Ch. 366..370: A Warrior Luna's Awakening Chapter 366-370
Chapter 366
Third Person’s POV
Lana’s breath caught as Victor’s mouth claimed hers-rough, demanding, almost punishing. His lips traced a fevered path down her jaw, across the delicate curve of her throat, his breath searing against her
skin.
“Victor-what are you doing?” she gasped, pushing at his chest. But his strength was a wall against her trembling hands.
“Going mad, perhaps,” he murmured against her neck, voice low and dangerous. “Or maybe I’ve simply lost my restraint.”
There was nothing calculated in him now, no trace of the disciplined Alpha the packs whispered about. Only the raw, feral instinct of a wolf who’d been denied too long. His scent-storm and smoke and pine resin-filled the air, choking her with memory.
He wanted to claim, to possess, to erase every trace of the distance she had built between them.
He shouldn’t have let her go all those moons ago. The thought sliced through him like a blade. If he’d known she would become the one ghost that haunted his every quiet night, he’d have bound her to him- heart, body, and soul-until the moon turned red.
Without warning, Victor bent down and swept her into his arms. “What-what are you doing?” Lana stammered, her pulse spiking as her body lifted effortlessly from the ground.
“What do you think?” His voice was a growl, half threat, half confession. “If you crave satisfaction so much, then I’ll be the one to give it to you. You won’t need to seek any other wolf again.”
He carried her into the chamber and threw her onto the wide bed, the furs rippling beneath her as she caught herself, startled and breathless. The firelight cast long, dancing shadows on the stone walls, reflecting the storm in his eyes.
“Victor, stop this nonsense!” she snapped, trying to keep her voice steady. “I don’t need any of that-you don’t need to-don’t take off your clothes!”
He paused for a heartbeat, then smiled—a sharp, humorless curl of his lips. “Don’t I?” He stripped off his jacket, the fabric falling soundlessly to the floor, then loosened his tie with deliberate slowness. The muscles across his chest flexed as he shrugged out of his shirt.
“Don’t,” Lana warned, pressing herself back against the headboard, her heart hammering. “If you come any closer-”
He leaned over her, bracing one arm beside her head. The bed dipped under his weight. “You dragged a male escort out of the Moon’s Den,” he said, his voice dark with accusation. “And I’m the one losing control? Tell me, Lana-what did you expect me to think?”
Her eyes flashed, fury sparking through her fear. “Duke is my friend! That’s all!”
“Friend,” he repeated, the word twisted in his mouth like something bitter. “You expect me to believe that?”
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“I don’t care what you believe! You’re being irrational!”
Victor’s gaze burned into hers, pupils dilating with something primal. “Am I?” His tone was mocking, but beneath it throbbed the sound of pain-real, deep, unhealed. “Then why do you tremble every time I Touch you?”
“Because you’re scaring me!” she snapped. “You’re not the Victor I knew-”
He cut her off with another kiss-hard, searing, and merciless. Her protest was swallowed by the heat of it, by the sheer force of his hunger. His teeth grazed her lower lip, sharp enough to draw blood.
“Stop-!” she gasped when he finally released her, tasting iron and salt. “You’re hurting me!”
But he only stared, eyes fever-bright. “Hurting you?” His voice broke on a laugh that wasn’t laughter at all. “Tell me, Lana, do you even know what you do to me?”
His hand found her jaw again, fingers firm but trembling now, his control fraying at the edges. She saw the madness behind his restraint-the torment of a wolf whose bond had never fully broken.
“Victor,” she whispered, her voice shaking, “this isn’t you. You can’t just―”
“Can’t what?” he murmured, leaning closer. “Can’t want you? Can’t remember the way you taste when you stop pretending you don’t want me too?”
Her breath hitched, fury and confusion colliding inside her. “I told you-I don’t want this! If you keep forcing me, I’ll-”
“You’ll what?” he said softly, his lips brushing hers again. “Call for help? Have the pack guards come drag me off? Do it, then. Let them see their Alpha lose his mind for a single she-wolf.”
Her throat tightened. “I will,” she whispered, even though she knew she wouldn’t—not yet, not when her heart still betrayed her with every thunderous beat.
He kissed her again-slower this time, still desperate, but now laced with something rawer, sadder. Each kiss felt like a plea he didn’t know how to voice, a demand for something neither of them could give.
