Ch. 166..170: A Warrior Luna's Awakening Chapter 166-170
Chapter 166
Silas’s POV
My wolf snarled, protective fury uncontained. Whoever sent these Rogues would pay dearly.
+8 Pearls
Then I heard the footsteps–Whitmore security finally arrived. Only four of them, not the full detail. Wren lay unconscious, carefully lifted by one of my lieutenants. I kept a sharp eye on every shadow, every movement, ensuring no other threat approached.
I tore my tie off in frustration and haste, my fingers trembling as I pressed it tightly around Freya’s bleeding arm. The heat of her blood seeped through the fabric, crimson soaking my hands.
My wolf roared inside me–possessive, protective, primal. Every instinct screamed at me to keep her safe, to shield her from the predators that dared to cross her path.,
“We’ll get you to the healer, now!” I growled, lifting her into my arms. My strength was steady, but inside, my wolf pulsed with frantic energy.
She was light, yet every movement threatened to betray the gravity of her injuries. Two of my lieutenants followed closely, settling into the front seats, the hum of the engine beneath us a weak buffer to the storm raging in my chest.
“I’m fine, just a scratch,” Freya murmured, her voice calm but tinged with adrenaline. My wolf snarled softly at her casual dismissal. Scratch? The sleeve of her jacket was stained deep red, her blood painting a vivid banner of how close she had come to death.
I tightened my grip instinctively, my claws flexing beneath my gloves. “No,” I muttered, voice low and harsh, “you’re not fine. Not when it’s your blood I’m holding.” The lieutenants in the front seats exchanged uneasy glances; they knew better than to speak unless spoken to..
The
memory of the
garage attack burned hot in my mind.
Rogues had descended like shadowed wolves, teeth bared, cla
ready, and Freya–my Freya–had met them head–on, fierce, unflinching. She had taken hits, scraped and torn her arm, yet she had never hesitated to strike back, using everything she had learned with the Iron Fang Recon Unit.
My wolf had howled in fury at their audacity, my human mind trapped in a cage of helplessness until she had finally thrown one of them down with a precision that had made my chest ache with pride and terror all at once.
Now, in the enclosed vehicle, I felt every pulse of Freya’s blood through my arms, her scent thick with adrenaline and iron.
I pressed harder with the tie, stopping the flow temporarily, my jaw tight, eyes narrow.
“Silas…” she whispered again, the same calmness in her tone that made my wolf bristle. “It’s really just a small injury. I can heal myself.”
I ground my teeth. Small injury? Small? My wolf growled, snuffling, tasting the warmth of her blood.
The threads of instinctive anger surged through me.
Back when she had first become my bodyguard, I had treated it as a convenience–a–way to keep her close, a delightful puzzle to amuse my senses. If she were hurt, it didn’t matter then; her life was expendable in the cruel calculus of my amusement. But now… now every droplet of her blood felt like a knife twisting in my chest. I had miscalculated. I had underestimated the cost of letting her fight.
By the time we reached Ashbourne General’s VIP wing, my wolf had already scented every movement outside the vehicle.
The moment the emergency doors opened, I carried her straight to a room lined with the latest equipment, hands still trembling
Doctors and nurses flitted around us, but I could only see her, Freya, lying in my arms.
“Alpha Whitmor,” one of my lieutenants reported, “Wren was shooted, two broken ribs, no life–threatening injuries. Shall we hand the Rogue over to the authorities?”
“Hand her over,” I said, voice ice, eyes dark, claws flexing even beneath my gloves, “but not before she loses the use of that
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Chapter 166
hand permanently.” My wolf snarled, satisfied with the justice, primal and complete..
D
+8 Pearls
The doctors moved quickly, stitching five deep points into Freya’s arm, washing away the blood but unable to erase the lingering crimson scent that still clung to her. Even though I know Freya can heal herself, I’m still worried about those Rogues having wolfsbane or something on their claws.
Freya’s eyes met mine once, and I caught the faint smirk, wolfish and teasing, as if to say, I survived. My wolf growled low, warning the world: she was mine, and she always would be.
When the medical staff began to leave the room, I remained close, watching every shift of her body. Freya sighed, slightly annoyed at the fuss I was making. “You can let them go. I don’t like being watched like a… exhibit,” she said, a hint of amusement in her voice.
My wolf snorted softly, a rumbling vibration of possessive amusement. “And yet,” I murmured, “I cannot leave you unguarded. Not while your scent and blood remind me of what was almost lost.”
