Ch. 201..205: A Warrior Luna's Awakening Chapter 201-205
Chapter 201
Third Person’s POV
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Silas’s grip on Lennon Thorne’s throat was unyielding, fingers coiled like forged steel. Lennon clawed at him, struggling to wrench free, but it was futile-Silas’s strength was a predator’s, honed through decades of commanding the Ironclad Coalition. His eyes bulged, face flushing crimson, but Silas didn’t relent.
The room seemed to catch its breath. Only then did everyone else seem to return to reality.
“Silas! Let him go! My father can’t-he can’t breathe!” Jocelyn rushed forward, voice sharp with panic. “Even if you’re defending Freya, this is… this is too far!”
Defending? The word barely grazed Silas. He lowered his gaze slowly, deliberately, and the faintest curve of a wolfish smirk tugged at his lips. He didn’t need to fight for Freya; he merely wanted to ensure her hands remained clean. If anyone was going to teach Lennon a lesson, it would be him-and not Freya.
Jocelyn turned sharply to Freya, frustration and accusation bleeding from her voice. “Freya! This is too much! You’re using Silas to do… this?”
Abel Thorne, ever the mediator, interjected with a calm edge. “Freya, no matter what, tell Silas to release your uncle. This has gone far enough.”
Silas finally lifted his piercing gaze and met Freya’s eyes. The unspoken question hung between them: Do you want him dead, or alive?
A tense silence gripped the room. Every pair of eyes fixed on Freya, waiting for her decision. Silas, Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition, could easily end Lennon here and now, and the law-human or wolf-would scarcely contain the aftermath. Yet he deferred to her, offering her the reins of judgment.
Freya inhaled, chest rising and falling with measured intensity. Her wolf stirred within, claws of fire and pride raking at restraint, but she steadied herself. Her voice, though soft, carried authority.
“Release him,” she said.
Silas’s grip loosened, steel fingers retracting from Lennon’s windpipe. Lennon stumbled backward, gasping, pointing a trembling finger at Freya. “You… you shameless little she-wolf! You let Silas humiliate me, and now you think you can get away without apologizing to me?!”
Before he could finish, a solid force struck him. Freya’s fist connected with Lennon’s jaw with precision honed by years of training in the Iron Fang Recon Unit. He fell to the ground, sprawling, humiliation etched across his face.
“Freya! How dare you strike my father?!” Jocelyn shrieked, shock and anger warring in her voice.
“Why shouldn’t I?” Freya’s eyes blazed, wolf aura simmering just beneath the surface. Her voice rang like thunder through the stormy hall. “Even if he is my uncle, if anyone dares insult my father or my brother, I will strike them without hesitation. My father did not die prematurely-he gave his life serving the nation. And my brother… he did not die; he is on a mission, defending our pack and country. Until his body is found, he is alive. And anyone who questions that will answer to me.”
Her words reverberated, each syllable carrying the weight of a wolf Alpha’s authority. The room fell silent. Even those who bore grudges against her could not muster the courage to contradict her.
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Chapter 201
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Abel Thorne’s voice cut through the tension, steady but firm. “Lennon, apologize to Freya,”
“What?” Lennon sputtered, disbelief and indignation flooding his expression. “You want me to apologize?”
“Yes. Apologize,” Abel said, his tone ironclad. “Enough. That attitude is unacceptable. They will not tolerate
it
Lennon’s protest came swift, defensive, venom-laced. “And what did I say wrong? Their parents are gone. I wouldn’t touch the Fifth Branch estate if they were alive! Stormveil’s legacy cannot fall into the hands of a she-wolf. Freya is grasping at shadows, claiming her brother is alive just to seize what rightfully belongs to the Thorne lineage!”
“Enough!” The command came like a thunderclap. From the doorway, the unmistakable sound of a cane striking stone floor echoed, deliberate, demanding attention. Every throat went dry.
Ken Thorne, the family patriarch, appeared, his gait deliberate yet unyielding despite the weight of age. The room instinctively bowed, a wave of respect and fear rolling through them.
“Grandfather!” Abel exclaimed, hurrying forward. “You were supposed to be resting. Why are you here?”
