Ch. 361..365: A Warrior Luna's Awakening Chapter 361-365
Chapter 361
Freya’s POV
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The wind coming off the sea tasted like metal and rain. I stood between two Alphas–father and son–both bearing the same ruthless aura of dominance, both radiating tension so thick it made my wolf stir uneasily beneath my skin.
Cassian Whitmor’s gray hair was disheveled from the fight, yet his smirk was sharp as ever, that cruel gleam in his eyes reminding me of the countless stories I’d heard about him–the Alpha who’d built the Ironclad Coalition on blood and broken oaths. And beside him, Silas stood rigid, his chest heaving, his eyes burning gold with restrained fury.
Their resemblance was haunting. Same jawline. Same violent pride. Only the coldness in Cassian’s expression seemed to have aged into something far more venomous.
your
“Miss Thorne,” Cassian drawled, his tone a purr lined with malice. “If you’re worried about safety, I assure you–I have the means to get you off this cursed island. And I promise, my son will never trouble you again.”
His words twisted inside me. Leaving… gods, of course I’d thought about it. Every night since I’d woken up on this isolated island fortress, my injured shoulder wrapped in bandages, my freedom dangling just out of reach. I wanted to leave. To find my brother in C–country. To get back to my life, my mission, my pack.
But then–Silas’s gaze caught mine. Those eyes… storm–bright, haunted, trembling just slightly, as if he feared my next breath might shatter what little was left between us. I saw in him a man torn apart—Alpha instinct fighting with something that might’ve once been love.
Cassian’s smirk deepened when I didn’t answer. “What’s the matter, little wolf? The words won’t come out? Or are you too afraid to admit you want out?”
I stayed silent.
Silas’s fingers twitched, as though he wanted to reach for me but didn’t dare. His jaw locked, the veins in his neck standing out against the tension simmering through his frame.
“Well?” Cassian pressed, his voice slicing through the salt–heavy air. “Your decision, Freya.”
I finally drew a breath and said quietly, “I don’t need your help, Cassian. I’m staying.”
For a moment, even the waves seemed to still.
Both men stared at me—one in disbelief, the other in something dangerously close to awe.
Cassian’s brows shot up. “Staying?” he repeated, his tone incredulous. “You mean to tell me
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you’d rather remain caged on this forsaken island than accept my help? Don’t tell me you enjoy being someone’s pet canary.”
“I’m healing.” I replied evenly. “When I’m recovered, Silas will let me go.”
Cassian threw his head back and laughed. It was the sound of a predator mocking his prey. “You really believe that, girl? You think an Alpha like my son would ever let go of what he’s claimed? Do you even know what Whitmors do when they’re abandoned?”
Silas’s growl rumbled low and dangerous. “Enough.”
But Cassian ignored him. He stepped closer, his tone almost gleeful now. “He’ll trap you here, Freya. Break your legs if you try to flee. Threaten what you love. And if that fails–he’ll use the oldest chain there is. A child.”
“Stop!” Silas roared, his voice cracking through the air like lightning.
Cassian turned to him, grinning like a demon who’d found an open wound. “Did I hit a nerve, son? You think I don’t recognize myself in you? You can cage a wolf, but you can’t cure its nature. You’ll do exactly what I did. You’ll make her bleed for loving you.”
“Enough!”
The shout ripped from Silas’s chest, raw and pained. His eyes glowed gold, claws threatening to break skin.
Cassian only smirked wider. “You see? I was right. You-
I didn’t even think.
“”
My body moved before my mind caught up, fury surging through every muscle. I pivoted, lifted my good leg, and kicked Cassian square in the ribs.
The impact sent him sprawling several feet back. He hit the dirt with a grunt, stunned.
For a heartbeat, the world was silent–save for the pounding of my pulse.
Both men stared at me.
Silas’s expression was pure shock, his rage evaporating into disbelief. Cassian looked up at me with a twisted grin of disbelief and faint respect.
“If my shoulder weren’t injured,” I said coldly, stepping forward, “I’d make sure you couldn’t walk for a week. Maybe longer.”
Cassian coughed, pressing a hand to his side where I’d kicked him. His breath came ragged. “You… dare to strike me?”
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“I’ve done it before,” I said flatly, “and I’ll do it again. You call yourself a protector, but all I a coward hiding behind threats. You think your son is you, but he’s not. He may be broken, yo -but he’s not you.”
Cassian laughed–loud, unhinged, bitter. “Not me? Oh, you naive thing. He’s worse. Every shadow I planted in him will one day bloom into something darker. He is my legacy.”