Once alone, I asked, almost hesitantly, “Do you want something to eat?” My wolf relaxed slightly at her faintly teasing look, her scent calming, though still tinged with danger.
“An apple,” she replied simply, nodding toward the fruit basket already sent by the hospital:
Car,
I picked one, washing it with then sat beside her, peeling it slowly. The knife moved in my fingers with ease, controlled, precise. She watched, eyes curious, and I realized, with a strange, human pang, that she had never seen me perform such mundane, careful tasks. My wolf purred softly inside, attuned to her intrigue, protective and possessive.
“Still like my hands?” I asked suddenly, voice low, teasing.
She froze, looking up at me, and our eyes locked.
“I’m glad my hands please you,” I murmured, my wolf brushing her scent with a slow, possessive nuzzle. “But I hope you’ll like every part of me… just as fiercely.”
Chapter 167
Silas‘ POV
Finished
Freya’s face flushed at my words, though she.tried to hide it. The apple knife spun lightly in my fingers as I handed the peeled fruit to her. She accepted it with her uninjured hand, trying to keep her composure. I had seen warriors stare down death with steadier eyes, yet somehow the small crack in her armor made my chest tighten.
Her voice broke the silence. “How’s Wren?”
“He’ll live,” I said, tone clipped, forcing myself to steady the tremor in my wolf. “He needs time to heal, but nothing permanent.”
Relief softened her shoulders, and for a heartbeat I wished I could freeze her like that–unguarded, safe.
But the moment my gaze drifted back to the stark white bandage wrapped around her arm, guilt surged hot through my veins. My claws threatened to unsheathe beneath my skin.
“Freya…” My voice dropped low. “Don’t ever throw yourself in front of me like that again.”
She paused mid–bite, confusion flickering across her face. “What do you mean?”
“I mean I won’t allow it. I can’t watch you bleed for me again.”
Her brows drew together, defiance flashing in her wolf–gold eyes. “But I’m your protector. It’s my duty. And it’s just a small wound. I’ll heal.”
The word small tore something raw inside me. My wolf lunged against my ribs, growling at her reckless dismissal. “I don’t care if it’s small or mortal, I won’t allow it. From this moment, you’re released from the duty of guarding me. I’ll make it official with the Iron Fang Recon Unit myself.”
Her jaw parted in shock, words caught in her throat. She didn’t expect my tone to be that final.
“What about your safety?” she challenged.
“I’ll handle it,” I answered, voice iron–hard. My wolf surged, a tide of violence and certainty. “And soon there will be no threats left to guard against.”
The silence that followed pressed heavy between us. She ate the apple quietly, and soon the medicine pulled her into slumber. Her breathing evened, her lashes soft against her cheeks.
I sat beside her a long while, just watching. The way her chest rose and fell, the way her hair spilled across the pillow like a dark river. I reached out, brushing a stray lock from her face, my touch feather–light. In that stillness, my wolf went silent,
content.
But the moment I rose the moment I stepped into the corridor beyond her door, the softness shattered.
Two rows of my guards straightened immediately. The scent of iron discipline filled the hall.
“You’ll guard Freya Thorne with your lives,” I said, my voice carrying the weight of Alpha command. “If anything happens to her, if she draws even a single drop of blood without me knowing… you know the price.”
“Yes, Alpha!” they chorused, the words vibrating in the sterile hospital air
I turned toward the elevator, each step echoing with purpose. By the time the doors closed, the tenderness in my chest was gone, replaced by a searing rage. My wolf prowled inside me, demanding retribution. Tonight, the Whitmore bloodlines that had conspired with Rogues would learn what it meant to provoke me.
By the next dawn, the pack whispered of ruin. The Whitmore cousins who had eyed my Alpha seat lay broken–some stripped of wealth overnight, their assets burned to ash by Ironhold Consortium pressure, others fleeing with nothing but their skin, chased by the scent of their own debts.
And in the ancestral chamber of Whitmore Manor–a place heavy with the ghosts of former Alphas–I stood before the kneeling remnants. The air reeked of fear and sweat, their wolves subdued beneath my dominance.
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Chapter 167
Finished
“It wasn’t us!” one whimpered, forehead pressed to the cold stone floor. “We didn’t know anything about the Rogues-”
“Didn’t know?” My voice cut sharp, my wolf’s growl bleeding through. I flung the stack of files onto the ground, the papers scattering like snow. “Then explain these–every transaction, every whisper to the Rogues you hired to take my life.”