Ken’s gaze swept over the room like a predator evaluating prey. “If I didn’t come, would you even understand what you’ve done?” His voice carried centuries of authority and a lifetime of pack leadership. “The Fifth Branch estate… you dare covet it? You’ve gone too far!”
Abel shifted uncomfortably, realizing the full scope of Lennon’s audacity. He had delegated the estate matters, assuming Lennon would act judiciously-but clearly, Lennon had acted for personal gain.
Ken’s gaze snapped to Lennon. “Explain yourself. You claim the estate is safe in your hands because it ‘belongs to the lineage,’ yet you disregard the daughter of that branch? What nonsense is this?”
Lennon’s arrogance faltered slightly. “The estate… the Fifth Branch has no male heir. Freya has no claim. I
Ken’s cane struck sharply against the floor again, the motion swift and decisive. The resounding smack landed on Lennon’s cheek. Pain flared, and a sharp sting seared his pride.
“What do you mean, no one left in the Fifth Branch?” Ken’s voice boomed, a predator’s wrath echoing through the chamber. “Freya is of the Fifth Branch blood. That estate is hers! Touch it again, and you are out of this family forever!”
Lennon’s face paled. The fire in Ken’s words, the aura of an Alpha elder, silenced him utterly.
Ken then turned his piercing gaze to Freya. “Freya, my child… forgive me. This old patriarch has failed in guiding your uncles, letting them bring such indignity upon you. But know this: what is yours by right, by blood, no one will touch. Should they dare, I will strip them of their name and pack, as if they were never
Thorne”
The tension in the room finally cased, though the echoes of wolfish dominance and familial wrath still lingered like smoke after a fire Freya exhaled, her wolf retreating just enough to allow calm to settle, though her amber eyes still shimmered with unspent fury.
Chapter 202
Freya’s POV
The words weren’t only for me.
They were for every wolf seated in the Stormveil Primal Hall.
As Ken Thorne spoke with that gravelly, iron-bound voice, I could feel the weight of his declaration ripple across the hall like a howl across the mountains. His loyalty to me was carved in stone, an oath stronger than blood.
And everyone here needed to hear it.
Every cousin who thought I was an easy target.
Every uncle who whispered that the fifth branch of the Stormveil Pack was nothing but dead weight.
Every rival who looked at me as though I didn’t belong in this hall of predators.
They all needed to be reminded:
As long as Ken Thorne drew breath, Freya Thorne would never stand alone.
I bowed my head. “Thank you, Great-Grandfather.”
The words were steady, but inside, my chest ached with the burn of both pride and
pressure.
Across the circle of firelight, Jocelyn Thorne’s eyes glittered with venom. My cousin had always despised me. She leaned close to our aunt, who was better known as Aurora’s mother, and hissed loud enough for all to hear.
“Second Aunt,” Jocelyn said sweetly, “Aurora is lying in the infirmary today because of Freya. Don’t you remember? Aurora only left that mission flight midway because Freya humiliated her on the live broadcast. She walked out early, and that’s when she was ambushed and taken. If not for Freya, my cousin wouldn’t be disgraced like this.”
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The firelight snapped in the hearth, but the real heat came from the stares of every elder turning toward me.
Aurora’s mother-Emilia glared at me as though she could claw my throat out on the spot. Her daughter had been her pride: Bluemoon’s first female pilot, handpicked for their airborne wing. And now Aurora’s name was dragged through every den, smeared in every pack council.
“You’re Freya, aren’t you?” she demanded, her voice sharp as a whip. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? Aurora is your blood. A cousin. And you tore her down for the amusement of outsiders?”
My lips curled into something between a sneer and a snarl. “I only told the truth. If Aurora was humiliated, it was because she chose cowardice over duty. And if she was kidnapped… perhaps you should ask why your daughter abandoned the wolves she was supposed to rescue.”
A stunned silence swept the chamber.
Her face went red with rage, then pale with disbelief. “Even if she walked away, she broke no law. The Council never said a wolf must risk her life to save another.” She jabbed a clawed finger toward me. “But you-her kin-you stood in front of the entire network and shredded her reputation. Do you feel no duty to defend your cousin? To shield her from the pack’s condemnation?”
