Ch. 396..400: A Warrior Luna's Awakening Chapter 396-400
Chapter 396**
Freya stood still, the weight of Lana’s words hanging in the air like a thick fog.
Perhaps, just perhaps, Lana was onto something.
Maybe it was time for her to cease this frantic escape from the truth that had been gnawing at her insides for weeks on end.
If she couldn’t let go of Silas, then what did that say about her?
Before she could delve deeper into that unsettling thought, Lana’s voice broke through the haze of her contemplation, bright and lively.
“Oh, by the way! In just two days, Whitmore Industries is hosting their annual gathering. You absolutely must prepare and accompany me!”
Freya blinked in surprise, her mind struggling to grasp the sudden shift in conversation. “Annual gathering?”
“Exactly,” Lana replied, leaning casually against her desk, her posture relaxed yet purposeful. “Remember that three-way procurement bidding we discussed? They confirmed it today—SkyVex Armaments won the contract. They always invite their suppliers to this annual celebration, and guess what? The invitation arrived earlier than expected.”
A smile graced Lana’s lips, but her eyes glinted with an underlying intention, a gentle push toward clarity.
“You can use these next few days to really think things through.”
Lana understood Freya better than anyone else. She recognized the admiration Freya held for Kade, a deep respect for him as a fellow warrior from the Iron Fang Recon Unit. Yet, she also sensed that it was a different kind of connection that Freya felt with Silas—one that burrowed deep into her very being, refusing to let go.
“Alright,” Freya replied softly, the decision settling comfortably within her. “I’ll go with you.”
“Wonderful! Then we can pick out your dress together. What about jewelry?” Lana asked, her excitement palpable.
“Just the dress, please. I already have my jewelry,” Freya responded, a hint of finality in her tone.
“Perfect!”
Later that evening, as the world outside her window dimmed into twilight, Freya returned to her room and opened the small, hidden vault beneath her bed. Inside lay a box she rarely dared to touch.
Within its confines rested her mother’s blood-red ruby necklace.
Myra’s necklace.
A tangible piece of her mother’s existence, forever etched in both gemstone and memory.
The ruby gleamed under the soft light, a reminder of her mother’s strength and warmth.
Myra had often recounted how she wore this necklace even during the darkest days of her childhood, when she was lost and alone, a frightened three-year-old who could barely utter her own name. The heavy clothes she wore back then had concealed the precious necklace, a twist of fate that allowed her to keep it safe.
The chain bore a single character, so delicately engraved that it could easily be overlooked: Myra’s family mark from before her adoption. She only remembered being called “Naya,” a name her adoptive parents had changed to Myra when they welcomed her into their lives.
As Myra and Arthur grew, they became inseparable—packmates who blossomed into soulmates. The necklace remained with her throughout her life, through childhood joys, the trials of adulthood, and the battles that shaped her. It bore witness to her laughter, her tears, her losses, and her rebirth. Until that fateful winter in a distant land, when she had to sacrifice it for medicine and food to save fifty orphaned souls.
It was only after Myra’s passing that the necklace found its way back to Freya.
Now, as she held it close, Freya felt her mother’s spirit envelop her, a warm embrace that offered comfort and solace.
If Myra were still alive…
How would she perceive Silas Whitmore?
What words would she offer Freya now, as her daughter stood on shaky ground, torn between the desire to move forward and the fear of retreating?
“Mom…” Freya murmured, her fingers tracing the cool surface of the ruby. “I think I have genuine feelings for Silas. But I’m just… not sure I possess the confidence anymore.”
Deep down, she struggled with self-doubt.
She feared the prospect of rebuilding trust, only to have it shatter once more.
She dreaded the idea of reliving the pain she thought she had left behind after her tumultuous relationship with Caelum Grafton.
The wolf within her let out a long, mournful sigh, echoing her inner turmoil.
