Ch. 306..310: A Warrior Luna's Awakening Chapter 306-310
Chapter 306
Third Person’s POV
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When Aurora arrived at the Bluemoon Pack estate, her heart sank to see the grim reality laid bare before her. The court envoys had already swept through, leaving the grand hall stripped of all the treasures Caelum had once bestowed upon her. Every gem, every trinket, every gilded relic had been seized without hesitation.
“My daughter!” Emilia’s voice trembled, thick with worry as she caught sight of Aurora. “Those jewels… those were gifts from Caelum! How could they just… seize them like that? You have to go to him, figure something out!”
Aurora’s jaw clenched. Begging Caelum? Never. The man’s cruelty had always run deeper than she’d allowed herself to see. Even now, faced with her life hanging by a thread, she could not bring herself to rely on him. “Mother,” she said, her voice low but resolute, “don’t expect anything from Caelum. If anything, he’s probably glad it happened. He wants me to suffer.”
Emilia’s hand flew to her mouth. “But… I can’t believe this. That Freya–Freya Thorne–she’s so vicious. Already divorced from Caelum, and now she’s scheming to take what’s mine! And… and she even brought Victor Ashford to handle it for her!”
Aurora froze at the name. Victor Ashford, the undefeated legal wolf of The Capital. Even the thought of facing him sent a chill down her spine. Any lingering hope she had of a favorable outcome had been shattered.
“Mother,” Aurora pressed, urgency cutting through her fear, “how much cash do we have at home? Take what you can. We need a lawyer, no matter the cost. That border wildfire case–if I lose, I could end up in the holding cells, and I cannot allow that!”
Emilia’s shoulders slumped. “You know we don’t have much liquid capital, Aurora. Hiring a top–tier lawyer would cost a fortune…”
Aurora’s fists clenched. “Then sell the land! Sell the estate plots if you must. And what about your jewels, your handbags? Those could be liquidated for funds too.”
“That house cannot be sold–you know your father won’t approve. And my jewels… selling them won’t cover even a fraction. Any competent attorney who sees this case wants a retainer of at least twenty million credits. Twenty million! How are we supposed to raise that now?”
Aurora’s claws dug into her palms. “So…. you’d rather see me rot in a cell than try?” Her voice cracked, raw with hurt and rage.
“Even if you served a few years, you’re pregnant,” Myra said, a mixture of fear and cold
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pragmatism in her tone. “By the time you deliver, you’d be nursing, and they might show leniency. But the money, twenty million credits–if you lose, that’s gone. And with Wing fired…. your reputation in shambles… where would you get that kind of money?”
Aurora’s eyes narrowed, disbelief mixing with a hot, bitter rage. “So you mean… you’d rather I sit in prison than spend to protect myself? I’m your daughter!”
“Because you’re my daughter, that’s exactly why,” Emilia snapped. “We pushed to get you into the Wing, remember? If we hadn’t greased some wheels, you wouldn’t have risen to deputy pilot so quickly. You think it was your talent alone? Do you see all the other capable pilots stuck at the bottom while you climbed so fast?”
Aurora’s chest tightened. Her pride, her achievements, all felt like ashes in her claws. She had worked, obeyed, sacrificed, only to be crushed by the very people she wanted to impress most.
“You realize what you’ve done,” Emilia continued, voice rising with shame and anger, “brings dishonor to your father and me. We cannot face our peers, our allies… the whispers and scorn would follow us like a pack of wolves on the hunt!”
Aurora shook her head, her lips trembling with indignation. “I did nothing wrong! I dropped a single ember, it was chance that it sparked the wildfire. All my accomplishments, all the sacrifices I’ve made–gone because of one unlucky mistake? One slip of fate?”
Emilia’s eyes hardened. “Either you go to Caelum for help or hire a mediocre lawyer. We aren’t going to throw any more money at you.”
Aurora’s eyes
burned with disbelief and betrayal. “Not waste money? So all your fortune, all your estate investments, they’re for my brother? You’ve bought him houses, vehicles overseas, yet I cannot get even a fraction to defend myself against ruin?”
The slap came sharp across her cheek, echoing through the vaulted estate hall. Aurora staggered back, stinging with both pain and the harsh truth it carried. “You speak nonsense! Your brother is to support us in the elder years. Everything we spent on you has already been more than fair!” Myra hissed.