When he pulled back at last, her lips were swollen, tinged red from where his teeth had marked her. She pressed a trembling hand against her mouth, terrified he’d lunge forward again.
Victor’s breath came ragged. “Will you still threaten to report me?” he said hoarsely. “Or have I proven my point?”
She glared up at him, eyes wide, one hand shielding her lips as if to guard them from another assault. “What’s happened to you?” she whispered. “You were never like this before.”
His expression softened-just a flicker, like moonlight passing through storm clouds. “Maybe you never really knew what I was.”
“Don’t,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “Don’t pretend this is about care. You’re just angry that you can’t control me.”
“Control?” he echoed, almost smiling. “No, Lana. I don’t want to control you. I just can’t stand watching
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Chapter 366
you look at another man.”
B
Finished
He cupped her cheek, and this time his touch was almost gentle. “Don’t seek anyone else,” he murmured. if you need something, come to me. I’ll give you everything you crave. I’ll make you remember why no one else will ever be enough.”
Her face flushed scarlet, caught between rage and humiliation. “You’re insane,” she hissed. “You don’t even know what you’re saying!”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.” He dropped his voice to a whisper near her ear, his breath hot and unsteady. “You were happy last time, weren’t you? You melted beneath me, just like now.”
Her mind flashed back to that night-to the chaos, the whiskey, the scent of his skin and her own weakness. It had been supposed to mean nothing-a drunken mistake between ex-lovers bound by old debts. But he had turned it into something else, something dangerous.
She’d woken sore, breathless, and ashamed of how much she’d wanted him.
“That was an accident,” she said quickly, forcing the memory back. “And it’s not happening again.”
He smiled faintly, tilting his head. “And if I want it to happen again?”
She stiffened. “Then you’ll prove yourself the fool I never thought you were. You’re an Alpha, Victor-you know the laws. Force me, and you’ll face the Council yourself.”
For a moment, silence filled the room-thick, heavy, electric. Then he straightened, expression unreadable. The fury that had driven him seemed to falter, replaced by something hollow and cold.
“Always the threat,” he said quietly. “Always ready to bite when cornered.”
Lana’s pulse still raced, but her voice held steady. “And you should remember that before you ever try this again.”
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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 367
Third Person’s POV
Under the cold silver light of the moon, Lana stood frozen, her pulse a wild drum beneath her skin.
Victor’s voice was soft, too soft the kind of low, dangerous calm that curled like smoke.
I’m not the sort of male who needs to force anything,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against her check. His lips brushed her ear, a teasing touch that sent a shiver down her spine. “Lana… are you sure you don’t want this? You used to look at me like you couldn’t wait to pin me down. Always saying you wanted to make me obey you. What changed?”
His tone, rough and low, melted into the thick scent of night dominance.
Lana’s whole body went rigid.
–
– cedar, musk, and his wolf’s restrained
For the love of the Moon, he was using his charm again that intoxicating mix of voice and scent she could never defend against. He knew her weaknesses too well. The bastard.
“Lana,” he said again, the name rolling off his tongue like a dark promise. “I’ve never let anyone else take the lead with me. Never. That chance was yours alone. Tell me, do you still want it?”
Her throat worked soundlessly. The golden light from the firepit threw his form into relief – the fine line of muscle, the coiled tension of a predator holding himself back. He was all sharp grace and quiet power, the kind of male who could ruin someone with a look.
And yes, gods help her, he was built exactly to her taste.
She swallowed, trying to keep her mind clear. But every breath she took drew more of his scent, more of that dizzying warmth that made her wolf stir restlessly beneath her skin.
“Lana,” he whispered, his voice a low growl now. “You really don’t want to?”
Her reason cracked like thin ice.
When he tilted his head, the strong line of his throat caught the light, his pulse beating just beneath his skin – and then he brushed his throat against her lips, deliberately.
The control she’d been clinging to snapped.
With a low snarl, Lana surged forward, flipping him beneath her in one quick motion. The furs beneath them rustled as she straddled him, eyes burning gold. “Victor,” she said, voice rough, “tonight, you’ll do what I say.”
A smile touched his lips
–
slow, satisfied, wolfish.
“Fine,” he murmured. “Your call.”