Their
eyes widened, blood draining from their faces. I didn’t need their confessions; their fear was enough.
“I already dealt with the rest of your mercenaries before I came here tonight,” I said, my voice a low snarl. “The only reason you still breathe is because I haven’t decided whether you’re worth the trouble of killing myself.”
They knew it was true. Once, I hadn’t cared. Once, I’d looked at death as a release, even toyed with it–whether my wolf fell on the battlefield or in the shadows didn’t matter. But Freya had bled for me. She had stood against Rogues with her body in front of mine. And because of that, everything had changed.
Now my life mattered. Because without it, I couldn’t protect her.
“Enough groveling,” I snapped, turning my gaze to the far corner where shadows clung too heavily. “Come out. I know you’re there.”
A deep, mocking laugh rolled out before the figure emerged. Cassian Whitmor–my father.
The sight of him sent bile rising in my throat.
“I thought you’d drag this game out longer,” he said, his smile sharp as a blade.
“You want me dead that badly, Father?” My voice was flat, though my wolf bristled, hackles raised.
Cassian shrugged with feigned ease. “Dead? Not necessarily. But untested, unproven? That, I could not allow. An Alpha of the Whitmores must earn the seat. Consider this a trial by fire.”
The sneer on my lips came without thought. “A trial that involved allying with Rogues? Sending them after your own son?” “You’re still breathing, aren’t you?” His eyes gleamed. “That means you passed.”
“Do you fear I’ll hand you to the Coalition Tribunal?” I asked, voice low, deadly. “Ironclad and the military both keep records. If 1 fall, every project tied to Whitmore blood halts. You think they wouldn’t come for you?”
Cassian chuckled, arrogant. “And yet, you have no evidence. I was careful. You can’t touch me, not in any court.”
I clenched my fists until claws threatened to break skin. He was right. He had covered his tracks.
Then his gaze shifted, sly. “You didn’t care before. But now… now you’re desperate to end this farce. Because of her, isn’t it? Freya Thorne. That little warrior who bled for you. She changed you.”
The growl ripped from my chest before I could stop it, my wolf surging forward, a snarl curling my lips. The guards stiffened, the air thick with killing intent.
“Yes,” I thought savagely. Because of her.
Chapter 168
Silas’s POV
Finished
“Silas,” he drawled, his voice carrying that maddening lilt of satisfaction, “if that girl had taken one wound deeper, how would you live with yourself?”
The words cut through me sharper than any blade. My muscles seized. Freya’s face flashed in my mind–her blood spilling across my hands, the way she threw herself in front of me tonight, snarling against the Rogues like a wolf with nothing left to lose.
I was on him before my packmates even breathed. My hands shot forward, claws grazing his skin as I slammed him into the stone pillar. My grip locked around his throat.
“You dare.” My growl was thunder.
Cassian only smiled wider. That same damned smile he wore the day he nearly broke me as a boy. “You can kill me now, son. End it. Spare yourself the torment of wondering whether I’ll ruin what you hold dear.”
The hall seemed to shrink. Every heartbeat around us stumbled. I could hear my men’s breaths catch, the scrape of boots against the flagstones. They’d seen me tear through Rogues a moment ago, and now they saw me with my claws pressed to my own father’s throat.
A Whitmor devouring a Whitmor. The oldest whisper in the Capital.
His eyes burned with deranged amusement, as though he welcomed the end by my hand. And that was the worst of it–he wanted me to do it. He wanted my soul tainted like his.
I squeezed harder. Cassian’s breath rasped; the scent of his blood teased senses.
“Alpha!” one of my sentries barked, his voice sharp, breaking the haze.
It snapped me back like a lash across the spine.
my
I released Cassian with a shove, my claws tearing shallow lines down his neck as he staggered back, coughing, laughter spilling between each choke.
“Why not?” he wheezed. “Why not finish me? Don’t tell me you fear the stain of patricide.”
I lowered my gaze to my hands. These were the same hands still sticky with Freya’s blood, the ones that had shielded her when Rogues lunged for her throat. My hands had killed more than a hundred wolves in my reign. That stain I could bear.
But hers?
No. If I snapped Cassian’s neck here, in the hall my ancestors built, I would see Freya’s eyes looking at me in horror. She was too pure, too fierce, too honest to bind herself to a wolf who murdered his own sire like a beast gone rabid.
I lifted my eyes back to him. “I won’t kill you,” I said, my voice low, dangerous, steady. “But I’ll bury you in chains like Grandfather did. You will never touch her. Never again.”