Aurora’s face burned with more than the sting of her mother’s hand–it was the blow to her heart, to her very identity. She had spent her entire life chasing approval, striving to be seen as worthy, proud, capable. She had excelled at university, become Bluemoon Airborne Wing’s first female pilot, captured the admiration of pack and tech lords alike… and yet here she was, abandoned by blood, left to fend for herself.
All for a single ember.
Laughter ripped from her throat, bitter and broken. Tears streamed unchecked, hot and stinging, carving tracks down her cheeks. “Ha… ha… how absurd,” she whispered, voice tight
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with fury. “How laughable it all is.”
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Her gaze hardened, flashing with raw, predatory resolve. “The way you treat me today, mother… the way Caelum treats me now… mark my words. One day, it will return to you. The law of the wilds does not forget. Karma, retribution… I will wait. And Caelum… I will watch and see how he suffers for what he’s done!”
Aurora’s eyes glinted like moonlight on silvered fur. Despite the world closing in around her, despite the law, despite her pack, she would fight. She would claw her way back from this abyss, sharpened by betrayal and driven by the blood bond of vengeance.
Chapter 307
Freya’s POV
I was at the City Economic Summit with Lana, trying to focus on the project pitches, but I couldn’t help noticing that she seemed distracted. Her brow furrowed, lips pressed in a line, and every so often, she would glance at her tablet as if expecting a message that could tip the balance of her entire week.
“Lana, what’s wrong? You look like you’re carrying the weight of the whole pack on your shoulders,” I asked softly, trying to keep my voice casual. “Worried about the project not going through?”
She shook her head, biting her lip. “Not exactly… it’s just…” She hesitated, her amber eyes clouded with thought. “It’s complicated. I’ll tell you later.”
Before she could elaborate, a commotion rippled across the room. I followed her gaze and froze. Silas had entered the hall, flanked by a swarm of reporters. His presence alone seemed to shift the air–his iron–gray suit perfectly tailored, his expression cold and distant, and his eyes sharp and calculating.
It was the same feeling I had always had when observing him from afar–like I was being weighed and measured by a predator, and there was nothing I could do to hide. For a moment, time seemed to fold in on itself, and I felt that dizzying loop of memory again, the one that tied past and present together with invisible threads.
“Freya, look–Silas is looking this way,” Lana murmured, her voice tight with unease.
My chest tightened. Silas was looking at me. I could feel the intensity of his gaze as though it had pierced through the bustling crowd straight to my spine. My mind raced: Would he approach? Would he speak? The press cameras were everywhere–one wrong move, and this could explode across the networks, going viral in a heartbeat.
I tried to steer Lana toward a quieter corner, away from the center of attention, but the moment I took a step, Silas turned his head and walked straight past us. Just like that, the moment of confrontation dissolved, leaving only the echo of his stare.
“Did you see that?” Lana whispered, biting her nails. “He acted like he didn’t even recognize you. So… is it really over between you two?”
suppose
I let my gaze drop to the floor, my heart twisting with a familiar, stubborn ache. “I he’s made peace with it,” I murmured. Rationally, I knew I had to let go, but my wolf–heart was slow to obey. It didn’t matter that the days, the weeks, the months had passed–emotional scars were not so easily healed. Perhaps, with time, Silas and I would be like two distant
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“Let’s go
check the project details,” I said, shaking off the melancholy as best I could. Lana nodded, and we started to move.
But barely a few steps into the corridor, a sharp voice pierced through the low hum of conversation.
“Freya!”
I froze. My brows knitted. The voice was unmistakable.
Caelum Grafton.
I turned slowly, the disapproval already rising in my chest. “Caelum,” I said coldly, my tone carrying every ounce of contempt I felt. “I’ve told you before–you have no right to call me like that.”
He smiled, a cocky, unrepentant curve of his lips. “Ah, you don’t like it? Fine, I’ll stop calling. But… how have you been? Really?”
The audacity. He hadn’t so much as inquired about my well–being during the three years of our marriage, yet here he was, after everything, feigning concern. “That’s none of your business, Caelum,” I said, venom threading my words. “We’re divorced. You can stop pretending now.”
He shrugged, his wolfish grin flickering with just enough charm to irritate me. “I’m genuinely concerned. I know I’ve made mistakes, but… Aurora misled me. I thought she was my savior. I want to make things right. When I had nothing, you married me out of love. Why can’t we start over?”
I laughed, a short, bitter bark of sound. “Start over? Caelum, your gall is unmatched. There’s no way in hell that’s happening.”
His gaze sharpened, predatory. “Why not? Silas Whitmor has already abandoned you. I know you moved out from his place and are staying with Lana now. He barely glanced at you when he entered. Freya, you’ve been discarded!”