But the glint in his eyes said everything: as long as she only wanted him, he’d let her have all the control
she wanted.
1/
He’d let her think she’d tamed him.
–
As she moved over him, claiming him with fierce, unsteady need, he lay back and watched her the lines of her face lit by moonlight, the tremor of her body, the fire that still burned for him despite all the and wounds between them.
If he’d known she would haunt him this way, he thought, he’d never have let her go in the first place.
But fate had brought her back, and though it was late, it was not too late.
years
When at last she fell asleep, breath soft and shallow against his chest, Victor sat up quietly. He looked down at her the wild, stubborn wolf who had once belonged to him and a shadow crossed his eyes.
–
–
“Don’t make me find out you’ve been hunting two trails, Lana,” he murmured.
Far away, under the same moon, Silas woke with a strangled gasp.
Darkness pressed around him – heavy, absolute. His chest heaved, sweat clinging cold against his skin.
The nightmare lingered like the taste of iron on his tongue.
He had taken the sleeping draught before bed, yet it hadn’t kept the dream at bay. The same dream, the same voices.
“Silas, my son… you will become just like me.”
“No! You’re his son- you’ll turn into the same monster! I should never have borne you!”
The voices tore through his skull like claws, his father’s deep and cruel, his mother’s trembling with hatred and fear. Blood always blood – filled his vision. The moon turned red, and no matter how he ran, it followed.
Stop.
Please, stop.
–
He jerked upright, eyes wide, chest aching with the remnants of panic. The chamber was still, the only sound his ragged breathing. The scent of sweat and fear filled the air – his own.
A nightmare. Again.
He turned his head toward the bed.
Freya still slept, her face calm, touched by silver light spilling through the heavy curtains. There was peace in her expression, the kind that felt distant to him
–
– like sunlight glimpsed from the bottom of a well.
She had once told him, gently, “You’re not your father, Silas. You never will be.”
But even as he watched her now, he felt the old doubt creeping back.
Was it really possible to escape blood? To outrun a legacy carved into his bones?
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Finished
He pressed a hand to his temple. The pain throbbed, deep and familiar.
If the day ever came when I became what he was…
Would Freya still look at him with that same calm, steady gaze? Or would she see only a monster?
The thought twisted something inside him.
Silas rose quietly from the bed, careful not to wake her. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet as he made his way through the darkened hall.
He stopped in front of the washroom’s mirror.
The man who stared back looked almost spectral faintly glowing along his collarbone.
—
skin pale, eyes shadowed, the mark of his bloodline
The reflection mocked him. His father’s eyes. His father’s jaw.
Silas turned on the tap, and icy water gushed over his hands, then his face, spilling down his neck and chest. The shock grounded him a jolt back into the present.
—
Still, the memory clung. Cassian’s visit earlier that day had stirred something deep, something he’d buried long ago.
The past had teeth, and it had found his scent again.
When he finally stepped out of the washroom, dressed and composed, he froze. Freya stood by the doorway, her long hair loose, her expression unreadable in the moonlight.
He blinked. “Did I wake you?”
Her voice was quiet. “Not exactly. I don’t sleep deeply.”
She had felt him leave. Heard the water. And something in her gaze she already knew.
The ghosts in his head weren’t silent tonight.
—
concern, but not pity – told him
Finished
Chapter 367
Third Person’s POV
Under the cold silver light of the moon, Lana stood frozen, her pulse a wild drum beneath her skin.
Victor’s voice was soft, too soft the kind of low, dangerous calm that curled like smoke.
I’m not the sort of male who needs to force anything,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against her check. His lips brushed her ear, a teasing touch that sent a shiver down her spine. “Lana… are you sure you don’t want this? You used to look at me like you couldn’t wait to pin me down. Always saying you wanted to make me obey you. What changed?”
His tone, rough and low, melted into the thick scent of night dominance.
Lana’s whole body went rigid.
–
– cedar, musk, and his wolf’s restrained
For the love of the Moon, he was using his charm again that intoxicating mix of voice and scent she could never defend against. He knew her weaknesses too well. The bastard.
“Lana,” he said again, the name rolling off his tongue like a dark promise. “I’ve never let anyone else take the lead with me. Never. That chance was yours alone. Tell me, do you still want it?”
