Ch. 111..115: A Warrior Luna's Awakening Chapter 111-115
Chapter 111
Freya’s POV
Finished
I never believed for a second that Aurora–slender, pampered daughter of Bluemoon’s Beta–could have hauled Caelum Grafton from the jaws of the Blackwater.
The thought alone was absurd. The river that night had raged like a beast unleashed. Even I, trained under Iron Fang Recon, nearly drowned dragging him from its grip. My lungs had burned, my muscles screamed, and my wolf had clawed through me with fury and desperation to keep him afloat. Aurora? She wouldn’t have lasted a heartbeat.
But Caelum stiffened when I said it aloud, and Aurora’s face paled before darkening with offense.
Jocelyn Thorne pounced like a viper on blood. “What’s that supposed to mean, Freya? That only you are worthy of saving him? That no one else has the right?” Her voice rose, deliberately pitched to carry across the ballroom. “Courage saves lives, not just strength. Don’t think we don’t see what this is–you want him back, and so you’re spitting poison on Aurora!”
The air shifted; wolves‘ ears turned, eyes flicked toward us. Jocelyn had achieved what she wanted: attention. Humiliation, served hot and loud, for me alone,
I could feel the weight of dozens of gazes. All the packs who mattered in Ashbourne had their alphas and dignitaries gathered here tonight. Officials from the Capital, industrial barons, commanders from Halston Combat Academy. And Jocelyn was feeding them a story meant to brand me as desperate, petty, pathetic.
Aurora’s voice followed swiftly, smooth but sharp. “Freya, if you regret leaving Caelum during the Lunar Severance Phase, you should say it openly. But to use such cheap tricks… it demeans you.”
“Cheap tricks?” My lips curled, my wolf’s snarl bleeding through my tone. “Tell me, Aurora–between us, who is the real trickster here?”
Her nostrils flared, but she pressed forward, emboldened by Jocelyn’s support. “If you saved him, Freya, then why weren’t you there afterward? Why did no one see you at the riverbank, or the ambulance, or the clinic? Where were you?”
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. Because I had been called away. Because duty doesn’t wait. The Iron Fang Recon Unit had deployed me within the hour–another mission, another threat that needed blood and steel.
But before I left, I had dragged him out of the water with every ounce of strength I had left. I had called WolfComm, begged for the medics to hurry, and pressed a stranger–a passerby–to stay by his side until help arrived. That stranger was faceless now, gone to the wind. The medics‘ records from that night, long erased. I had no proof left to offer.
Not that proof mattered anymore.
I exhaled slowly, keeping my voice flat. “Aurora, a stolen bond will never be yours. You can wrap it in silk, parade it in front of every Alpha here tonight, but it won’t make it true. Pray that when Caelum faces death again, you’re not the one standing beside him. Because then, the lie will end.”
Aurora’s face twisted, fury cracking the mask of her composure. “So you just walk away?” she snapped. “You smear me, then think you can leave without a word of apology?”
“Apology?” I let out a bitter laugh. “And what exactly should I apologize for?”
“For calling me a liar,” she spat. Her voice rang louder now, each syllable meant to bind Caelum tighter to her side. “For trying to strip me of what’s mine.”
My wolf surged, hungry for blood. I stepped closer, my voice low but lethal. “Aurora, are you asking to be thrown beneath my boots again?”
Her face blazed crimson. The memory still burned in her–the airport, the crowd, the moment I had ground her pride into dust beneath my heel. She would never forgive it, never forget.
“Enough!” Caelum’s voice cut across us, hard and commanding. He stepped forward, Alpha aura pulsing like a whip. “Freya, you slander her, and you owe her an apology.”
I didn’t even look at him. “And who are you to demand such a thing from me?”
His scent faltered–hesitation, confusion. For a moment he seemed struck dumb. Of course. He had no claim on me now. We
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Chapter 111
were broken, bound no longer. I was not his mate, not his wife, not his anything.
Finished
He swallowed, trying to recover. “I only want you to be honest. Your father, Arthur Thorne, died a hero in the Legion’s Hall of Martyrs. Your mother, Myra, gave her life in Stormveil’s service. Do you think they would want their daughter remembered as a liar-?”
