Chapter 257
257
257
Third Person’s POV
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Lance had been injured countless times on the battlefield. After returning, he was always busy and never properly recovered. How could he endure such binge drinking?
Not only Adelaide, but even Ivy felt heartbroken.
Adelaide covered his face with a warm towel, wiped his hands, and pressed on his glands to help him sober
Lance opened his eyes, feeling dizzy and disoriented.
He saw multiple images of Adelaide before him, raised his hand, and let out a muffled sound.
His voice was hoarse from the strong liquor, “Don’t move, don’t move. Let me look carefully. Am I dreaming or am I drunk? Why does it feel like I’m mating Adelaide?”
He was extremely dizzy. When he reached out to touch the face before him, opening his eyes made him dizzy, but closing them made it worse. “Ah, it must be a dream. Adelaide’s skin wouldn’t be this rough with wrinkles. Definitely a dream.”
Ivy moved his hand away. “My face is naturally rough and wrinkled–I’m not young anymore. Come on, drink some water.”
She held the cup to his lips, and he drank it down without thinking.
Adelaide rewet the warm towel and used it to wipe his face, couldn’t help but laugh, “You’re so plastered! You even mistook Ivy for me.”
Listening to his drunken ramblings made her heart feel warm. Let him stay drunk. He wouldn’t say such things when sober.
After drinking the water, Lance suddenly felt his stomach churn. He bolted upright and rushed out, vomiting in the hallway.
After vomiting out most of the alcohol in his stomach, he felt much better.
Though still dizzy, he could walk by leaning against the wall.
Ivy called for someone to clean up. Adelaide helped him back in and wiped his face vigorously v towel.
She was a little angry. Couldn’t he refuse when they tried to get him drunk?
Ivy, seeing this, decided to leave them be.
fresh
Let the two work things out themselves, whether through fighting or talking–it was none of their business.
Trying to mediate Adelaide’s anger might only fuel it further.
Adelaide’s anger wasn’t really at Lance but at Irene.
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Left alone, she felt sympathy for Lance.
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After he washed his face, hands, and rinsed his mouth with water from the table, he became much more lucid.
Now sober, he noticed Adelaide’s anger.
He knew it wasn’t directed at him. Her pretty face, covered in frosty indignation, was especially captivating.
The candlelight warmed the room, with pink ribbon decorations adorning every corner. They nestled in his heart.
He coughed lightly and asked, “These pink ribbons–most were made by me. Do you like them?”
Adelaide, ladling soup for him, looked around–the decorations were everywhere, but she hadn’t noticed earlier, too preoccupied with her nerves.
She was genuinely surprised, looking at his slender hands and said, “You made these? You can do such delicate crafts?”
His hair was slightly disheveled, but his face was extremely handsome, his smile warm. “I learned.”
Adelaide’s eyes glistened with indescribable emotion, feigning ignorance. “Why?”
“I’m not exactly sure. I just wanted to be part of our ceremony, to contribute personally.”
He paused, “There’s something I’ve never told you.”
He rubbed his forehead, trying to shake off the lingering dizziness. He wanted to be fully coherent, not to speak in vain from drunkenness.
Adelaide slowly walked to the dining table, already sensing his topic: “Hmm, come sit. Can you handle another small glass?”
“I can, I have to.”
He stood, unsteady but managing a straight line, and sat beside Adelaide.
Their eyes met, raw emotion unveiled.
Adelaide blushed, lowered her gaze to pour
wine.
The small carved golden cup, with a slender red ribbon on its stem, was exquisite.
The poured wine carried a rich peach aroma- a fitting peach–flavored fruit wine.
“Smells great,” he said, picking up two glasses and handing one to her. For some reason, his heartbeat quickened.
As their hands intertwined, cedar scents merged into silver mist under the red candlelight.
Lance’s Adam’s apple bobbed. The gland at the back of his neck released a sweet, soothing pheromone- an Alpha’s unique response to his mate.
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Adelaide’s wolf ears twitched. She clearly sensed the tension in his pheromones- the glandular reaction of a wolf during courtship.
When Lance’s nose brushed her earlobe , his pupils suddenly shrank to dark gold slits in the candlelight– a primal display of wolfish infatuation.
“Adelaide, drink this,” he said, his voice tinged with a wolfish tremor, his fingertips caressing the pulsing gland on her wrist.
As the peach wine slid down, their pheromones woven by the red candle formed the shape of the Moon Goddess’s emblem–the embryonic form of a werewolf mating covenant.