My patience snapped. “Then you’d better pray that legacy ends with you.”
The faint smirk vanished from his face.
“I’d suggest you leave,” I warned, my voice low and steady. “Because if you stay another minute, I will kick you again—and trust me, I won’t miss twice.”
Cassian’s eyes narrowed, the air around him brimming with restrained violence. But something flickered there–wariness, maybe even intrigue. Slowly, he straightened, dusted off his jacket, and spat blood onto the sand.
“You’ll regret this,” he said, gaze flicking between Silas and me. “Both of you.”
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Florence
Florence is a passionate reader who finds joy in long drives on rainy days. She’s also a fan of Italian makeup tutorials, blending beauty and elegance into her everyday life.
Chapter 362
Freya’s POV
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The helicopter blades cut through the misty sky until they were nothing but a whisper, fading into the horizon. I stood still, watching until even the faintest glimmer of its metallic shell disappeared beyond the cliffs. Only then did I turn to Silas.
“Let’s go,” I said quietly.
He didn’t move. I’d only taken two steps when I realized he was still standing where I’d left him —frozen, like he’d forgotten how to breathe. His amber eyes locked on me with a dazed sort of disbelief, as if I’d done something impossible.
“What is it?” I asked, moving closer.
His lashes trembled, and for a moment, I saw something raw in his gaze–relief, shock, hunger. He looked at me like a man seeing sunlight after years underground.
“You didn’t leave,” he rasped.
“No,” I said simply. “I didn’t.”
His throat bobbed. “Why?”
I shrugged lightly. “Because I can’t stand your father.”
He blinked once, twice–and then, without warning, he pulled me into his arms.
The movement was sharp, desperate. His strength surrounded me, his scent–iron, smoke, and the wild tang of sea air–pressing into my skin. Yet even in that urgency, he was careful. His hand hovered just above my left shoulder, avoiding the injury he’d spent nights tending.
“You didn’t go,” he whispered, his voice shaking as he buried his face against the side of my neck. “You really didn’t go.”
His words were muffled, almost childlike, as though he couldn’t believe them himself. The tremor in his arms gave him away; the Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition was trembling.
I didn’t push him away. Maybe I should have. After all, we’d already ended things. Whatever bond had once existed between us had been burned to ashes. But feeling his heartbeat against mine—uneven, frantic, too human–I couldn’t bring myself to break that fragile contact.
Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was something else.
Not enough distance, Freya, I told myself silently. Not enough courage to be cruel.
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He stayed like that for a long time, until the tension finally left his shoulders. When I felt him breathe normally again, I spoke softly, “Alright. Let’s go inside.”
He hesitated, then nodded and released me. The moment his arms fell away, a faint chill crawled across my skin, as if the wind had slipped in where his warmth had been.
When I started toward the cabin, I noticed the scrape along his knuckles–red, raw, slightly swollen. I reached out without thinking and caught his wrist.
“Your hand,” I murmured. “You should put some salve on that.”
He looked down at me, his gaze
unreadable. “Okay.”
Inside, the room was quiet except for the low hum of the generator. He found the first–aid kit, pulled out a jar of antiseptic, and began treating the cuts himself. The faint sting of alcohol filled the air.
“Anywhere else?” I asked, crossing my arms.
He hesitated. “A few places hurt, but I’ll live.”
“I saw how hard he hit you,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “You might have bruised ribs. Sit down.”
When he didn’t move fast enough, I added, “Now.”
Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe—but he obeyed. He tugged his shirt off without protest, the fabric catching briefly on his shoulder before it slid free.
My pulse jumped.
Bruises marred his chest and abdomen, dark marks blooming beneath pale skin like violent ink stains. He’d taken more hits than he’d admitted.
“Turn toward the light,” I said, stepping closer.
He obeyed again, the muscles in his back shifting under his skin. I reached out, my fingers brushing over one of the bruises. His body tensed at the contact, not from pain, but from the
nearness.
“If it hurts too much, say something,” I told him.
“I’m fine.”
I pressed a little harder, testing bone alignment the way my mother–Myra, the military medic -had taught me years ago. My time in the Iron Fang Recon Unit had left me with enough field
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training to know what a fracture felt like.
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His skin was warm beneath my palm, his breath unsteady. But when I applied pressure along his ribs, he didn’t flinch.
“Any sharp pain?” I asked.
He blinked, like he’d forgotten how to speak. “No.”