The words hadn’t even left his mouth before rage detonated insid
me.
My hand lashed out, faster than thought. The crack of flesh against flesh silenced the entire hall. His head jerked sideways under the force of my strike.
“You do not speak their names.” My voice was ice, sharp enough to freeze bone. My wolf clawed at my throat, snarling. “My parents. My honor. My truth. None of these are yours to touch.”
Caelum’s eyes widened, shock plastered across his face. He had never expected me to strike him. Never thought I’d bare my teeth and claws against him, not after all the years I had bent and yielded.
Aurora’s eyes blazed with outrage. “You hit him? How dare you! I’ll call the enforcers. You won’t escape this time, Freya- you’ll rot in the cells of Ashbourne, with every wolf in the Capital hearing of your shame!”
The words dripped with venom. She hadn’t forgotten the days I’d forced her into custody, the stain of a criminal record that still marred her. Now she sought her revenge.
But before the room could erupt, another voice slid through the tension like a blade of steel.
“Enough,” said Silas Whitmor.
He strode forward, the Ironclad Alpha himself, his presence suffocating, his aura a storm that swallowed the hall. His gaze cut straight through Aurora and Caelum, reducing them to silence.
“So what if she struck you?” Silas’s tone was calm, cold. “Which crime weighs heavier, Caelum? A slap–or spitting on the memory of Legion dead and Stormveil bloodline?”
Aurora’s face drained of color. Even Caelum flinched.
Silas smiled faintly, without warmth. “And as for you, Aurora… I already struck you twice tonight, did I not? Shall I escort you to the enforcers myself? Perhaps they’d like to know how Bluemoon’s shining pilot finds herself at odds with Ironclad’s Alpha.”
The hall stilled, heavy with unspoken truth. No one, not even Silverfang, dared challenge Silas Whitmor openly. To call the enforcers down upon him would be to declare war, and there were few in Ashbourne reckless enough to try.
Caelum’s mouth opened, then closed. His eyes darted between me, Aurora, and Silas. “This… must be a misunderstanding,” he said finally, voice strained. “Let’s not make it bigger than it is.”
But Jocelyn wasn’t done. Her lips curled, and I could feel her triumph burning hotter than wildfire. She had drawn blood tonight, and she wouldn’t let the wound close. She would make sure every Alpha, every dignitary here, walked away believing I was desperate, dishonest, dangerous.
The war in this hall had only just begun.
Chapter 112
“Silas,” Jocelyn’s voice rang out sweet as venom, her eyes glinting behind her glasses, “did you know Freya was once married? That Alpha Grafton here–yes, this very Caelum–is her ex–husband.”
She must have thought Silas Whitmor ignorant, that this revelation would snap his interest like a twig.
But Silas didn’t even flinch. His tone was as mild as an Alpha lounging on his throne. “And what of it? I was there when their Lunar Severance Phase was made public. I watched their press conference.”
The hall fell into a hush. Jocelyn froze. She had expected gasps, condemnation–at the very least, surprise. Instead, Silas had known all along.
Her jaw stiffened, though the smile on her lips widened into something almost cruel. I could scent the sour tang of her jealousy beneath the perfume she’d doused herself with. It clung to her like rot.
How could a divorced she–wolf still catch the Ironclad Alpha’s attention? To Jocelyn, the thought was intolerable.
And then, like every Thorne who ever bore a dagger in the sleeve, she smiled sharper. “Well,” she purred, “perhaps you know she still pines for her ex. That she’s plotting a return to Caelum’s side. That she even pretended to be his savior—stole the title of the one who dragged him back from death–just to wring guilt from him and bind him again.”
I felt the room lean in. Hungry wolves, scenting blood.
Silas’s voice was low, smooth, but the edge beneath it was steel. “Is that so?”
“Yes, it’s true!” Jocelyn pressed on, the glimmer in her eyes gleeful. “Fortunately Caelum already knows Aurora is his true rescuer. That left Freya’s little plan to crumble into dust.”
The Ironclad Alpha turned his head, his black eyes finding mine. There was something about his stare that pinned me, like talons at my throat. “Do you want him back?”
The words cracked across the hall like thunder.