“No,” I said coldly. “That is not my duty.”
Gasps rippled across the room. Even the flames in the iron braziers seemed to gutter at my words.
Aurora’s mother’s face twisted. “Ken Thorne,” she cried, turning on my great- grandfather. “My daughter is half your bloodline! She lies broken because of this girl. And now Freya refuses even the smallest act of reparation? Will you truly let her walk free of all responsibility?”
The truth was clear to everyone: she wanted me to take the fall, to use Stormveil’s influence to bury Aurora’s scandals.
The Bluemoon Pack had tried to smother the story. Even Silverfang had extended
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its shadow to cover it. But Aurora’s betrayal of duty had caught fire in the public eye, and no amount of pack gold or media control could extinguish it.
Her “hero” title was already slipping through her claws. The Airborne Wing whispered about expelling her. Every hour, the shame grew worse.
And now they wanted me-backed by Silas Whitmor’s iron authority-to clean their mess.
Jocelyn seized her chance, her voice dripping false innocence. “Great-Grandfather, Aurora had a brilliant future. A future Freya destroyed. Shouldn’t she bear some consequence? Or…” Her eyes flicked to Silas, lounging at the edge of the hall like a predator biding his time. “…or are we saying that as long as Freya hides behind her Alpha, she can do whatever she pleases?”
The words were poison. She wanted to turn the entire hall against me.
Ken Thorne’s gaze snapped toward her, sharp enough to cut bone. “Jocelyn,” he said, each syllable like the crack of thunder, “I did not know you had grown so… eloquent in your accusations.”
But Jocelyn didn’t flinch. She lifted her chin, eyes gleaming with spite. “I only speak because Aurora’s suffering is real. She bled for her wings. She earned her place. And Freya, with one careless act, destroyed her.”
My blood burned. I could almost feel my wolf pressing against my skin, snarling to be released.
“Destroyed her?” My voice was ice. “No, cousin. Aurora destroyed herself.”
The hall shivered.
Even Ken Thorne said nothing, letting the weight of my words hang. He knew the truth-everyone did. Aurora had abandoned wolves in need, and in doing so, abandoned the very spirit of our kind.
But Jocelyn wasn’t finished. “So Freya carries no blame? She ripped into her cousin in front of the entire broadcast. That act alone drove Aurora to leave her post! Had she not, she would never have fallen into enemy hands!” Jocelyn’s lip curled. “Or is
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the Stormveil Pack a place where the favored can spit on blood ties as long as their backers are strong enough?”
Her eyes flicked again toward Silas.
And that was her mistake.
Because it was not Ken Thorne who answered her.
It was Silas.
His voice was deep, smooth, and cold as steel. “So, by your words, as long as I am her backing, Freya can do as she pleases in this hall?”
Every wolf froze.
The Ironclad Coalition’s Alpha had spoken. His presence filled the hall, shadows bending toward him as though the fire itself obeyed his command.
Jocelyn stiffened, but forced herself to meet his eyes. “Isn’t that what she does? She hides behind you, Silas. She even dared strike my father-her elder. She uses you as nothing more than a weapon. Can’t you see she treats you as a tool to be used?”
Silas tilted his head, the faintest smile curving his lips, though it carried no warmth. “Is that what you think?” His eyes flicked to me, and I felt the unspoken bond of his wolf brush against mine, possessive and unwavering.
“If she truly uses me as a weapon,” Silas said, his voice soft and lethal, “then I am glad to be wielded.”
The hall went utterly silent.
Even Jocelyn faltered, the venom on her tongue drying to ash.
Chapter 203
Chapter 203
Freya’s POV
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The air in the Stormveil Primal Hall was sharp with tension, thick with the scent of old cedar and ancestral ash from the braziers burning along the stone walls. This hall had witnessed centuries of oaths, betrayals, and blood sacrifices from my family. Tonight, it bore witness to something else entirely.
“You… what did you just say?” Jocelyn’s voice cut through the silence, brittle and shrill. Her eyes-wolf-gold, sharp like a blade-fixed on Silas Whitmor as if she could tear his words back into his throat.