I felt a flicker of irritation–then disbelief. “You… stalked me?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
“I’m just concerned,” he said with false casualness. “Look, even if your parents are war heroes, that doesn’t matter in the grand hierarchy. You’re a commoner, Freya. Someone like Silas… he never intended for this to last. It was a fleeting indulgence.”
He took a step closer, voice lowering, velvet and steel in the same breath. “The one suited for
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you… is me. During our three years of marriage, wasn’t it good? The company thrived. We thrived. Reunite with me–no Aurora this time. I’ll be different. I’ll divide the company’s shares. I’ll make you Vice President. You’ll have a voice in every decision.
His words poured over me like a torrent–pleading, yet laced with domination, a wolf asserting claim over territory. Every instinct in me bristled at the arrogance.
“I have no interest,” I said firmly, yanking Lana along as I tried to slip past him.
“Wait!” Caelum snapped, blocking my path. “I’ve made myself clear. Don’t you understand? Silas abandoned you! Who else would want a divorced woman? I’m the best choice for you— I’m here to make amends!”
I stopped, spinning to face him fully, my voice dripping with icy clarity. “Ha! Caelum, I don’t have to marry anyone. And you are absolutely not the best option in my life. Don’t flatter yourself. You want a reunion? No–it’s not to make amends for me. It’s because your company
your is sinking, and you need someone to work your grind while you sit comfortably in as Alpha and CEO.”
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Third Person’s POV
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“Some people really have no self–awareness,” Lana said, her tone laced with biting sarcasm. “Three years, and the company goes public. Then Freya leaves, and the whole empire collapses. Three years from now? Maybe there won’t even be a SilverTech Forgeworks left… if it even lasts that long.”
Caelum Grafton’s face turned red with anger. His jaw clenched as he raised his hand toward Lana, the aura of a predator ready to strike. But before his hand could make contact, Freya’s instincts took over. She lunged forward, her grip like iron, seizing his wrist with brutal precision.
Pain shot up Caelum’s arm. The next moment, Freya’s knee slammed into his midsection with all the force of a warrior defending her territory, and he collapsed to the polished marble floor with a humiliating thud.
“Caelum,” Freya’s voice was low and deadly, her gaze sharp enough to cut through steel, “if you even think about laying a hand on my friend again, you’ll regret it.”
For the first time, Caelum felt fear–not of the law, not of Silas Whitmor, but of the wrath of his ex–wife. Freya and Lana turned away, leaving him scrambling to his feet, humiliated but still scheming.
He wouldn’t submit. If Aurora could manipulate and threaten him, then he could do the same to Freya. All he needed was her back in the company, helping him stabilize SilverTech Forgeworks–and the empire could rise from its current peril.
From his pocket, Caelum produced a seemingly innocuous lighter. But embedded within it was a micro–camera, designed to capture anything he deemed useful. His lips curled into a cruel smirk.
“Freya,” he muttered under his breath, “you’re forcing my hand.”
Half an hour later, the atmosphere in the private lounge was tense, nearly suffocating. Caelum knelt on the floor, two massive bodyguards pinning his arms to either side. His knees bore the weight of his defiance, but the pain radiating through his body quickly eroded any remaining composure.
Across from him, Silas Whitmor reclined on a sleek black leather sofa, his piercing amber eyes cold and calculating. Every detail of the room–the dim lighting, the polished steel accents, even the scent of bourbon lingering in the air–seemed orchestrated to intimidate.
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“Sir Whitmor,” Wren, Silas’s secretary, said as he approached, holding out the lighter Caelum had attempted to hide. “This is the micro–camera he was using.”
Silas’s long fingers toyed with the device, turning it over and over as if weighing its purpose. Then, with a simple flick, he summoned Wren closer. The secretary obeyed instantly, offering a slender black cigarette. Silas lit it with the very lighter Caclum had been using, the flame flickering like a warning in the shadowed room.
Finally, he tossed the lighter onto the nearby table. His voice, calm yet lethal, cut the air. “Caelum Grafton, what exactly did you intend to film with this?”
Caelum’s voice trembled, sweat pearling across his brow. “I… I was just curious… to… play with it… nothing serious, sir Whitmor…”
“Curious?” Silas’s amber gaze sharpened, cold as a wolf stalking its prey.
“Y–yes! Curious… purely curious!” Caelum stammered.
Silas let out a single, disbelieving laugh, his finger snapping sharply in the air. “We’ll see about that. Make him talk.”