“I don’t,” I said, steady as the oath–bonds of my bloodline. “The moment I chose divorce, I buried the thought of reunion. There is no going back.”
But Jocelyn wasn’t done. She sneered, turning to the crowd as though they were her jury. “She lies. Of course she lies. What woman could release the title of Silverfang Alpha’s mate so easily? Caelum is young, wealthy, forged his empire with his own hands. That wealth, that power–she could never earn it in her lifetime, Of course she wants it back. Of course she clings.”
The murmurs started then, low whispers among the gathered packs and the Capital officials. They eyed me the way one might eye a wolf crawling for scraps at the edge of campfires.
I could feel Jocelyn’s glee. She thought she had me pinned. She thought she had poisoned Silas’s view of me. He had no patience for wolves who begged for gold. He’d said so often enough–that greed was a weakness he had no use for.
So she smirked, basking in her imagined victory.
And then Silas’s voice came again, cutting the air clean.
“If it were coin she wanted,” he said with a careless shrug, “she could ask it of me. Why would she need Caelum Grafton’s scraps? What I hold in my hand is far greater than what SilverTech Forgeworks can offer.”
The hall stilled.
Jocelyn’s mouth fell open, shock etched across her face. Even Aurora’s sharp composure faltered, and Caelum’s entire frame tensed like a wolf struck between the ribs.
“What… what do you mean by that?” Jocelyn stammered, her usual poise shattered.
“The words you heard,” Silas replied smoothly. “If she sought wealth, if she sought power, I would give it to her. And it would dwarf what Caelum can promise.”
Chapter 112
Finished
The ripple that passed through the ballroom was palpable. This was no idle defense. This was the Ironclad Alpha publicly offering me–me, Freya Thorne of Stormveil’s lesser branch–the kind of choice no wolf expected. Choice. Freedom. His hand, turned upward instead of clenched into a fist.
Wolves don’t offer choices. Not Alphas like Silas.
For a breath, even I stood shaken.
Caelum’s face twisted, storm after storm ripping through him. Rage. Humiliation. Something far uglier that smelled of fear.
Because in that moment, everyone could see it: that the mate he had discarded, the woman he had thought to leave diminished and desperate, now stood with an Alpha far greater and far darker at her side.
“Freya.” His voice cracked out, too harsh, too desperate. “We only just severed our bond, and now you run to another? To him?”
The tone of his voice, the pitch–like an accusing husband, not an ex. Like he still had claim over me.
I let a cold laugh curl from my lips. “We are divorced, Caelum. You chose the Lunar Severance. Who I stand with, who I share breath with–why should that matter to you? Shall I file reports of my movements to you, like some tethered she–wolf?”
His mouth opened, then snapped shut. The words cut him, I could see it. But he pressed on anyway, grasping for ground. “It’s too soon,” he muttered. “Far too soon. And Silas of all people-”
Jealousy clung to him like smoke from a burned–out forge. He hated that I looked anything but broken without him.
Hated more that I stood taller.
“Freya,” he tried again, his voice heavy now with false gravity, “Whitmor is only showing you passing pity. Don’t mistake it for something more.” Then, sharper, he turned to Silas himself. “Alpha Whitmor, she is an orphan. No legacy, no pack holdings. She is not like the women who orbit you–nobles, heiresses, wolves of rank. I ask you to let her be. Do not encourage illusions. Spare her, before she believes in something that cannot be.”
There it was.
He thought he’d offered me a lifeline. Thought he’d marked me small before Silas, just another stray wolf grasping beyond her station. He thought Silas would laugh, agree, dismiss me.
He didn’t see the insult for what it was–not to me, but to Silas himself.
The Ironclad Alpha’s aura shifted, deep and dark as a winter storm. His eyes never left mine, but his voice lashed out to all.
“She requires nothing from me but what she chooses,” he said. “And if she wished it, she could have all. She owes no one- least of all you–explanations.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Caelum stiffened, but I saw the truth in his face. He felt it–the power slipping, the humiliation burning into his marrow. For all his empire, for all his titles, here he was–outshone, outmatched, outdone.
And Jocelyn, poor foolish Jocelyn, looked like she had just realized she had set fire to the very pack–hall she hoped to rule.
As for me?