Her throat worked soundlessly. The golden light from the firepit threw his form into relief – the fine line of muscle, the coiled tension of a predator holding himself back. He was all sharp grace and quiet power, the kind of male who could ruin someone with a look.
And yes, gods help her, he was built exactly to her taste.
She swallowed, trying to keep her mind clear. But every breath she took drew more of his scent, more of that dizzying warmth that made her wolf stir restlessly beneath her skin.
“Lana,” he whispered, his voice a low growl now. “You really don’t want to?”
Her reason cracked like thin ice.
When he tilted his head, the strong line of his throat caught the light, his pulse beating just beneath his skin – and then he brushed his throat against her lips, deliberately.
The control she’d been clinging to snapped.
With a low snarl, Lana surged forward, flipping him beneath her in one quick motion. The furs beneath them rustled as she straddled him, eyes burning gold. “Victor,” she said, voice rough, “tonight, you’ll do what I say.”
A smile touched his lips
–
slow, satisfied, wolfish.
“Fine,” he murmured. “Your call.”
But the glint in his eyes said everything: as long as she only wanted him, he’d let her have all the control
she wanted.
1/
He’d let her think she’d tamed him.
–
As she moved over him, claiming him with fierce, unsteady need, he lay back and watched her the lines of her face lit by moonlight, the tremor of her body, the fire that still burned for him despite all the and wounds between them.
If he’d known she would haunt him this way, he thought, he’d never have let her go in the first place.
But fate had brought her back, and though it was late, it was not too late.
years
When at last she fell asleep, breath soft and shallow against his chest, Victor sat up quietly. He looked down at her the wild, stubborn wolf who had once belonged to him and a shadow crossed his eyes.
–
–
“Don’t make me find out you’ve been hunting two trails, Lana,” he murmured.
Far away, under the same moon, Silas woke with a strangled gasp.
Darkness pressed around him – heavy, absolute. His chest heaved, sweat clinging cold against his skin.
The nightmare lingered like the taste of iron on his tongue.
He had taken the sleeping draught before bed, yet it hadn’t kept the dream at bay. The same dream, the same voices.
“Silas, my son… you will become just like me.”
“No! You’re his son- you’ll turn into the same monster! I should never have borne you!”
The voices tore through his skull like claws, his father’s deep and cruel, his mother’s trembling with hatred and fear. Blood always blood – filled his vision. The moon turned red, and no matter how he ran, it followed.
Stop.
Please, stop.
–
He jerked upright, eyes wide, chest aching with the remnants of panic. The chamber was still, the only sound his ragged breathing. The scent of sweat and fear filled the air – his own.
A nightmare. Again.
He turned his head toward the bed.
Freya still slept, her face calm, touched by silver light spilling through the heavy curtains. There was peace in her expression, the kind that felt distant to him
–
– like sunlight glimpsed from the bottom of a well.
She had once told him, gently, “You’re not your father, Silas. You never will be.”
But even as he watched her now, he felt the old doubt creeping back.
Was it really possible to escape blood? To outrun a legacy carved into his bones?
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Finished
He pressed a hand to his temple. The pain throbbed, deep and familiar.
If the day ever came when I became what he was…
Would Freya still look at him with that same calm, steady gaze? Or would she see only a monster?
The thought twisted something inside him.
Silas rose quietly from the bed, careful not to wake her. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet as he made his way through the darkened hall.
He stopped in front of the washroom’s mirror.
The man who stared back looked almost spectral faintly glowing along his collarbone.
—
skin pale, eyes shadowed, the mark of his bloodline
The reflection mocked him. His father’s eyes. His father’s jaw.
Silas turned on the tap, and icy water gushed over his hands, then his face, spilling down his neck and chest. The shock grounded him a jolt back into the present.
—
Still, the memory clung. Cassian’s visit earlier that day had stirred something deep, something he’d buried long ago.
The past had teeth, and it had found his scent again.
When he finally stepped out of the washroom, dressed and composed, he froze. Freya stood by the doorway, her long hair loose, her expression unreadable in the moonlight.
He blinked. “Did I wake you?”
Her voice was quiet. “Not exactly. I don’t sleep deeply.”
She had felt him leave. Heard the water. And something in her gaze she already knew.
The ghosts in his head weren’t silent tonight.