Two of Silas’s enforcers moved forward, their hands gripping Caelum’s wrists and twisting with methodical cruelty. A sickening snap echoed through the room–his right wrist fractured under their strength. He screamed, a sound full of both pain and panic.
Before he could recover, another enforcer dislocated his shoulder with a practiced twist. Caelum howled, the sound echoing like a wounded wolf through the lounge.
When they raised a heavy hammer toward his legs, he broke, his voice shrill and desperate. “I -I’ll tell you! The camera… I only… I only wanted to capture things about Freya!”
Silas’s gaze darkened, amber fire flaring in his eyes. Then one of the enforcers brought forward a bottle of liquor, identical to the one Caelum had handled earlier in the lounge. The sight made him flinch, his body tightening with fear.
“Sir Whitmor,” Wren explained, “this bottle was spiked. Only used at nightclubs for people who… don’t obey.”
Silas stared coldly at Caelum. “So, your plan was to have Freya drink this… and then capture compromising footage with your little camera?”
Caelum choked, panic overtaking him. “I….. I just wanted to remarry Freya! Sir Whitmor, you abandoned her! Seeing you cast her aside… that’s what made me… think about reuniting with her!”
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“Remarry?” Silas’s voice dropped, dark and lethal. He rose from the sofa, approaching Caelum, In a swift, controlled motion, he pressed the burning end of his cigarette against Caelum’s forehead, extinguishing it with deliberate cruelty. Flesh hissed, and Caelum screamed, his scalp blistering instantly.
“Caelum Grafton,” Silas said, his tone as cold and hard as iron, “you will never, in this lifetime, remarry Freya Thorne.”
With that, he picked up the bottle, pouring a glass for himself and signaling to his men. “The rest–force it down him. Then drag him out. Let him learn the consequences of his actions.”
“Yes, sir!” The enforcers obeyed, forcing the remaining liquor into Caelum’s mouth until he gagged, the bitter liquid burning him from throat to stomach. They dragged him out like a defeated wolf, howling in pain and humiliation.
Silas sat back on the sofa, the remaining glass of liquor in hand, his amber eyes fixed on Wren. “Tell me, if I drink this, do you think Freya will come to save me?”
Wren swallowed, glancing at the Alpha with caution. In the shadows of the lounge, with the city skyline glowing outside the floor–to–ceiling windows, even the smallest ripple of action felt like the movement of an entire pack.
Chapter 309
Third Person’s POV
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Wren’s eyes
widened in alarm the moment he saw Alpha Silas raise the glass of spiked liquor to his lips. His hand shot out instinctively, trying to block it, but Silas’s amber gaze lifted slowly, cold and commanding.
“Move your hand,” Silas said, his voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable edge of threat.
Wren hesitated, sweat gathering at his temples. “Alpha, you can’t possibly drink that… it’s been poisoned. It could-”
Silas cut him off with a soft murmur, almost to himself. “If my body is harmed… would she care?”
Wren froze. He knew exactly who Silas meant: Freya. The question was rhetorical, but it hit Wren like a punch.
“Move your hand,” Silas repeated, firmer this time.
Gritting his teeth, Wren reluctantly withdrew, stepping back. His mind raced. Silas’s reasoning was reckless, but the Alpha’s pride would not allow him to change his mind easily. Wren’s concern deepened. “Alpha… what if Miss Thorne doesn’t come to help you?”
“Then I’ll accept that I lost the gamble,” Silas said simply, lifting the glass and draining it in one smooth motion. The golden liquid slid down his throat as if daring the world to challenge him. He set the empty glass down, amber eyes locking on Wren. “Now… go. Tell her.”
Wren swallowed, his pulse quickening. The Alpha wanted to know–through this dangerous wager–whether Freya still carried any trace of care for him. Even if the cost was his own body, Silas was willing to risk it.
Meanwhile, Freya and Lana were deep in discussion with executives from several potential investors at the City Economic Summit. The negotiation was delicate, every word measured, every gesture calculated to inspire confidence.
That delicate balance shattered when Wren came rushing toward them, his expression taut with urgency.
“Miss Thorne! Alpha Silas is in danger. Please… come with me!”
Freya froze mid–step. Her heart stuttered at the news. “What?” she asked, voice tight with concern. Silas Whitmor in danger? That was impossible… wasn’t it?
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Wren urged her forward, but Freya’s instincts screamed caution. She took two steps, then stopped abruptly, her gaze hardening.
“Miss Thorne?” Wren’s voice was laced with confusion and worry.