I stood tall, my wolf pacing inside my skin, hungry, triumphant. For once, the choice was mine.
And every wolf in the hall knew it.
Chapter 113
Freya’s POV
Finished
Aurora bit her lip. The faint scent of her unease drifted toward me even across the crowded hall. She didn’t want to see me stand beside Silas Whitmor. No–she couldn’t bear the thought.
But Caelum’s words, the way he bristled every time Silas spoke of me, carved deeper lines into her composure. The Alpha of Silverfang might have broken our bond in the Lunar Severance Phase, but now–now, as Silas’s eyes lingered on me—I could feel the storm building in him.
And Aurora felt it too.
Why, when our marriage was ashes, did Caelum’s attention burn hotter than ever? His jealousy was unmistakable. He was like a wolf unwilling to see prey taken by another pack, even prey he himself had abandoned.
Aurora’s scent soured with doubt, though I could almost hear her mind whispering its own consolations: He doesn’t love her. He loves me. He only says “friend” because the time is not yet right. Once the storm of his divorce passes, he will claim me in the open.
But Silas’s laughter broke across the hall–low, edged, predatory. “Sympathy?” His smile curved like the slash of a blade. “Caelum, it seems you’ve never understood Freya Thorne at all.
The mocking warmth in his tone made my pulse catch. Sympathy? Who among them had the right to pity me? I was not some whimpering stray.
Silas’s gaze flicked over me. For an instant, I saw beneath the Ironclad Alpha’s armor–the truth that from the first, he had never intended to “toy” with me. At the beginning, perhaps, he had been intrigued by my refusal to abandon him when danger snapped its jaws. He’d thought to keep me close until the interest faded.
But the longer I stayed, the stronger his focus became. Not fading–tightening, burning, rooting deeper.
His next words confirmed it. “I am serious about her,” Silas said, voice carrying through the vaulted hall. “If she nods her head, I would take her to my side this very moment.”
Gasps rippled like wind over tall grass. Wolves whispered behind their hands, eyes flashing, ears straining.
My cousin Jocelyn’s face drained of color. “Silas…. what do you mean by that? You can’t mean–you would court her?”
“Court?” A flicker passed over his lashes, but I saw the hunger there. For Silas, courtship might not be enough. He wanted more. Needed more.
“Freya.” My name fell from his lips with the force of a command. His gaze speared me, molten black and absolute. “If you’re willing, from this moment forward, you’ll be mine. My partner. My mate in truth.”
The words rooted me to the floor.
He couldn’t mean it. Could he? His voice was cool, but husked at the edges, rougher than usual–like gravel dragged across stone. And the way he watched me… every instinct in me quivered. He was dead serious.
Or was this all a shield, a gesture to lift me above the scorn Jocelyn and Caelum had tried to drape over me?
Jocelyn’s composure finally cracked. She stepped forward, her voice rising. “She can’t be your mate! She has nothing, no holdings, no name worth carrying. How could she ever stand at your side?”
Silas turned, his stare slicing into her. “And you think you can?”
She jolted as though struck, then tilted her chin, clinging to her arrogance like armor. “Yes. I am of the first branch of the Thornes, daughter of the Metropolitan line. I carry titles within the Stormveil holdings. I have rank, power, recognition. I am fil. More fit than her.”
Pride shone off her like ice catching light. In Ashbourne, in the Capital, she strutted as if the world itself bowed. She was the jewel of the Metropolitan pack–line, raised high in boardrooms and halls of steel.
And yet-
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Chapter 113
Finished
Silas’s laugh this time was a scythe. “Your ability?” His eyes narrowed. “If not for the Ironclad Coalition’s favor propping you up, how much power would you wield, Jocelyn Thorne? Do you think scraps from my hand made you a wolf worthy of me?”
His words struck like claws raking her face. The color drained out of her until she stood pale, stiff, eyes wide.
The truth was a spear through the crowd as well. Every wolf who knew her history–how she had clawed her way from bastard–child obscurity into legitimacy only because of favors, trades, whispered bargains–now recalled it in sharp relief. Even the sacrifice she loved to parade, the “one eye” she had given for her rise, felt smaller in the shadow of Silas’s derision.
Around us, wolves traded looks. Speculation. Contempt.