—
concern, but not pity – told him
Finished
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 368
Freya’s POV
The night air inside keep was heavy with salt and storm. I couldn’t sleep. Something in me-instinct or worry-kept stirring until I finally threw the covers aside and went downstairs. The stone floors were cold beneath my feet, the torches burned low, and the scent of rain drifted in from the sea.
When I reached the lower hall, I saw Silas coming out of the bathing chamber, water still clinging to his hair. Steam followed him into the corridor, and his shirt clung damp to his shoulders.
“You took a shower? At this hour?” I asked quietly.
He glanced at me, voice low. “Nightmare. I was drenched in sweat. The water helps.”
He moved to pass me, but something made me stop him. “Wait.”
I stepped into the chamber he’d left, found a clean towel hanging near the basin, and came back to him. “Your hair’s still wet. The air here is thick with damp-you’ll catch cold.”
He didn’t take the towel. Instead, he bent his head toward me, tall frame lowering until his forehead almost brushed my shoulder. For a heartbeat, he looked less like the Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition and more like a tired wolf waiting to be tended.
I hesitated, then sighed and covered his head with the towel, my fingers working through his hair, rubbing gently until it was half dry. He stood utterly still beneath my hands, the muscles in his neck shifting faintly as he breathed.
When I was almost done, his voice came quietly, close to my ear. “I want a drink. Will you sit with me for a while?”
“It’s the middle of the night,” I said. “Why the sudden urge?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” he answered. “Thought a little firewine might help.”
“Do you often drink when you can’t sleep?”
A faint shake of his head. “Not often. Just tonight.”
I finished with his hair and set the towel aside. He crossed to the bar in the corner of the hall, uncorked a bottle of dark amber liquor, and poured himself a glass. Before I could speak, he threw it back in one gulp.
“Silas-” I reached out, but too late.
He smiled faintly, eyes glinting in the firelight. “Relax. A few drinks won’t break me.” He poured another.
This time, I pressed my fingers over the rim of the glass. “You shouldn’t drown yourself like this. It’s bad for you.”
Something flickered in his gaze-something sharp. “So you do care,” he said softly. “Just like you did today, when you checked my wounds.” His eyes darkened. “Freya, are you sure you don’t care at all?”
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1 hesitated. “If I said I didn’t, that would be a lie. I still care… but I’m trying to let it go. One day, I will.”
Before I could finish, he leaned forward. The kiss barely brushed my lips-light as a breath, quick as a spark-but it froze me in place.
Don’t say it,” he whispered against my mouth. “If you keep talking, I’ll start to think I deserve every bit of this misery.”
I stepped back, heart pounding, trying to steady myself. “Was the Williams project you handed over to Parker a coincidence?” I asked suddenly. “Or did you do that on purpose-so he’d come to the Capital?”
His expression shifted, calm but unguarded. “If I said yes, I did it on purpose… would it matter?”
“Why?”
His answer came without pause. “Because of you. I wanted you close, not wandering from border to border on dangerous assignments. I thought-if you worked here, you could rest. And maybe…” His voice lowered. “Maybe you’d see I’m not the same man you left.”
For a moment, I couldn’t find words. It was the first time he’d spoken his mind so plainly—his calculations laid bare, his intentions stripped of disguise.
I turned away. “Two days from now, you’re supposed to take me back to the mainland. I expect you to keep that promise. And after that-when we meet again-you can call me Freya. Or Thorne. Nothing else.”
The light in his eyes dimmed. “So this is another no?”
I said nothing.
When I started up the stairs, his voice broke the quiet. “No matter what I do, you’ll never come back to me, will you?”
I stopped halfway, hand on the railing. “Silas, you shattered my trust once. Do you know how hard it is to rebuild something like that?”
He took a slow step toward me. “If I knelt right here and begged-if I gave you everything I own, even the Whitmor name itself—you still wouldn’t take me back?”
“I never wanted any of that,” I said quietly.
His gaze turned shadowed, almost feral. “Then who do you want?”
“That’s my business.” I exhaled, turning to leave. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going back to bed.”
“Freya.” His voice stopped me cold. “I could break the deal.”
I turned sharply. “What?”
He stood at the foot of the stairs, eyes burning like molten amber. “I could keep you here. Lock every gate on this island. We’d stay-just the two of us-until you remembered how to love me. Until you believed me again.”