“Then your ribs are intact. Just bruises.” I stepped back and nodded toward the salve. “You’ll live.”
Silas’s gaze lingered on me. There was something in it–something heavy, quiet, unreadable.
“You really think I’m not like him?” he asked suddenly. His voice was low, uncertain.
I met his eyes. “You’re not.”
A strange, almost boyish look crossed his face–relief and disbelief tangled together. “I’m not him,” he murmured again, as if trying to convince himself.
He leaned back, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t leave with Cassian. You might regret that one day.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But not now. Not yet.”
His expression shifted, the light dimming behind his eyes. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”
I hesitated. “I hope you’ll keep your word, Silas. That when the time comes, you’ll let me go.”
Florence
Florence is a passionate reader who finds joy in long drives on rainy days. She’s also a fan of Italian makeup tutorials, blending beauty and elegance into her everyday life.
Chapter 363
Third Person’s POV
Freya hadn’t truly believed him. Not completely.
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“I didn’t believe you,” she said quietly, her voice carrying through the villa’s quiet. “I just took a gamble that this time, you wouldn’t lie. That when the time comes, you’ll really send me back.” She looked up at him, calm but resolute. “Silas, I hope this time I haven’t bet wrong.”
Silas gave a faint, crooked smile – the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “And if you win that bet,” he murmured, “will you ever be willing to trust me again?”
–
Freya’s gaze didn’t waver. “Trust isn’t something you win by chance. It’s something you earn or lose.” She paused, then stepped back. “I’ll find something to read in the study. You can tend your wounds yourself.”
She turned and walked away before he could answer.
Silas lowered his head, his breath unsteady. His hand came up, fingers brushing the spot where she had touched him moments ago. The warmth still lingered there – faint but unmistakable, like a ghost of contact his skin refused to forget.
He should have been glad. She hadn’t chosen to leave with her father’s envoy. She had stayed.
But instead of relief, a hollow ache spread through his chest – sharp and consuming, as though something inside him was tearing itself apart. It told him what he already knew deep down: that once you miss your chance, no amount of strength can bring it back.
Later that night, the quiet was broken by the faint buzz of Freya’s WolfComm.
She glanced at the caller ID- Lana.
“Freya, you won’t believe this,” Lana’s voice came through, fast and excited. “The Williams family is coming to The Capital.”
Freya blinked. “What?”
“Who else?” Lana huffed. “Yes, the Williams family from C–country. And Parker’s among them. They’re coming because of a new business deal with the Whitmors.”
―
Freya straightened, frowning. “The Whitmors? Working with the Williams family?”
“That’s what I said,” Lana replied. “Apparently, the Whitmors were the ones to extend the invitation. They want to discuss cooperation, and of course the Williamses said yes. They’ll be arriving in The Capital in a few days. Guess that means you don’t have to fly to C–country after
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Freya’s mind churned. Could this really be coincidence? The Whitmors suddenly inviting the Williams family right before she was supposed to travel abroad to meet them?
Lana hesitated for a beat, then added, “You don’t think Silas set this up, do you? Just so you wouldn’t have to go?”
Freya shook her head, though Lana couldn’t see it. “That kind of partnership would involve major investments. It’s too large a move to make just to keep me from traveling.”
“Maybe for normal people,” Lana said wryly. “But we both know the Whitmors aren’t normal. The whole pack knows that family runs on obsession, not reason.”
Freya didn’t respond. The truth was, she couldn’t rule it out. Silas Whitmor had always been the
close. kind of Alpha who’d bend an empire just to keep one promise – or one woman –
“And let’s be honest,” Lana continued. “You keep saying you’ve broken things off with him, but the man literally chartered a private jet from Deepmoor just to fetch you. Then he locked down an entire private island for you two. That doesn’t look like someone who’s accepted the end.”
Freya’s chest tightened. “Lana-”
“Fine, fine,” Lana interrupted, laughing softly. “I’ll stop teasing. When are you coming back?”
“Two days,” Freya said. “If he keeps his word.”
Lana’s tone softened. “Then I’ll be waiting. The Capital feels too quiet without you.”
—
After the call ended, the silence returned only broken by the rhythmic crash of waves outside the window. Freya sat on the bed and unlocked her WolfComm again, her fingers hovering before she started searching the news.
It didn’t take long. The feeds were already flooded with it: Whitmor Industries announcing a partnership proposal with Williams Armatech on clean–energy vehicle production. The Whitmors were moving into the electric vehicle sector, and the Williams family – one of the continent’s largest battery producers – was their first choice of supplier.