Jocelyn’s breath shuddered. “And what of her?” she snapped, pointing at me like venom. “What does Freya Thorne have? Nothing! Her parents dead in the Hall of Martyrs, her line broken, no holdings but ashes. What can she give you, Silas? Don’t forget–I gave up my eye for you!”
Her words dripped with intent, trying to drag guilt into his gaze. But Silas didn’t so much as blink.
His black eyes burned with the frost of the high peaks. “I require nothing of her. Nothing. And if you ever again dare to belittle her in my presence, I will strip you of every pretension, tear you back down to what you once were–a forgotten stray begging scraps at the Thornes‘ hall doors.”
The temperature’seemed to plummet. His aura poured through the hall, pressing down on every wolf like the shadow of a glacier.
Even Jocelyn trembled, her bravado shattering under that weight.
I stood silent, breath held, heart pounding. My wolf prowled beneath my skin, ears flat, tail high, recognizing the dominance in Silas’s voice–and the protection.
For the first time in years, I was not the one being diminished, the one being stripped bare under others‘ words.
I was the one an Alpha had claimed.
Chapter 114
Freya’s POV
Finished
Jocelyn Thorne’s face turned the color of ash, as though the blood had been ripped from her veins in one brutal moment. I could almost hear her heart stutter. He… how could he treat her so?
Her one eye, gleaming with that unnatural brightness she had paid so dearly for, narrowed with disbelief. She had sacrificed it for Silas Whitmor, or so she told herself, wearing that story like a badge of loyalty. But tonight, for me–for my sake–he had turned that cold edge of his blade against her.
I saw the bitterness swallow her whole, especially when the crowd’s stares shifted. Not admiration now. Not envy. Pity. Sympathetic, almost tender. Jocelyn Thorne–raised high on the pride of the Metropolitan branch–was being pitied.
And Jocelyn had never been one to stomach pity.
She sucked in a breath, shoulders stiff, trying to hold on to some last shard of pride. “What does she have, Silas?” she demanded, voice sharp with venom. “What about Freya Thorne makes her worth your protection?”
The wolves closest to us leaned in, hungry for the answer. They’d seen Silas before: cold as iron, ruthless as winter itself. He was not one to extend a shield for free.
Silas’s reply was soft, but it carried like thunder. “Because she did not leave me behind.”
The words struck harder than any blow. Jocelyn’s face crumpled, gray and wasted.
And then his hand found mine. His palm was warm, fingers rough with the strength of a warrior Alpha. The tether between us sparked–dangerous, reckless. “Come,” he murmured.
My throat caught. Still, I managed to answer, “Alright.” Because I wanted nothing more than to be anywhere but under Jocelyn’s glare, anywhere but in the shadow of Caelum’s burning stare.
We stepped away from the balcony. I did not look back, though I felt Jocelyn’s hatred bite into my skin like icy fangs. So it was because she once left him… and I did not. That single choice had been a gulf she could never cross.
Behind us, Aurora’s voice rose in sour mockery. “Silas Whitmor speaks words of convenience. Freya is a fool if she believes them. Look at her–barely freed from her Lunar Severance with Caelum, and already tangled with Silas. Marriage, bond, vows–mere toys to her. She treats the sanctity of mating as a child’s game. Caelum, thank the moon you severed her–now she-”
But Aurora’s voice faltered, falling silent.
Because Caelum Grafton wasn’t listening.
No. His eyes were still on me.
Not Silas. Not the hand holding mine. On me. As though the Alpha of Silverfang had forgotten the entire room, forgotten Aurora clawing for his arm, forgotten everything but the sight of me walking away.
Aurora’s scent spiked bitter and sharp as she clung tighter to him. I felt the possessive edge in her grip even from across the hall. Caelum belongs to me. He will not go back to her. Her resolve was as clear as the storm in her blood.
But his gaze–his gaze belonged to me.
Silas led me out of the great hall and into the garden beyond.
The night was hushed. Lanterns glowed low among climbing ivy. The air was cool, touched with the scent of leaves and blossoms. After the suffocating press of wolves inside–their eyes, their whispers, their judgment–the quiet was like water on parched skin.
I drew in a breath. “Why here?” I asked.