Around us, members of the Stormveil Pack shifted uneasily, mutters rising like the growl of an unsettled den. No one could quite believe what had just left Silas’s mouth.
It wasn’t just me who froze. Even the oldest wolves, scarred veterans of wars and raids, stared at him in shock. Because what he’d said wasn’t the declaration of an Alpha calculating his dominance. It wasn’t the cold pragmatism of the Ironclad Coalition’s leader.
No. It was something far softer. Far more dangerous.
Something that smelled like devotion.
“I said,” Silas repeated, his voice deep, cutting across the hall like a command that demanded silence, “if Freya Thorne wishes to use me, then I welcome it. Gladly. Sweetly.”
My chest constricted. His gaze swung to me then, steady and unwavering, and I saw no calculation there, no Alpha’s scheme. Just raw certainty. He looked at me as though being my weapon, my shield, my pawn-whatever I needed—was not a humiliation, but a gift.
And gods help me, part of me believed him.
Jocelyn’s face twisted. The fury flashing across her wolf aura lashed out like claws against stone, sharp and burning. To her, those words weren’t a confession. They
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were a strike—an Alpha’s rejection delivered in front of half the Stormveil bloodline.
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Her jaw clenched, and I saw the moment she realized what Silas had just done. Not just chosen me, but burned every bridge to her.
“You…” Her voice shook, and she took a step closer, as if sheer presence could drag Silas back into her orbit. “Silas, do you forget what happened to your parents? Do you think Freya can withstand the weight of your family’s curse? What happens when she betrays you, when she—”
The shift in Silas was instantaneous. His expression, calm only moments before, darkened like a storm rolling over the horizon. His wolf surged to the surface, power spiking through the hall, pressing against every wolf’s skin. I felt it in my chest, my ribs straining to hold against the crush of his aura.
Jocelyn flinched back, but she didn’t stop. She never knew when to stop.
Before Silas could move, before his claws could even twitch, I stepped forward and caught his hand in mine. His skin was hot, trembling with restrained fury.
“Enough.”
I turned on Jocelyn, my own wolf stirring beneath my skin, white-fire power licking up my spine.
“Whether I can carry his bond is between Silas and me. Not you. His parents, his blood, his choices—they are not yours to weaponize. And Jocelyn…” I bared my teeth, letting my wolf seep into my voice, “say it again, and I’ll show you exactly how much I can bear. You speak once, I strike once. Try me.”
Her mouth fell open, outrage mixing with something sharp and sour: fear. She remembered, as we all did, the way I’d laid her father Lennon flat not long ago. His groan still echoed in these walls. She knew I wasn’t bluffing.
Silas looked down at me, stunned. His hand was still in mine, my grip tight, and though neither of us spoke, I knew what passed between us. A vow. An unspoken tether: no matter what shadows hunted us, I wouldn’t leave him to face them
alone.
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Then I shifted my gaze to Ken Thorne, the patriarch whose word still ruled Stormveil like ancient law. His wolf aura was dimmed with age, but his eyes were bright, sharper than most half our years.
“Grandfather,” I said evenly, though the word was a bitter stone in my throat. “I came here only to reclaim the old Thorne residence. Fifth Branch’s rightful claim. I’ll deliver the papers to the Reconstruction Office myself. I ask only that Lennon doesn’t stand in the way.”
Ken’s hand slammed down on the arm of his carved chair, a sound like bone breaking. “If Lennon dares to block her path, then he can leave Stormveil entirely. My word.”
A ripple passed through the hall-shock, disbelief, then grudging acceptance. Ken Thorne’s decrees were absolute.
Relief unfurled in my chest, though I didn’t let it show. “Thank you,” I said softly. “Silas and I will take our leave then. Rest well, Grandfather. I’ll return soon.”
“See that you do,” the old wolf rumbled. “An old Alpha likes the company of the ones who still have teeth.”
I gave him a small nod and turned, Silas’s hand still firmly in mine. But as we passed Jocelyn, he stopped.
His voice cut the air like an executioner’s blade. “You accused Freya of hiding behind me, of wielding me as her shield. Then hear me now, Jocelyn Thorne: from this moment, you have no claim to me. Or to the Whitmors. Whatever bond existed between us-whether duty, alliance, or debt-is severed. Forever.”