It was a massive opportunity. No wonder half the tech world had turned its eyes toward The Capital.
Freya scrolled through one of the headlines.
Everett Williams, Head of the Williams Family, to Arrive in The Capital for Strategic Talks.
Her gaze lingered on the accompanying photograph – a man in his sixties, with sharp features,
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hair streaked silver and posture straight as a blade. Time had added lines to his face, but nothing could dim the aristocratic calm in his expression. His eyes were piercing – the kind that saw through lies with a single glance.
Even now, dressed in an immaculate suit, Everett carried an aura that was more Alpha than corporate. Refined. Dangerous. The kind of man who’d command a pack with a word.
Unmarried his whole life, yet never whispered to have taken a male partner either. To the public, he was an enigma – a man who seemed immune to love itself.
And now he was coming to The Capital, with Parker Williams at his side.
If Freya truly meant to acknowledge Parker as family, as blood, she would have to face Everett too. There would be no avoiding it.
Across the city, Lana tossed her phone onto the passenger seat and sighed. “Two days,” she muttered. “Fine. Two days.”
She checked the time, lips curving into a grin, and started the engine.
–
away from her apartment, The city’s night lights rippled across her windshields she drove — straight toward the place she knew she shouldn’t be going. The exclusive private lounge gleamed like a den of wolves in silk. When she walked in, the manager immediately straightened.
“Miss Rook,” he greeted, polite but cautious.
“I want to see Duke,” she said flatly.
His brows lifted. “You’re asking for him again?”
“Consider it a preference,” Lana replied, her smile edged like a blade.
He hesitated. “Word around The Capital is that you’re Victor Ashford’s girlfriend. If he finds out you’re here with someone else…” The manager trailed off, voice uneasy. “You know how the Ashfords are. Not the kind of wolves one crosses lightly.”
Lana leaned on the counter, her perfume laced with wolf musk you’d better make sure he doesn’t find out.”
–
confident, defiant. “Then
The manager studied her for a long moment before sighing. “You’re playing with fire.”
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In the heart of The Capital, power ran thicker than blood–and among the city’s four dominant law circles, none held greater sway than the Ashford lineage. Rumor said that crossing Victor Ashford meant spending the rest of your life tangled in lawsuits and whispers of ruin.
But Lana didn’t care for rumors.
“He won’t find out,” she said coolly, her voice sharp with impatience.
Across from her, the club manager hesitated. “Miss Rook… Alpha Victor specifically instructed us not to take your bookings anymore. No male models, no private escorts.”
Lana’s expression froze. “He said what?”
The irritation flared in her chest like static before a storm. Victor Ashford might have been her contractual partner, but lately, his control over her personal life was tightening like a silver collar. “We’re not even truly together,” she muttered. “ “He doesn’t get to dictate who I meet.”
“I’m sorry,” the manager stammered. “If we let you see him-”
“I just want to talk to Duke,” Lana cut him off, eyes narrowing. “That’s all. I’m not hiring him.”
The manager wrung his hands. “Please understand, Miss Rook. If Alpha Victor finds out, this establishment could lose its license. He… doesn’t take disobedience well.”
Before Lana could snap back, a commotion broke out across the marble hall. A male voice rang out–desperate, defiant. “I’m not for sale! I only serve drinks here!”
Then came the shrill reply of a woman: “If you’re not selling, what are you doing in this place? Tonight, you’re mine! Drag him back–money isn’t an issue!”
A young man stumbled out of a private suite, panic carved into his features. Two burly guards and a jeweled woman pursued him. His shirt was torn, his breathing ragged.
Lana’s eyes widened. Duke.
“Duke!” she called.
The
young man froze mid–step, eyes darting to her. Recognition flickered through the fear clouding his gaze.
“Don’t be afraid.” Lana stepped forward, slipping between him and the oncoming guards. Her stance carried the quiet dominance of a wolf who’d seen battlefields far less civilized than this
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club. “He’s with me.”
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The jeweled woman–clearly of wealth–stopped short, chin lifting. “He’s mine tonight. Step aside before you regret it.”
Lana turned her gaze to the manager. “Your club’s selling people now?”
The man paled. “N–no, of course not. But if both parties consent-”
“Does he look consenting to you?” Lana’s tone was a low growl, wolf scent prickling faintly in the air.
The woman scoffed. “If he refuses, I’ll make sure he never works in The Capital again. I’m from the Vane family.”