Freya pursed her lips. “If Silas is truly hurt, you should call the authorities, or get medical assistance. Not… come looking for me.”
Wren’s jaw tightened, the weight of Silas’s insistence evident in his expression. “But he refuses to go to the hospital. He insists… he must see you.”
Freya’s eyes narrowed, a ripple of conflict crossing her mind. “Is he… injured?”
Wren hesitated, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “He drank… he drank liquor that had been tampered with. He refuses medical care, he only says he wants to see you.”
Freya’s pulse skipped. Her mind raced, imagining the worst. Was this the work of some jealous rival? Someone who sought to manipulate or trap him? She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself. Knowing that Silas was not severely harmed offered her a sliver of relief, but worry gnawed at her like a predator circling prey.
“I… we’ve already parted ways. This… this is not something I should be involved in,” Freya said, her voice tense. “Wren, you need to get him to a hospital. The doctors can handle this safely.”
Wren’s ears flattened slightly, tension radiating off him like an alert wolf in the forest. “Miss Thorne… you know him. Once he sets his mind on something, it’s immovable. He said he will not go to the hospital until he sees you. And… his current state is… not good. For the sake of what once existed between you, please–just go see him.”
Freya’s jaw tightened. She knew this was a deliberate provocation—a test, a trap even, to make her come. But stepping forward could open old wounds, confront the trust that had been broken. Could she… bear it?
Lana, standing beside her, glanced at Freya with an understanding that needed no words. “Freya… if you still care, even a little… go. Help him before it’s too late. Better to act than to regret.”
Freya inhaled sharply, weighing the risk. Her heart ached with the echo of old feelings, the pull of loyalty and unspoken history. Finally, she nodded, a reluctant decision settling over her. “I’ll go see him,” she said softly. Then she turned to Wren. “Lead the way.”
Wren’s relief was palpable, though he kept his expression neutral. He guided Freya swiftly through the corridors of the summit, their footsteps muted on the polished stone floors. When they reached the private lounge, Wren stopped. “Alpha Whitmor is inside. I… cannot enter. Please, Miss Thorne, go in alone.”
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Freya nodded, steeling herself, and pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit, a single row of warm lights casting long shadows across the floor. The space felt intimate, almost too quiet, the air heavy with tension and faint traces of bourbon.
On the sofa, Silas Whitmor reclined, his jacket unfastened and collar open, revealing the broad lines of his chest and the hard planes of his abdomen. Even in this vulnerable state, he radiated the quiet dominance of a true Alpha, the kind that could command attention without uttering a word.
Freya’s steps slowed as she approached, taking in the sight of him–the way his hair fell in dark waves, the subtle sheen of sweat, the deep amber of his eyes now softened with a strange vulnerability.
“Freya… you… you came?” His voice was hoarse, labored from the poisoned liquor, yet threaded with that same low, magnetic authority she remembered.
His gaze met hers, amber eyes now tinged with something almost intoxicatingly human, the cold veneer lifted for just a moment to reveal raw need. Each shallow breath made his throat move visibly, a tremor that drew her attention despite the tension in her chest.
Silas’s lips parted, a slow, ragged exhale escaping as if it carried the weight of unspoken words. The lines of his face, so often set in imperious control, now held a seductive fragility, a reminder of the Alpha’s rare humanity when he was alone with her. Freya’s heart twisted, caught between fear, care, and the lingering pull of something that had never fully vanished.
She paused at the threshold, feeling the weight of choice pressing down like the gravity of the storm–swept cliffs that defined the borders of Stormveil territory. Every instinct–her loyalty, her caution, her pack–bonded senses–warned her. Yet the human part, the part that had once bared itself to him, urged her forward.
For now, the room held only the two of them, the faint amber light, and the heavy, palpable tension of past and present colliding. The Alpha and the Bloodmoon’s daughter, facing the consequences of old bonds, the poison, and the gamble that had been silently set before them.
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Freya’s POV
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The rise and fall of his chest drew my eyes again and again, impossible to ignore. Silas… even like this, half–reclining and drained, he carried a presence that made the room feel alive with some dangerous, intoxicating energy. His bare chest moved beneath the dim amber lights, muscles contracting in uneven waves, and I felt the pull in my chest, a mix of caution and unwilling fascination. I forced my eyes away, reminding myself why I was here.
“Yes… I came,” I said, keeping my voice steady. “Wren told me… you drank some tainted liquor, and you refused medical care.”