Cassian froze, then barked out a manic laugh. “So that’s it. You already laid the trap, didn’t you?“.
I gave the command, my voice echoing like the toll of a death bell: “Shadows!”
From the darkness of the rafters, the Iron Fang Recon Unit emerged–my loyal dark sentinels, the pack’s secret hand. Clad in black, eyes glowing amber and silver, they dropped into the hall one by one until dozens circled us.
Casps rippled through the Whitmor kin gathered in the great chamber.
Cassian’s smile curved again, this time with something like pride twisted into it. “Just like your grandfather. He caged me once. Now you’ll do the same. The blood never changes.”
He wasn’t wrong.
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Chapter 168
Finished
My grandfather had ordered these very Shadows to keep Cassian locked away after Mother’s death, when his grief curdled into madness and his fists turned on me. The only reason Cassian ever breathed free air again was because the old Alpha had died, and with him, the binding order.
And now, I renewed it.
“By my word as Alpha of the Whitmor bloodline, Cassian Whitmor is bound. He is not to set paw beyond Whitmor Isle. Any who aid his escape will be named traitors and slaughtered where they stand.”
The Shadows bowed their heads in unison. “As the Alpha commands.”
Cassian didn’t fight them as they stepped forward, chains forged of silver–steel drawn tight around his wrists. His laughter still rang, though, wild and broken.
“You think cages save you? No, boy. Your hands are already stained. And one day, that little heart you protect will see the truth of you. She’ll spit your name as she walks away.”
His words clung like rot, but I didn’t let them show on my face. I turned my head sharply. “Take him.”
The Shadows dragged him through the hall, his laughter echoing until the heavy doors slammed shut.
Silence fell.
I stared at my hands again. The blood of Rogues, the memory of Freya’s fragile body shielding mine. Her warmth. Her scent.
Would she look at me one day and see only the monster Cassian swore I’d become?
“Alpha,” one of my guards said softly at my side. My most loyal. His voice was steady, reverent. “Freya Thorne risked her life for you. Threw herself between you and their claws. A wolf doesn’t do that for just anyone.”
My chest tightened.
Yes. She had bared her throat to death itself for me. She had fought as though I were worth dying for.
But a darker thought poisoned the back of my mind–if it had been another at my side, would she have done the same? Was it me she chose… or just the duty inside her that she couldn’t silence?
The hall emptied around me, my sentries dispersing with uneasy glances. Alone, I flexed my hands, whispering to no one but the stone and the shadows.
“Wil! you still stand at my side when you see all of me, Freya?”
The silence offered no answer.
Only the distant sea crashing against White Isle, and the ghosts of wolves long dead, howling in my blood.
Chapter 169
Finished
Freya’s POV
When I woke the next morning, the sterile scent of herbs and wolf–healers‘ salves clung to the air. My lashes fluttered and the first thing I saw was Silas.
The Ironclad Alpha, my storm–shadow.
open,
He was slumped against the side of my bed in the infirmary chamber, his head resting by my arm as if he had fought sleep until exhaustion dragged him under. His broad shoulders curved inward, the powerful frame of an Alpha made strangely fragile by slumber.
For a moment, I just looked at him.
Dark, storm–black brows framed his eyes, lashes long enough to cast shadows against his cheekbones. Even asleep, tension pulled faint lines across his brow–as though even in dreams, burdens hunted him down.
Something inside me ached. My hand rose instinctively, aching to smooth away that crease between his brows. To soothe him, just once.
But before my fingers touched him, his eyes shot open–those piercing obsidian irises that seemed to cut through me. His reflexes were sharp as claws: his hand snapped up, capturing mine in a firm grip.
Then he froze, realization flashing across his gaze. He released me at once, as though my skin burned him.
“I’m sorry,” he said, voice low, almost raw. “Did I hurt you?”
I shook my head quickly, pushing away the sting in my palm. “It’s fine. I’m the one who startled you awake. When did you get here?”
“Not long ago,” he murmured.
I frowned. “Then you didn’t sleep last night, did you?” He wouldn’t have slumped like this if he’d rested properly.
A pause. “No.” His tone was even, but I heard the exhaustion beneath. He didn’t tell me what I later realized–that he had spent the entire night traveling back and forth between Ashbourne and the Capital, putting the Whitmor Pack in order after the chaos of the Rogues.