At that, Lana’s lips curved–not kindly. “The Vanes?” she repeated, her voice dipped in dangerous amusement. “Then perhaps you’ve heard of Victor Ashford.”
The woman stiffened. “You–You’re with him?”
“His girlfriend,” Lana said simply. “Want me to call m and tell him you harassed my friend?” She waved her WolfComm idly, the blue light reflecting off her manicured claws.
“You’re friends with a male model? When Victor finds out, you’ll be the one in trouble,” the woman sneered.
Lana tilted her head. “He already knows Duke. In fact, he’s met him. Should I call him right now, see whose name he erases first?”
The silence between them was sharp and heavy. Finally, the woman clicked her tongue, eyes flashing with fury, but she turned on her heel and stalked away, her guards trailing like scolded
pups.
As the scent of her perfume faded, Lana turned back to Duke. “You alright?”
He exhaled shakily. “I… think so. Thank you.”
“Good. Then come with me. I want to talk.”
He blinked. “Talk?” His confusion was honest–and tinged with fear. In his world, “being taken out” by a client rarely meant talking.
Seeing it, Lana softened her tone. “Relax. I’m not that kind of woman. Just dinner. Or midnight noodles, if you prefer.”
The manager stepped forward again, sweating. “Miss Rook, please—”
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But Lana was already guiding Duke toward the door, her grip firm but protective. “He’s off the clock. Bill it to my name.”
Once outside, the chill of night brushed against their skin. Lana’s car–a sleek black vehicle with silver–etched runes visible only to lupine eyes–waited by the curb. They climbed in.
“What do you want to cat?” she asked as she started the engine.
“Anything,” he murmured, voice still unsteady.
She smiled faintly. “Then noodles. Something simple.”
They drove through the sleeping edges of The Capital until they reached a narrow alley lined with old brick. A small noodle bar glowed dimly under the warm yellow of paper lamps. It wasn’t glamorous–just familiar.
Duke paused at the doorway, staring. The place hadn’t changed. Not the chipped counter, not the scent of broth and scallions. He remembered coming here once–years ago—with her. Before everything fractured.
They sat at a corner booth, and the owner, an elder woman with sharp eyes, recognized Lana immediately. “Two bowls of the house special?”
Lana nodded. “Triple seafood.”
When the woman disappeared into the kitchen, Lana leaned her elbows on the table. “Does that kind of thing happen often?”
Duke blinked, caught off guard. “You mean… at the club?”
She nodded.
He shook his head. “No. First time. I only started a few weeks ago. Needed the money.”
Lana studied him quietly–the tension in his shoulders, the faint wolfish pulse beneath his skin, like someone who had learned to suppress instincts in a world that preyed on the weak.
“Still running from the past?” she asked softly.
He looked up, startled. “You always did see too much,” he said.
“And you always did underestimate me,” she replied with a ghost of a smile.
The steam from their noodles curled upward, blending with the faint city hum outside. In that small moment–two wolves bound by old debts and unspoken grief–the world felt quieter.
But somewhere across the city, a phone buzzed to life in Victor Ashford’s penthouse.
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“Sir,” came the voice of the club manager, nervous and trembling. “Miss Rook just took Duke out of the establishment. Should we-”
Victor’s voice, low and calm, cut through the line like a blade. “No. Let her run. If she crosses the line, I’ll be the one waiting when she does.”
His eyes shifted, pupils flaring gold in the dark.
Because in The Capital, even freedom had teeth.
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“You still work in places like that?” Lana asked softly, her tone somewhere between disbelief
and sorrow.
“For coin,” he replied, the ghost of a smile cutting across his face. “After I left my family, no pack would take me. My mother’s ill. And this… this kind of work pays fast.”
There was no shame in his words–only a hard, brittle irony. His eyes, once bright with conviction, were dulled now, steeped in fatigue and quiet defiance. The boy who’d once stood up to lies and cruelty was gone, replaced by a man trying to survive in a world that didn’t care.
“I suppose I should be grateful,” Duke said, his mouth twisting. “Grateful I’ve still got the looks for it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t even be worth the sin.”
Before she could reply, the innkeeper arrived with two steaming bowls of venison stew. The smell was earthy and rich, laced with thyme and mead. Duke bent his head, eating quickly, grateful for something to fill the silence.
Lana watched him. Her chest ached–not from pity, but from remembrance. “If it’s coin you need,” she said quietly, “I can lend you some. No interest, no rush. But find something better, Duke. You don’t belong in shadows.”
