to Aire. Really strange. Normally, they would have circled her with love, and swamped her into their arms.

For a long moment nobody even breathed.

Her father remained by the window as though he didn’t want to be seen while her mother lifted a trembling hand to her face, trying to wipe away the tears, and trying to hide them.

Little Aire frowned.

Adults weren’t supposed to cry. Adults fixed things. Adults knew things. Adults made monsters disappear from under beds.

”Papa?”

Her father remained facing the window. He did not respond to her.

Her mother drew a shaky breath. She drew in another to steady herself. Unfortunately, her knees suddenly buckled, and she involuntarily sank into a chair.

She instantly covered her mouth with one hand as a small broken sound escaped her.

Aire’s eyes widened. The drawing fell from her hand. ”Are you hurt, Mama?” She asked, gravely concerned.

Her mother closed her eyes, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

Without thinking, Aire ran across the room.

Her mother opened her arms, and Aire crashed into them. Her mother immediately wrapped her into a strong, desperate, and almost painful hug.

The hug was so tight that Aire squeaked in surprise.

For a moment neither of them spoke.

Her buried her face in Aire’s black hair. Her shoulders shook, and Aire awkwardly patted her arm.

Little Aire comforted her, having no idea what was wrong.

”It’s okay,” she whispered.

Her mother laughed. A broken sound tangled with her tears. ”Oh, little one.” She sniffed.

Aire pulled back enough to study her face. ”Did Papa make you sad?”

The room went still.

Her father’s shoulders stiffened near the window.

Her mother looked toward him, and a sad sigh passed between them. Her mother looked back at her, and a sad smile touched her lips.

”No.” She replied after a few second.

Aire knew it wasn’t true. She just didn’t know why.

Her mother brushed Aire hair strands away from Aire’s face with trembking fingers. Then she leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

”You sweet girl.”

Aire beamed, proud of herself for helping.

Her mother’s smile widened slightly, though her eyes remained red. For a moment she simply stared at the child in her arms.

She whispered softly, ”You deserve better than this.” She swallowed softly.

Aire blinked. ”What?”

Her mother shook her head. ”I need tou to know something.” She kissed her forehead again, and held her a little tighter. ”I need you to know that whatever happens to you in the future, I’ll always be here to guide you. And if I’m not here, please know its for the better.” She sniffed again, struggling to hold back her tears. ”Okay?”

Aire blinked at her, confused. However, she nodded in agreement. ”Okay.”

Across the room, her father finally turned away from the window. He immediately walked out of the study, still unable to look either of them in the eye.

Present Day:

Aire blinked, and dugged her fingers into her hair as she recalled that almost buried memory. Then, she hadn’t understood what her mother was trying to say but now, she understood enough to ask questions.

The woman had been her father’s mate, and not her mother.

And yet, she had always been kind.

Why?

Aire stared at the opposite wall.

The question settled heavily inside her. The older she became, the less sense it made.

She had been proof of betrayal, proof of another woman, and proof of pain. Yet the woman had never treated her that way.

Aire sniffed, and wrapped her arms around her self. She have never felt this alone. Her lips trembled.

”I curse you, Papa.” She shivered. ”I curse you for all you’ve done, and how much I have to endure because you were disloyal to your mate.”