His hand loosened, though he didn’t step back. “It’s quieter.”
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Chapter 114
Finished
That was all. A simple answer, clipped and direct. Yet I felt as though he had carved this stillness out for me alone. That he had led me here not because he needed it, but because he knew I did.
Warmth crept through my chest, confusing, dangerous.
“Thank you,” I said softly.
He turned his head, one brow raised. “Thank me?”
“Yes,” I insisted. “For speaking for me. For–shielding me back there. I know you did it for my sake. Don’t worry. I won’t take your words to heart. I know you didn’t mean them as they sounded.”
His lips curved in something that was not a smile. “Which words, Freya? The promise of wealth? Or the vow that I would take you as mine, if only you gave me leave?”
Heat surged to my face. “Both,” I admitted. “Whether it was sympathy or simple chivalry… I understand. I’m grateful. If one day you ever need me, Silas, I’ll return the favor.”
He studied me then, gaze unyielding, dark as steel. “You think me chivalrous? You think me sympathetic?”
His voice dropped lower. “Freya Thorne, the Whitmors have never been a family of knights and rescuers. Ironclad blood runs cold–selfish, obsessive, merciless. Never… chivalrous.”
His words cut, but not at me. They cut at himself.
“I have never pitied you,” he murmured. His eyes glowed faint in the lantern light. “I have envied you.”
I blinked. “Envied… me?”
“Yes.” His tone softened, but it was raw. “Envied your parents. That you had them. That they fought and fell with honor, and left you not with scars but with warmth in your memories. You carry them still. You can look back and feel loved.”
He exhaled, slow and bitter. “I look back at mine, and feel nothing but hatred.”
The steel in his voice cracked, just a little, and for the first time I glimpsed not the Ironclad Alpha, but the boy who had grown in a house of venom.
“I envy you, Freya. And I respect them–the ones who raised you. They made you who you
His eyes stayed locked on mine.
And my heart, traitor that it was, faltered.
–
are.”
How strange to hear him, Silas Whitmor, who had always stood untouchable, who could bend boardrooms and. battlegrounds alike to his will–confess envy of me.
I thought of my father, Arthur Thorne, and my mother Myra Brown. Of their laughter, their gentle chiding, the fleeting moments we’d stolen between their duties to the Iron Fang Recon Unit. I thought of my brother Eric, who had shielded me in ways he never spoke of.
Even when loss struck, even when I had stood before the Ashbourne Legion’s Hall of Martyrs, my memories had never been cold. They had been light.
And I realized–Silas had never known such light.
For a heartbeat, I wanted to reach for him. To tell him that envy was misplaced. That he was not bound by his father’s cruelty.
That I-
But the words caught in my throat. Because what comfort could I give to a man forged in iron and shadow? What could I say that would not sound like pity–the one thing he claimed never to give, and likely would never accept?
So I stood there, fingers trembling where they brushed his hand, lost between silence and the thunder of my racing heart.
Chapter 115
Freya’s POV
Finished
For a moment, silence clung to us like frost. I weighed my words carefully before I spoke. “If you choose to, then one day when you wed and sire children, you could give them what you were denied–a true home, filled with warmth.”
The words had barely left me when I saw Silas Whitmor’s eyes flicker.
Marriage. Children.
He had never looked like a male who entertained such thoughts. The very mention of it seemed to gnaw at him, as though it scraped against old scars. I knew well enough why. He had spoken before of his father, of the venomous household that had birthed him. The Whitmore bond had been nothing but a farce of dominance and cruelty. To him, marriage was little more than a prison. And children? He had once snarled that he would never perpetuate such a cycle.
But now–now he looked at me, and his voice came out rougher, startlingly raw.
“Then will you marry me, Freya? Bear my children?”
I froze, breath catching in my throat. My wolf surged inside me, startled, as though she hadn’t expected to be dragged into such terrain. “What–what did you just say?” I coughed, nearly choking on the word itself.
He repeated it without hesitation, without shame. “Marriage. Children. Will you try it with me?” His face was unreadable, his /tone almost maddeningly calm, as if he were asking me whether I’d spar him at dawn.