“Are you… alright?” he asked then, tilting toward me, voice shifting softer, more intimate. “Did you sleep well? Does the wound still hurt?”
I managed a small smile. “Better than expected. It’s not too bad.”
I began to push myself upright, determined to freshen up, but Silas moved faster. Without asking, he lifted me, arms strong and steady as steel, and carried me toward the adjoining washroom.
“Silas!” I protested, startled. “It’s only my arm that’s injured, not my legs.”
“You’re hurt,” he answered simply, his tone brooking no argument. “Let me.”
He set me gently before the stone basin, his movements deliberate, careful–as though I might shatter if he wasn’t cautious enough. He filled a cup with fresh water, set out the brush, even pressed paste onto it with clumsy determination.
Had I not insisted, I was certain he would’ve tried to brush my teeth himself.
When I’d finally convinced him to let me manage that part alone, he stood guard at my side like a sentinel, waiting. And the moment I finished, he was there again–wringing a cloth with his large hands, patting my face dry as though I were the most Precious, fragile thing in the world.
And then he reached for the comb.
I blinked “You know how to do that?*
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Chapter 169
Finished
He didn’t look at me as he answered, concentrating on the strands of my hair. His fingers were unpracticed, tugging a little too hard, then gentling as though afraid I’d cry out. “I used to help my mother with her hair,” he said at last. “When she was in a rare good mood. It was the only time she let me near her, the only time she seemed… soft.”
Something flickered through his voice–pain, sharp and old. A boy yearning for scraps of tenderness.
I hesitated, then asked softly, “You and your mother… you weren’t close?”
His hands stilled for a fraction of a second. Then his voice came, flat and unflinching. “No. Most of the time, she despised the sight of me.”
My chest tightened. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”
He cut me off, steady, not cruel. “Don’t apologize. Even if you hadn’t asked, one day I would’ve told you.”
Silas resumed his task, braiding my hair slowly, carefully. Not elegant, but steady enough to hold. When he finished, he leaned forward, his presence a weight and a warmth all at once.
His chin rested lightly on my shoulder, his face reflected in the mirror before us. Our eyes met in that fragile glass space.
Freya,” he murmured, voice a low rumble that carried both hope and dread. “You don’t think I’m tainted, do you?”
I laughed softly, startled by the rawness in his words. “Tainted? Silas, you’re not dirty.”
His lips quirked faintly, but the shadows in his gaze didn’t lift. “Not dirty,” he echoed under his breath, almost as though he needed to believe it himself. “Not like him. Not like Cassian.”
The name struck between us like thunder.
I turned toward him, meeting his eyes fully. His father’s sins haunted him, twisted into every line of his body. He feared that blood made him monstrous too.
But when I looked at him, I didn’t see Cassian Whitmor. I saw the Alpha who had stood between me and death, the man who had carried me like something worth protecting.
And though I didn’t say it aloud, I wanted to reach for his hand and tell him–no shadow, no bloodline, no curse could make me see him as unworthy.
Chapter 170
贊助
Finished
Third Person’s POV
The coffeehouse in the heart of The Capital smelled faintly of roasted beans and ashwood smoke, a faint attempt at comfort against the sharp tang of dominance that seemed to hang in the air whenever two wolves of different packs sat across from each other.
Aurora smoothed her flight jacket as she regarded the man across from her. He looked to be in his mid–thirties, broad- shouldered with the kind of wiry strength that told her he wasn’t just another city wolf. His eyes gleamed with calculation, the kind of gaze that could peel skin from bone.
“You’re the one who helped Caelum investigate the incident from eight years ago?” Aurora asked evenly, her voice pitched
low.
2
“That’s right,” the man replied. He leaned back in his chair as if he owned the place. “Name’s Lee. Private investigator by trade. Caelum and I… we go way back. Same old roots, same broken soil.” His smile carried no warmth, only the smug satisfaction of a wolf who knew he held teeth at another’s throat. “I’ll admit, Aurora, I didn’t expect the daughter of Bluemoon’s Beta to be wearing someone else’s glory. All these years, letting Caelum Grafton believe you were the one who saved his life. That’s quite the deception.”
Aurora’s face went pale. She had anticipated that Lee might have dug up fragments of truth, but hearing it spoken aloud was a knife to the ribs.
“Do you have proof?” she asked coldly.
“Of course I do.” Lee’s grin widened. “Wouldn’t have said it otherwise. I tracked down the woman who actually stayed with Caelum that night after he was dragged from the river.”
Aurora’s stomach tightened. She already knew where this was going.