The hall went silent. Wolves stared, the magnitude of his words sinking like claws into flesh.
Jocelyn paled, her lips trembling. “Silas… what are you saying? You can’t mean—”
Lennon surged forward, desperation spilling from him like the scent of fear in a cornered animal. “Alpha Whitmor, reconsider! If the Fifth Branch claims the estate, that’s one thing. But you and Jocelyn-if you cut ties, then—”
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“Then what?” Silas snarled, eyes glinting like steel catching firelight. His aura slammed into Lennon so hard the man staggered. “Do not mistake my patience for mercy. I nearly blinded your daughter once. Years of reparation followed, years of bending to Thorne expectations I never owed. No more. I owe you nothing. Not you. Not her. Not Stormveil.”
The words shook the hall. I felt my pulse thrumming, heat and pride swelling in my chest as he turned his gaze back to me. His eyes, ice and flame both, softened when they met mine.
“All I will ever protect,” he said, low and certain, “is her.”
Chapter 204
Freya’s POV
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Jocelyn’s face drained of all color before she lunged forward and seized Silas’s sleeve. Her fingers clung desperately, knuckles white, her voice trembling like brittle glass.
“Silas, you can’t do this to me! I sacrificed an eye for you. I gave everything—how can you cast me aside as if none of it matters?”
Her plea echoed in the Stormveil Primal Hall, heavy with the scents of wolves bristling, the tang of burning resin smoldering in the braziers, and the charged silence of a pack witnessing something ruinous.
Silas looked down at her, his eyes ice-sharp, his aura cutting against hers like a blade. “Your eye was never sacrificed for me,” he said, voice low but edged with Alpha finality. “You were cornered, Jocelyn. You didn’t stand in front of me to save me-you simply failed to escape. If you’d had a chance to run, you would have. And for that injury, I have compensated you for years. Tell me-has that never been enough?”
The tremor in Jocelyn’s body deepened. Her mouth opened, her lips shaking as if she wanted to spit venom back at him. But here, under the scrutiny of the entire Stormveil assembly, what could she say? That she deserved more? That his entire life belonged to her because of one misstep years ago?
Her pride trapped her in silence.
“But… my feelings for you…” she whispered, words so fragile they cracked before they left her mouth.
Silas cut her down before she could finish, his words slamming through the hall like a thunderclap. “Jocelyn Thorne. I have never, from the beginning to this moment, felt even a flicker of affection for you. What you received from me was repayment for your injury-nothing more. And now, that debt is paid. Entirely.”
He tore her grip from his arm as though it were no more than cobweb. I felt the finality in his movement-the brutal, decisive severing of a tether she had clung to
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for years. He turned from her without hesitation, his hand closing around mine instead. Together, we walked away from the hall’s center.
Behind us, Jocelyn staggered backward, nearly collapsing to the stone floor. Gasps rippled through the gathered wolves. I caught the shifting scents in the air: pity, mockery, contempt. Once, those eyes had worshipped her. Once, her scarred eye had been a badge of martyrdom that elevated her above us all, a story whispered in reverence across Stormveil’s branches.
Now, stripped bare, she was just another wolf left bleeding under the weight of truth.
Her fists clenched at her sides, nails digging so deep into her palms I smelled the faint copper tang of her own blood. She wouldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of those who had once envied her. But the collapse of her pride was sharper than any visible wound.
“Jocelyn, don’t just stand there,” Lennon Thorne’s voice snapped, laced with panic. “Go after him! Beg Alpha Whitmor’s forgiveness. If you kneel, if you humble yourself, he might take back his words!”
Ken Thorne’s staff cracked against the stone floor, the sound reverberating like a gunshot. The old patriarch’s voice cut cold through the tension. “Enough! Do you intend to drag Stormveil’s name further through the mud? Have you no shame?”
Silence fell instantly.
Ken turned his glare to Emilia, Jocelyn’s mother, his eyes sharp as a hawk’s. “As for Aurora’s case, I know everything. Stormveil has already done what it must. What you should focus on, Emilia, is not forcing Freya to pay for Aurora’s sins, but on earning forgiveness from the family whose child was burned alive. That is where your fight lies-not here.”