I dragged a hand over my brow, trying to steady the rush in my veins. Moon above, Silas’s mind leapt like lightning over ridges, and half the time, it left me stumbling to keep pace. “I only just came through my Lunar Severance Phase,” I said sharply. “I have no intention of running headlong into another bond. And more than that-” My voice dropped lower. “I don’t believe marriage and children are things one tries. Especially children. If you bring a life into this world, that life is your blood and your vow. It is not something you discard because you regret it. Wolves don’t return pups to the womb.”
His gaze dipped, lashes lowering, as though he were thinking through every syllable I had spoken. For a breath, he seemed carved of stone.
“Enough,” I muttered, straightening. “We should head back to the hall.” I turned before the strange weight of his stare could press me further, my boots crunching on the gravel path.
But behind me, his voice rang out, low and sure.
“Freya.”
I halted.
“I meant what I said before Caelum Grafton.”
The name sent a sting through my gut, though I smothered it quickly.
Silas’s voice grew steadier. “All of it. If you want me, I am here. If you want anything–wealth, protection, power–I will lay it at your feet. If you want me in truth, I will give you that too.”
The words pulled me back. I turned, meeting him where the moonlight fractured across his shoulders.
The garden was hushed save for the restless whisper of vines and the heady perfume of flowers. Silver moonlight draped across his frame like frost. His features, cut with a cold beauty that most wolves feared to linger on, seemed softened by that glow. Yet his eyes–gods, his eyes–burned with something fierce, unyielding, and utterly foreign to the aloof Alpha I had known.
The coldness of his stance only sharpened the fire of that gaze. It was like staring at a glacier that concealed molten stone deep within.
I realized, with a jolt, that he was utterly serious. That if I nodded–just a tilt of my head–I would belong to Silas Whitmor. His mate in all but the Moon’s formal decree. His lover, his equal, his chosen.
It was absurd. Reckless. Dangerous. And yet the thought struck me with a visceral power, as though my wolf strained against the leash to see what such a bond would feel like.
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Chapter 115
His lips parted, and his voice was hoarse, almost reverent. “Do you want this, Freya? Do you want me?”
Finished
I let the silence linger between us, let his question hang heavy as the moon. His eyes, sharp as a hawk’s, locked with mine. In their depths, I saw not only hunger but hope–raw and naked.
My chest tightened. For one dangerous breath, I wondered if I should surrender, just to see where fate might drag me.
But no. My wolf stilled, steadied, and my answer rose like steel.
“I don’t.”
His brows pinched, almost imperceptibly. “Why?” The word was brittle. “Is it Caelum? Do you still love him?”
I shook my head, sharp. “No. Caelum is ash in my heart. There is nothing left for him there. I refuse you, Silas, because I do not love you. Not now. And because the things I want–power, freedom, my own future–I will seize with my own claws. I will not take them because a male lays them in my lap.”
For a long moment, silence clawed the air between us. His jaw worked, tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. And yet when my words sank in–I do not love you–I saw it. The flicker of something fragile in his gaze.
A wound.
Silas Whitmor, who had boasted that he needed no one’s love–not even his parents‘, after their bond turned to venom— looked, in that instant, like a wolf robbed of something he hadn’t realized he craved.
“Then later,” he said suddenly, his voice low and strained.
I blinked. “Later?”
“Yes.” His eyes burned into mine. “If not now… what about later?”
The weight of his question struck deeper than the first.
My lips parted, words forming, but before I could speak, he stepped closer, his scent curling around me–iron, smoke, the bite of winter steel. His hand rose, calloused fingertip pressing gently against my lips.
“You don’t need to answer.” His voice was husky, almost desperate beneath the veneer of calm. “I don’t want to hear the words unless they are the ones I crave. So keep them. Until you’re ready. Or until I make you ready.”
I froze.
The press of his finger was cool, but my lips burned beneath it, heat rushing like wildfire into my blood. My wolf stirred uneasily, claws scraping inside my chest, caught between recoil and longing.
I had not expected this from him—not Silas, not the Ironclad Alpha who had always been the embodiment of restraint and ice. Yet here he was, breaking his own rules, demanding something more than respect, more than alliance.
Something dangerously close to love.
And as his touch lingered, I feared that one day, I might not be strong enough to say no.