Meanwhile, across the city, Duke was entering SkyVex, his shoulders tense with apprehension. He had been invited by Lana to join the company weeks earlier, with the assurance that he would be a perfect fit if he sought stable employment.
At that time, he had turned her down.
Now, he stood before her, clearly uncertain of himself.
“About what you mentioned last time…” he began, his voice barely above a whisper. “Does that offer still stand? Can I still… work here? I—I’m really short on money.”
Lana’s expression softened, empathy flooding her features. “Of course it still counts.”
A visible wave of relief washed over Duke’s face, and he seemed to relax slightly.
“I’ll have my secretary show you around the company,” she continued, her tone encouraging. “You can explore the various departments and see where you might fit best.”
Duke nodded, gratitude shining in his eyes. “Thank you so much.”
“How much do you need?” Lana asked gently, her concern evident. “You mentioned before that a family member was unwell, and that’s why you were working part-time as a model. Just tell me the amount.”
“Two hundred thousand,” he confessed, his voice tinged with embarrassment.
“Send me your bank details. I’ll make the transfer later,” she replied without hesitation.
Duke’s head snapped up, disbelief etched across his features. “You’d really send me two hundred thousand? Aren’t you worried I might not pay you back?”
Lana smiled reassuringly. “If you had felt comfortable asking for help sooner, you would have. But you didn’t. You chose to handle everything on your own first. That’s why I’m not concerned.”
Duke’s cheeks flushed crimson as he absorbed her words.
“When people are struggling, they need a helping hand,” Lana added, her voice steady and warm. “You once helped me out of a dark place. It’s only fair that I extend the same support to you now.”
His eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Thank you… truly.”
After having him complete the necessary onboarding forms, Lana sent him off with her secretary. The moment they departed, she picked up the phone to contact the finance department.
“Transfer three hundred thousand to the account he provided,” she instructed firmly.
A little extra, just in case.
Freya entered Lana’s office just as she finished the call, curiosity piqued.
“Who are you sending money to?” Freya inquired casually, her tone light.
“Duke,” Lana replied, her demeanor shifting to one of business. “An old friend. He’ll be joining the company. Anyway, let’s go find some dresses for the Whitmore celebration.”
“Alright,” Freya agreed, though she was unprepared for what awaited them.
The styling salon they entered was a realm of brightness and luxury, infused with the soothing scent of lavender oils and the elegance of polished marble. Gowns of exquisite design hung from crystal racks, each one shimmering under the soft glow of the chandeliers, reminiscent of moonlit frost.
And then, amidst the glamour, Freya spotted them.
Her brother, Eric Thorne.
And beside him—Jenny Williams.
Jenny clung to Parker Williams’s arm with an air of entitlement, her chin tilted high as she demanded that the boutique present their most opulent gowns.
The sight struck Freya like a bitter gust of winter wind sweeping across the Bloodmoon borders, leaving her momentarily breathless.
Lana exhaled softly beside her, instantly recognizing the brewing trouble.
Chapter 397**
In a charged atmosphere thick with tension, Jenny pivoted sharply, her chin raised defiantly, exuding an unsettling sense of victory. “Oh? Freya actually had the audacity to show up?” Her lips, painted a vivid red, curled into a smug smile. “You genuinely believe that Silas’s earlier defense of you changed anything? I regret to inform you that he has already retracted his words. I will not be cast out from the Williams Family. And mark my words, I will be present at the Whitmor anniversary banquet.”
Freya remained unflinching, her resolve unshaken. Naturally, Silas had spoken to the Williams; he had assured her of that.
With a calm demeanor, she turned her attention to the young man standing beside her.
“Brother.”
Parker’s body stiffened at the endearing term, a melody from their shared past that echoed in the recesses of his mind. “Freya… you’ve endured a lot,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble, heavy with an unspoken burden. There was a poignant understanding between them; he was acutely aware that Silas’s retreat was a consequence of Freya’s confrontation with him. He recognized the price she had paid for it.