Emilia’s face twisted, lips pressed thin, humiliation and rage battling in her aura. Lennon fell silent beside her, his wolf crouching under Ken’s authority.
Jocelyn, meanwhile, stood frozen, her eyes hollow, her spirit splintering. She wasn’t hearing a word her grandfather spoke. All she saw was the ruin of her carefully constructed world collapsing around her.
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She had lived years in the warm glow of Whitmor protection, raised above her cousins, adored, feared, envied. That eye, her scar, had once been her crown. And now, stripped of Silas’s acknowledgment, she was naked, exposed.
Her wolf trembled on the edge of breaking.
But Silas and I were already gone.
When we stepped out of the towering façade of the Whitmor-financed Stormveil business tower, the night air hit my lungs like ice water. I could still taste the storm of tension inside, but Silas walked at my side as if the world itself no longer held weight.
We slid into his vehicle, leather and steel infused with his scent-iron, smoke, the undeniable mark of an Alpha who bore his legacy like a chain. I turned toward him, unable to stop my gaze from drinking in the hard lines of his profile.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, his voice calm, almost amused, though his grip on the steering wheel was taut.
“Because I need to know,” I said softly. “Those words you spoke in front of everyone-are they real? Do you regret them?”
His lips curved, not in mockery but in something achingly close to tenderness. “Which words? That if you wished to use me, I would welcome it?”
Heat pricked the back of my throat. “Not those. I know you said that to shield me. To give me face.”
Silas shook his head, his wolf aura flickering faintly in the enclosed space. “Not for show. For truth. Freya, if you wish to wield me as your weapon, your shield, I would gladly let you. Because it means I have purpose. It means I matter to you.”
The words struck like a blade across my heart. To anyone else, they might sound like poetry. But I saw it-felt it-the jagged fracture behind them.
“No, Silas,” I whispered, shaking my head. “Don’t say that. Don’t be glad to be used.
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True bond, true love-those things aren’t about usefulness. I like you because I like you. Whether you serve a purpose or not. Whether you’re strong or weak. It has nothing to do with usefulness.”
His hands tightened on the wheel, the leather creaking under the force. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Then, his voice was rough, raw.
“All my life, I was told I must be useful. That only then could I be tolerated. My mother’s death-because I couldn’t hold her. My father’s hate-because I wasn’t enough. My grandfather’s approval-only because I could be forged into an heir. Everything I am is measured in usefulness.”
His wolf flickered beneath his skin, and I saw the truth of it in his aura-scarred, bruised, chained by expectation.
But I met his gaze, steady, unyielding. “Yes. Being useful has its place. But love isn’t weighed on that scale. And if you base your worth on being used, what happens when you’re not? When someone no longer needs you, will you let them cast you aside like broken steel? That’s not love, Silas. That’s slavery.”
The car was silent save for our breath, two wolves wrestling with ghosts in the dark. His wolf stirred, restless, but in his eyes I saw the first flicker of something else.
Chapter 205
Silas’ POV
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The blood drained from my face as I gripped the steering wheel, fingers trembling despite my will to keep them steady.
If one day Freya decided I was no longer useful to her… would she discard me the way others always had?
No.
I couldn’t let that happen.
I would never survive being abandoned by her.
A growl rumbled low in my chest before I jerked the wheel and slammed the brake. Tires screeched against the asphalt, the car skidding before stopping along the edge of the street.
“Silas, why are you stopping so suddenly-”
She didn’t finish. I had already unbuckled my belt and leaned across the console, closing the space between us.
Her wide eyes lifted to mine. Moonlight from the windshield lit the delicate curve of her face. “What is it?” she asked softly, and though her words were calm, I knew she saw the fear in me.
I clenched my jaw. My voice came out raw. “If I lose my worth one day… would you abandon me?”
The question scraped from my throat like a wound torn open. My wolf’s aura quivered, restless, afraid.
Freya blinked, stunned for a heartbeat, then something in her gaze shifted. Understanding. Compassion. “No,” she whispered, her voice fierce and steady. “Even if you were stripped of everything, I would never abandon you.”