He exhaled roughly, his chest heaving, and reached out, taking my wrist in his hand. His grip was firm, scorching hot, and my breath caught in my throat.
“Medical care?” he rasped, leaning closer, his amber eyes locking on mine. “If I leave this room like this… imagine the chaos it would cause. A scandal… the headlines… the impact on the Coalition… I can’t let it happen.”
My hand felt as if it were being pressed into fire. Was his heat from the poison, or was this just the way he burned–Alpha, alive, dominant?
“If you’re worried about people seeing you, I can block all the surveillance from the lounge to the car,” I told him. “Just cover yourself with a blanket. Nobody will know it’s you.”
He shook his head weakly, gasping, voice thick with both pain and frustration. “And if they still find out? And even if I reach the hospital, someone will leak it… nothing is ever secret, not in this world. You… you know that better than anyone. You left me because of what I did with
brother. Because I failed him.” your
I felt his desperation, his voice trembling, his grip on my wrist tightening as if I were the only lifeline keeping him from toppling.
“Silas… we’ve already ended things,” I said firmly. “I didn’t come here to be your cure, to sacrifice myself for you. I came to make sure you go to a hospital. Whatever concerns you have… the Whitmore influence can handle them.”
He made a soft, almost pleading noise. “And if… I still refuse?”
He forced himself upright, tremors coursing through his body as he swayed dangerously toward me. My instincts screamed, and I reached out, steadying him. His body pressed close to mine, the heat radiating off him through the fabric of his shirt searing against my skin.
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His muscles twitched beneath my touch, restrained yet coiled, like a wolf barely held back from full predatory release. His hands clutched me tighter, as if my presence could hold the poison, the pain, the chaos at bay.
“You know what this poison does,” he whispered into my ear, cach word a rasping growl. “It feels like fire crawling under your skin, like venomous insects gnawing at every nerve. Do you want to watch me burn, Freya?”
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to maintain control. “I’ve said it already… we’re done. I’m not here to do this with you.”
“But you came,” he murmured, brushing against me, his hands mapping the contours of my arms, my sides, searching for a tether to keep his sanity. “So… you still care, don’t you? You still feel something for me.”
“I’m here to make sure you don’t blame Wren for anything,” I said evenly. “Not because of you.”
A low, hoarse laugh escaped him, ragged and almost feral. “I don’t believe you don’t care at all.”
“Believe what you want,” I snapped, trying to push him away. But the moment I touched him, I felt the shift. His body was changing under the influence of the poison, muscles taut, heart racing like a wolf on the hunt. My mind raced. I couldn’t let him collapse here. The only solution was to knock him unconscious and get him to a hospital immediately.
“And if I told you… that the liquor I drank… was meant for you?” he said, each word a ragged breath.
“What?” My pulse spiked.
I had assumed the poison was meant for him, some scheme of a jealous rival. But he shook his head, amber eyes clouded with fever and pain, and whispered, “It was Caelum Grafton. He intended
you to drink it.”
I froze. Caelum… that despicable man. Poison, a hidden camera… all aimed at me, at some leverage to control my actions. The memory of how I had once saved him, married him even, sent a wave of anger rushing through me.-
“I’ll deal with him,” I muttered under my breath, teeth gritting.
“I haven’t let him go either,” Silas whispered, voice raw with emotion, his lips brushing closer to mine. “Freya… if Caelum ever tries to hurt you, he’ll pay… in a way that he’ll never forget.”
My heart hammered, both fear and relief running through me. “What… what did you do?” I asked, panic threading my voice.
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“Are you
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worried about me, or about him?” His lips hovered near my car, voice low, guttural.
I didn’t answer.
“If it’s about me… I’m glad. If it’s about Caclum… I only made him swallow the rest of that poisoned liquor himself. Everything he wanted to do to you, he will now endure.”
“Then… why did you drink it?” I asked, my voice barely audible over my pounding heart.
His amber eyes, glazed and fiery at once, fixed on me, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a dangerous, intoxicating curve. “Because I wanted to see if you would come… to see if you’d save me.”
A jolt ran through me, disbelief and something darker, something primal, gnawing at the edges of my mind. He wanted me to witness him in this state… a twisted gamble, a wolf testing the bonds of its mate.
And then, before I could even respond, his lips claimed mine. Hard, demanding, a searing heat that pressed me into the world of him, a world where Alpha strength met vulnerable need.
I froze, shock and instinct warping into a single, potent sensation. Silas Whitmor–Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition, unyielding, dangerous–was burning against me, and somehow, in this moment, it was all consuming.