The darkness in his tone chilled me more than the sea wind. I met his gaze steadily. “So that’s it? You’re
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Finished
telling me I’ve lost the gamble?”
He started forward, each step echoing against stone. “You can stop me anytime,” he said. “All you have to do is say you still believe in me. Say you’ll try again.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The air was thick with his scent-storm and steel, the raw scent of dominance barely leashed.
But I held my ground. Because love, when twisted by possession, wasn’t love
anymore.
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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 369
Silas’s POV
“We’re not suited. I can’t trust you completely.”
Those words cut deeper than any blade I’d taken in battle. I told myself she’d calm down, that she just needed time. But when she looked at me again-steady, unflinching-I saw it. The wall. The one she’d built between us.
And then she said it, quiet and merciless: “You really think this island can keep me here?”
That was the moment I realized she knew. She knew about the wards I’d placed on the gates, the guards I’d doubled near the docks. She wasn’t afraid. She was daring me to try.
I laughed, though it came out hoarse. “Complete trust?” I repeated. “Tell me, Freya-who in this world can trust anyone that completely?”
Her eyes didn’t even flicker. “My parents could. They trusted each other without question. I told before-that’s the kind of love I want.”
you
That hit me harder than I expected. I remembered her telling me that years ago, long before everything between us broke. And I had scoffed at it then, too arrogant to believe such a thing existed.
But now, standing before her, all I could think of was how she’d looked that day we first met- steady, composed, carrying that quiet fire inside her that made me want to destroy and worship her at the same time.
“I told you what I wanted from the beginning,” she said. “You knew.”
“Yes,” I said, my voice low, raw. “You did. And I can give it. I can learn to. I can tell you every scheme, every calculation. I’ll strip away every secret I’ve ever had—if that’s what it takes. But must one mistake damn me forever?”
Her lashes trembled, but she didn’t look away. “Silas, what we had is over. I just want you to keep your word. Two days from now, take me back to the mainland. Don’t destroy the last shred of faith I have left in you.”
Then she turned, walking toward her room.
Something inside me snapped.
“Freya,” I said, following her. “Freya, wait.”
She didn’t stop. So I caught up, reached for her, and before I could stop myself, I pulled her
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against me.
“Silas, what are you doing?”
My body moved before reason could interfere. I pressed her down on the bed, caging her there, her heartbeat hammering against mine.
“This isn’t over,” I said, voice rough, half broken. “You and I-we don’t end like this.”
Her eyes widened in shock, her lips parting as I kissed her-desperately, clumsily, greedily— like a man drowning in his own hunger.
Her scent flooded my senses-moonlight and stormfire-and the feel of her skin beneath my hands made every instinct roar to life. I wanted to stop, to breathe, but the thought of her slipping away again drove me half mad.
She struggled beneath me, pushing at my chest with her uninjured arm. “Silas-stop!”
But I couldn’t. Not yet. I needed her to understand-to feel what I felt.
Then pain bloomed across my jaw.
A sharp, echoing crack.
Her hand.
I froze.
Freya was trembling, eyes blazing with fury and something close to heartbreak. “Silas,” she said, her voice shaking, “don’t make me hate you.”
For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
My hand went to my face where she’d struck me, heat spreading across my skin. No one had ever hit me like that-not since I was a boy. But the slap didn’t hurt half as much as her words did.
Hate.
That word burned through me like silver through flesh.
“Would you stop hating me,” I whispered, “if we had a child?”
Her expression froze.
I could hear my own voice, low and hoarse, saying words I didn’t even recognize as mine. “If we had a child, you’d stay. You’d want to give them a family. You wouldn’t walk away from that,
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would you?”
Because Freya-the woman who spent her life saving others-would never abandon her own blood. I knew her too well.
“Freya,” I said, a spark of madness flickering through the fog, “you care so much about family. You’d never let a child grow up without one. Without a father.”
She stared at me, horror dawning in her eyes. “Do you even hear yourself?”
“Of course I do.” My voice cracked. “If that’s what it takes to keep you here-then yes, I’d do it. I’d give you everything. Even if it meant-”
Even if it meant crossing a line I swore I never would.
She moved before I could finish, shoving at my chest with a force that made my ribs ache. Her eyes burned with tears she refused to let fall.