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“Truly?” The word fell from me, desperate. I searched her eyes as though they might betray me, as though she might change her mind in the next breath.
She pressed her lips together, the faintest frown tugging at them. I knew—some scars go too deep to be erased by words. I had lived with mine since birth. But Freya… she looked at me like she had time. Like she would carve away at the rot inside me, piece by piece, until I finally believed her.
Her hands lifted, small and warm, cupping my face. And then-gods-she kissed
Her lips pressed against mine, soft and burning. I froze at first, caught in disbelief, before the warmth seeped through the ice I had carried all my life.
“Silas Whitmor,” she murmured against my mouth, “whether you are strong or broken, useful or useless, I love you. I love you.”
Her wolf’s essence poured into me, warm and unyielding, searing through the fear that had knotted in my chest. My lashes trembled, and slowly, finally, I let my eyes fall shut. I kissed her back, the ache in my chest unraveling beneath her promise.
When she pulled away, the absence of her lips felt like loss, sharp and aching.
“Enough,” she whispered. “Drive us home. We can’t linger here.”
She was right. This wasn’t the place-cars moved around us, humans and wolves alike glancing at the sight of two figures entangled in a parked car. But in that moment, I hadn’t cared.
I forced myself back behind the wheel, started the engine, and let the car glide back onto the road. My chest was still raw from her words, but lighter too.
Twenty minutes later, the looming walls of the Whitmor estate rose before us. The iron gates creaked open at my signal.
And then I saw him.
A figure stood waiting at the gates.
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Freya stiffened beside me, eyes narrowing as the headlights washed over him. Recognition flashed across her face. “Kade…” she whispered.
My wolf bristled instantly. Kade.
The same wolf who had called her sister, the same wolf whose eyes had lingered on her too long at gatherings in The Capital. He had called her late last night- Freya had told me herself. And now he was here, not a day later, standing at my gates like he had a right.
I parked the car. Freya reached for her belt, but before she could step out, I seized her hand, holding it tight.
Her eyes darted to me. “Silas?”
I swallowed the growl clawing at my throat. “Nothing. I just… wasn’t expecting him.”
“It is unexpected,” she admitted. “But we’ll know why soon enough.” She slipped her hand from mine with a gentle tug, the warmth leaving my palm like a wound, and stepped out of the car.
I sat for a moment longer, staring at my empty hand before lifting my gaze to the wolf outside.
Kade Blackridge. He was no surprise, not really. A wolf like him couldn’t watch from the shadows while I claimed Freya openly. His presence here only proved what I already feared-her place in his heart was greater than he ever admitted.
And that made him dangerous.
I stepped out of the car, moving toward them. Freya’s voice carried to me on the night wind.
“Kade, what are you doing here? You didn’t even call.”
He smiled faintly, the kind of smile that wanted to hide what it truly meant. “I wanted to surprise you. When I heard in The Capital that you’d chosen Silas Whitmor…” His eyes flickered, darkening. “…let’s say I was shaken.”
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12:05 Tue, Sep 9
Chapter 205
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His gaze cut past her to me, sharp as a blade.
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Two Alphas, staring each other down. The air between us crackled with the collision of dominance. My wolf surged, pushing against my skin, demanding I make my claim clear.
“You’ve only been in Ashbourne for a short while,” he said to Freya, his voice low. “Are you certain-absolutely certain-that you want to be with him?”
Freya smiled softly, calmly, as though his challenge meant nothing. “I didn’t expect it myself. But yes. I am certain. I want to be with him.”
His expression faltered. The honesty in her tone left him no room to excuse it as coercion or mistake.
I stepped forward, closing the distance, and reached for her hand. My fingers laced with hers deliberately, a silent declaration. My claim.
“Yes,” I said evenly, meeting his stare. “We are together.”
Kade’s eyes darkened, fury flashing like lightning. He looked at our joined hands as though the sight itself burned him.
“Freya,” he bit out, his voice almost a snarl, “why him? What could you possibly see in Silas Whitmor?”
Her hand tightened in mine. I felt my pulse hammer in my veins, the question digging under my skin. My grip on her fingers clenched tighter, betraying the fear I refused to voice.
Because the truth was, I needed her answer too,