Freya blinked, momentarily taken aback. It had been years since he had addressed her in such a tender manner, and for a fleeting instant, warmth flickered in her chest.
But Jenny was quick to interject, her voice sharp and accusatory. “What did you just call her?”
“She’s my sister,” Parker replied, his gaze unwavering, a steely resolve evident in his demeanor. “I call her Freya. Is there a problem with that?”
“Sister?” Jenny’s expression contorted in disbelief, a storm brewing within her. “Wait—have you regained your memories?”
Parker, unfazed, responded quietly, “Even without the memories, DNA doesn’t lie.” He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. “And the things she told me… the history we once shared… I can piece it all together.”
Panic washed over Jenny’s face, quickly replaced by a darkness that loomed like an approaching tempest. “Your sister is me. Don’t forget your place.”
“My sister was never you,” Parker shot back, his voice slicing through the tension like a knife. “The only reason you’re even here is that you can heal Lina.”
Jenny straightened, her triumph returning, even more pronounced. “Exactly. And since you just admitted it—I’m the only one who can save Lina, which means Freya should kneel. Here. Now. And apologize.”
Parker’s expression hardened, a mask of cold fury. “Jenny, enough. I have complied with your every demand—everything. Don’t push me to my limits again.”
“Oh, I will push them,” she hissed, a dangerous edge creeping into her tone. “Unless you want Lina to die.”
Parker clenched his jaw, his breath trembling with suppressed rage. “If someone must kneel, then I—”
He began to lower himself, the weight of despair pressing down on him.
In an instant, Freya surged forward, faster than a breath could escape, her hand clamping onto his arm with a force that belied her slender frame. Her wolf flickered to life within her; her eyes shimmered with a silvery intensity.
“So,” she spoke softly, yet her words held an undercurrent of steel, “you wish for me to be on my knees?”
Jenny’s smirk widened, a cruel twist of satisfaction. “Of course. If not for you, I wouldn’t have faced near expulsion. You’ve made me lose face. Shouldn’t you pay for that?”
Freya’s laughter rang out—cold, crystalline, and sharp enough to cut through the tension. “And you believe you deserve that?”
Jenny’s confidence wavered, flickering like a candle struggling against a gust of wind.
“You speak of saving Lina,” Freya continued, her voice dropping to a dangerously calm whisper. “But you’re not the only possible match. Her illness has a full year’s window. In the Ironclad Coalition alone, thousands register marrow matches every day. Beyond that, the Northern High Courts, Ashbourne, Bluemoon, Silverfang—do you truly think no one will strive to find a match for a soldier’s daughter?”
Jenny’s throat constricted, her breath catching. “B-but what if… what if I truly am the only one?”
“Then as long as you draw breath,” Freya stepped closer, her presence commanding, “there will always be ways to restrain you and extract what’s needed.”
Jenny’s breath hitched, her wolf retreating in fear.
“That would be a crime,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Donor procedures require… require full consent.”
“Of course,” Freya replied, her tone eerily calm. “So if you refuse… I will commit the crime.”
Her demeanor was unsettlingly serene. “And I will surrender myself afterward.”
The killing intent radiating from her was palpable—not a mere theatrical display, but the fierce spirit of a wolf from the Stormveil Pack’s Fifth Lineage, the daughter of Myra, whose blood pulsed with the wildness of the old ways, a soldier of the Iron Fang Recon Unit who had survived missions that many wolves did not return from.
Jenny’s legs buckled beneath her, nearly sending her crashing to the ground.
With an air of complete dismissal, Freya turned away. “Parker, Lana and I are going to choose our gowns.”
Parker finally exhaled, a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. For the first time in days, clarity washed over him: his sister had transformed into someone far more resilient, far more resolute than he remembered.
Jenny remained frozen, her mind racing, grappling with the implications of what had just transpired. It was only when Freya reemerged from the fitting hall—now adorned in an elegant moon-blue gown that flowed around her with effortless grace—that Jenny snapped back into motion.