“Silas,” she said, voice trembling, “you’re not saving us. You’re destroying what’s left.”
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 370
Freya’s POV
The sound of the slap echoed through the room-sharp, ringing, final. My palm stung, but I didn’t regret it.
“So that’s what you’ve become, Silas?” I asked, my voice cold, trembling only from fury. “Are you planning to be like your father? And make that child live the same life you did?”
The words struck him like a blade. His body went rigid, eyes widening, all color draining from his face.
For a long, awful heartbeat, he didn’t move.
Like his father.
I hadn’t meant to cut so deep, but the truth was merciless-and maybe he needed to hear it.
He’d always sworn he was different. That he’d never become the kind of man who broke others to keep them close. But a moment ago, the look in his eyes, the desperation in his touch-it was the same sickness. The same darkness his father once carried.
“You…” His voice shook. “You’re not like my mother. You wouldn’t choose death like she did, right?”
My heart twisted, but I didn’t flinch. “No,” I said quietly, coldly. “I wouldn’t. But if you try to force me, I will end it in my own way. I’ll take that child away. I’ll disappear. You’ll never find
us.”
His throat moved, but no sound came. He just stood there, trembling-this man who once commanded armies, who ruled the Ironclad Coalition like an unshakable Alpha, now looking small, fragile, broken.
He knew I wasn’t bluffing.
And for the first time, I saw the terror in his eyes wasn’t anger-it was the realization of what he’d almost done.
“You really hate the idea of being with me again that much?” he whispered. His voice cracked, raw with disbelief. His gaze searched mine, desperate, pleading, dying. “Freya, tell me… is it really that impossible?”
“I don’t hate you,” I said. “But I will never be with someone who tries to take away my choice. Whether I have a child, whether I stay-those are my decisions. Silas, I am not your
mother. And you… you must stop trying to be your father.”
1/3
He closed his eyes.
And then came the sound-his laughter. Low at first, then hollow, unhinged. A laugh that didn’t belong to a man anymore, but to something cornered, something collapsing in on itself.
I could almost see the memory behind it-the lash of a belt, the echo of his father’s voice
just another name for control. calling him useless, the small boy who learned that love wa
When he finally opened his eyes again, they were empty.
“Fine,” he said quietly. “You win. I won’t touch you again. I won’t beg you. You want to leave? Then I’ll make sure you leave. You said it yourself-bridge to bridge, road to road. We’ll go our separate ways.”
He stood, his back turned to me, and walked out of the room.
The silence that followed was deafening.
For a moment, I just stood there, my breath shaking. Then I collapsed back against the bed. Relief should have come-it should have. If he hadn’t stopped, I would’ve had to fight him harder, maybe harder than my body could handle with my shoulder still torn from the last mission.
But what filled me instead was something far more dangerous-an ache.
The look in his eyes before he left-the hollow, defeated look of a man who had lost more than love-haunted me.
I hated that part of me still cared.
By the time I pushed myself up, the house was silent again.
When morning came, Silas was gone.
The storm had passed, leaving the island washed in a pale, salt-tinted light. The air smelled of rain and iron.
Downstairs, the dining hall was empty, but the table had been set. There was coffee still warm in the pot, bread toasted, eggs slightly overcooked. It wasn’t the staff. No one else would dare enter my wing of the keep.
It was him.
Silas had made breakfast.
The smallest, stupidest gesture in the aftermath of a night that nearly broke us both.
2/3
I looked around, searching for any sign of him, but there was nothing. Just the faint scent of his cologne and the lingering aura of his wolf, fading like smoke.
He was avoiding me.
I sat down, forced myself to eat a few bites, but the food turned to ash in my mouth. My gaze drifted toward the window-and that’s when I saw it.
A helicopter.
Parked on the private helipad just beyond the cliffs.
My pulse stumbled.
A helicopter meant contact from the mainland. Rescue. Or trouble.
Cassian wouldn’t come without warning, and Silas never allowed unannounced guests.
I stood abruptly, the chair scraping back, and ran for the door.
When I burst into the courtyard, the wind whipped my hair across my face, and the sound of the rotor blades sliced through the morning air. But no Cassian. No Whitmor guards.
Just one figure, stepping out from the shadow of the hangar.
“Wren?” I called, startled. “What the hell are you doing here?”
3/3
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.