He froze, spoon halfway to his mouth. The offer hit him harder than he expected. “I can’t take your-”
“You can,” she cut in, firm but kind. “You helped me when no one else would. When everyone else chose silence.”
The memory flooded between them like a tide. Years ago, she’d been a young wolf with no allies. Her father dead, her mother gone to another pack, and her stepbrother–her predator- protected by bloodlines and lies. The night he tried to force her, she fought, bled, escaped–but her stepmother had twisted every word, every wound. Only one witness had come forward. Only Duke.
He’d stood in the High Court, trembling yet defiant, rejecting the gold bribes offered to silence him. His testimony had sealed the predator’s fate–and spared Lana from ruin.
“If you hadn’t done that,” she said, voice trembling just slightly, “I would have lost everything. My freedom. My sanity. Maybe my life.”
He didn’t meet her eyes. “You don’t owe me anything, Lana.”
“I do,” she insisted. “And I intend to repay it. Send me your scroll–your work record. ”
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This time, he didn’t refuse. “Thank you,” he murmured. Then, hesitating, “Lana… you’ve changed.”
She smiled faintly. “We all have.”
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When the meal was done, she walked him to his quarters–a narrow lodging near the edge of the trade district, where the scent of smoke and sea salt mingled in the night air. Then she turned back toward her own keep, the wind carrying faint echoes of the pack’s distant howls. The moon was high when she reached her gate–and froze.
Victor was waiting there.
He leaned against her doorframe, a dark figure haloed in silver light. A half–burned cigarette smoldered between his fingers, its ember casting brief glints across his sharp, unreadable face. The Alpha looked every inch the storm he was rumored to be.
“You smoke now?” she asked, taken aback.
His voice was low, roughened by something that wasn’t just the smoke. “Apparently, I do.”
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The scent of ash and anger rolled off him in waves. He’d been waiting a while–long enough for the calm to burn out of him. His golden eyes met hers, sharp and cold.
“Tell me, Lana,” he said, each word deliberate. “Was I not enough? Did you have to find your satisfaction elsewhere?”
Her pulse spiked. She darted forward, covering his mouth with her hand before he could say more. The corridor walls had ears; the neighboring dens weren’t far.
“Don’t,” she hissed. “Don’t say things like that out here.”
He gripped her wrist, prying her hand away with slow, measured strength. “Out here? Then inside, perhaps?” His voice dropped lower, darker. “I heard you left the Moon’s Den with a younger wolf. The kind that works for coin. Tell me, Lana–was he better at pleasing you?”
Her eyes flashed. “Duke is my friend. Nothing more.”
“Friend?” His tone cut like a blade. “You have many of those, don’t you? Or is that what you them when you tire of saying lover?”
Anger rose in her chest, fierce and unbidden. She unlocked the door, pushing it open with more force than grace. “Enough,” she snapped. “Get inside before someone hears you.”
call
He followed, silent and taut as a bowstring. The door shut behind them, sealing the night away. The air between them thickened, crackling with the unspoken–the bond that had once been stronger than blood, now strained to the edge of breaking.
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“What satisfaction are you even talking about?” she said, trying for calm. “There’s nothing between Duke and me.”
“Then what is he to you?” Victor asked, stepping closer, voice edged with a growl. “Another stray for you to fix? Another wounded wolf you can feel noble about saving?”
“Maybe he’s someone who deserves a chance,” she shot back. “Not everyone has the luxury of being born Alpha.”
His hand moved before she could react, catching her chin, forcing her gaze up to his. The golden ring around his pupils flared–a telltale spark of dominance. “You think I don’t see through you?” he murmured. “You help him because you can’t help yourself. Because guilt makes you feel righteous.”
Her lips parted in protest–but he didn’t give her the chance.
Victor’s mouth crashed against hers, fierce and consuming. His grip tightened, pulling her against him as if he could erase the distance that had grown between them. She gasped against his lips, her protest breaking into breath and heat.
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“Stop-” she managed between kisses, though her pulse betrayed her.
But he didn’t stop. The Alpha in him had surfaced fully, wild and wounded. His kiss deepened -frustration, longing, and something dangerously close to love tangled into one primal motion.
She struggled, half–heartedly at first, then harder, pushing at his chest until he finally drew back, both of them breathing hard. His eyes burned with something unreadable.
“You can lie to yourself, Lana,” he said hoarsely. “But not to me. I can smell the truth on you.”
Her hand trembled, caught between striking him and reaching for him. “And what truth is that?”
“That you still care,” he said simply.
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