“After Freya Thorne hauled him out of that flood–swollen current, she had to leave urgently. Some mission with the Iron Fang Recon Unit, I believe.” Lee’s voice grew slow and deliberate, savoring every word. “But before leaving, she performed emergency resuscitation, called the medics, and asked a bystander to watch over Caelum until help arrived. That bystander remembered it vividly. She didn’t stay until the end, so she didn’t know what happened next, but she clearly remembered who jumped into the water to save Caelum. After all, it’s not every day you see a woman leap into death–waters like that, strong as any Alpha, dragging a half–drowned wolf to safety. And more importantly…”
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the hunt. “She never forgot the sight of Freya in military uniform, dripping riverwater, vanishing like a ghost into the night.”
Aurora’s hands clenched into fists beneath the table. “You’re certain it was Freya?”
Lee chuckled. “Caelum himself mentioned her name once, and when I showed the witness a photo of Freya Thorne of Stormveil’s fifth branch, she confirmed it without hesitation. That woman has never forgotten her face.”
Silence stretched between them.
Aurora’s thoughts spiraled back to that night. She had been there too, on the riverbank, when she saw a man lying unconscious against the mud. She had not seen Freya; the soldier had already vanished into the night. When she bent closer, Caelum had reached out in delirium, clutching at her dress like a drowning man clings to driftwood.
And when the medics arrived, drenched herself from the rising tide, the mistake was easy. They assumed she was the rescuer. She had not corrected them. Pride, vanity–whatever it was, she let the lie harden into truth. From that day forward, she wore the mantle of Caelum’s supposed savior.
But now the real savior’s name had been unearthed. Freya Thorne. The unwanted daughter of Stormveil’s Bloodmoon branch, the girl Aurora had always dismissed as unworthy.
Her pulse throbbed in her throat “How much does Caelun know?”
“Nothing.” Ryker said lightly, swirling the untouched coffee before him. “Not yet. Since you called me first, I thought it only polite to share the truth with you before I share it with him.”
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Chapter 170
Finished
So that was it. He was here to bleed her dry.
“What do you want?” Aurora asked.
“Simple.” His eyes gleamed. “You’re the Bluemoon Beta’s daughter, and soon to be Luna of the Silverfang Alpha. Caelum’s fortune alone rivals half the Ironclad Coalition. If he learns you’ve deceived him about something this important, he might not forgive you. So–give me a number.”
Aurora’s teeth ground together. “Say it.”
“Fifty million.” His smile was pure malice.
Her eyes widened, fury flashing like lightning. “Impossible. You think I carry the wealth of an entire pack treasury in my claws? I may be the Beta’s daughter, but my branch doesn’t hold the coffers. My stipend is barely enough to live comfortably. I’ve only just been commissioned into the Bluemoon Airborne Wing.”
Lee’s expression didn’t falter. “And yet Caelum has lavished you with jewels worth far more than that. Didn’t Freya Thorne herself call it out, during that public severance phase? Said Caelum gifted you jewelry valued at fifty million. I did my homework.
Aurora’s nails bit into her palms until blood welled. Those damned jewels again. Freya had dragged them into the light during the Lunar Severance Phase, and now this scavenger was circling the same carrion.
“I can’t liquidate them. Caelum would notice. The most I can give you now is half a million. Once I’m Luna, I’ll find get you the rest.”
Lee sneered. “Half a million? That’s what you toss beggars at the city gates.”
a
way
to
Aurora leaned forward, her wolf aura curling, sharp and dangerous. “Then go ahead. Tell Caelum everything. You’ll walk away with nothing. Do you think he’ll spare you once he realizes you’ve been blackmailing his Luna–to–be? At least this way, you get something. And as long as the evidence stays with you, you’ll always have leverage to make me pay the rest.”
Her words landed. Lee hesitated. Greed warred with caution in his eyes.
“Fine,” he said finally, leaning back with a smirk. “Tomorrow I expect five hundred thousand transferred into my account. And once you wear Caelum’s mark, I’ll collect the remaining forty–nine and a half million. Every last fang of it.”
“Agreed,” Aurora said quickly, her voice smooth now, controlled.
Because she only needed time. Time to bind Caelum to her with vows and blood. Time to make him so entangled he wouldn’t leave her even if the truth surfaced.
As for Lee-
Her lips curled into the faintest smile. He thought himself the predator. But he had no idea how wolves of Bluemoon played the long game.
In the end, the only victor would be her.