Lana approached, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Freya, your necklace—why don’t you try it on with the gown?”
Freya nodded, reaching into her case with a graceful fluidity. She retrieved the ruby pendant—Myra’s relic—its ancient craftsmanship glowing faintly under the Auric Lamps. As she clasped it around her neck, the gem nestled perfectly against her collarbone, radiating an aura of timeless beauty.
On Freya, the necklace appeared as if it were a flame, flickering through the centuries.
Jenny’s gaze fixated on it, a chill creeping up her spine.
The blood drained from her face, leaving her pale and shaken.
Impossible.
That necklace—its intricate pattern, its ruby heart, its unmistakable setting—was nearly identical to the heirloom the Williams Family had been desperately searching for since the Second Era. A piece intertwined with old promises, ancient debts, and long-buried betrayals.
Was it mere coincidence?
Or—
Her throat tightened, a tremor coursing through her fingers as realization dawned.
Chapter 398**
In the shadows of the dimly lit room, a sense of foreboding hung thick in the air. Most wolves, if they were honest with themselves, would have brushed it off as mere coincidence—an imitation, nothing more than a clever ruse.
After all, replicas of rare relics were a common occurrence. Freya’s ruby necklace could easily be dismissed as yet another shrewd imitation, crafted from an old design that once belonged to the illustrious Williams Family.
But the true heirloom of the Williams line had vanished without a trace fifty years ago, disappearing alongside the Alpha’s younger sister—Everett’s only sibling—on that fateful night when she fled into the treacherous borderlands, never to be seen again.
The Williams Family had been searching ever since, their hearts heavy with the weight of loss.
Searching for Naya.
Searching for the necklace.
Because if they ever found one, they might finally uncover the other.
The heirloom had been the cherished dowry of the former Luna, a masterpiece crafted by the most skilled artificers of the William Dominion. It was forged with moon-silver, a metal known for its ability to resist corruption. Naya had cherished it dearly as a child, so much so that the Luna had fastened it around her young daughter’s neck as a precious keepsake. That necklace had been one of a kind. No duplicate existed in any marketplace across the vast continent.
Which was precisely why Lana froze mid-adjustment as she helped fasten the ruby pendant around Freya’s delicate throat.
“Wait—Freya, hold still for a moment,” Lana urged, leaning in closer. “There’s… something etched into the chain. It’s tiny, but I swear there’s a letter.”
Freya blinked, lowering her chin slightly to get a better look.
“It’s a name,” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur. “Brown. It was on the necklace when my grandfather found my mother. She was just a baby then. They used the word ‘Brown’ as her surname because it was the only clue they had about her identity.”
Lana exhaled softly, a wave of sympathy washing over her. She already knew the story—the tale of Freya’s mother, Myra, who had been an orphan taken in by the Thorne family of the Stormveil Pack’s fifth branch.
In those unforgiving decades, orphaned pups were far too common; the wars had torn Packs apart, scorched territories, and claimed countless wolfborn lives. Freya’s mother had been one of the fortunate few—found, sheltered, raised with care.
But just a few steps away, Jenny had caught every word, her heart sinking as the implications unfolded.
Her blood ran cold at the mention of that name.
Brown.
The very surname engraved into the Williams Family heirloom had been Brown—the Luna’s maiden name before she had married into the Alpha line.
Her breath hitched in her throat, and a storm of thoughts raged through her mind.
If this necklace was indeed the same heirloom…
If Freya’s mother had been found with it…
Then Freya’s mother might not have been an orphan at all.
She might have been Naya.
The lost wolf-sister of the Williams Family.
Jenny’s face drained of color, her stomach twisting with dread and something far more sinister—fear.
If that were true, then Parker Williams, the heir the family had long believed lost, shared blood with Freya.
And Freya—
the girl Jenny had always dismissed, always belittled—
would be the trueborn descendant of the Williams Alpha line, the rightful heiress.
The current family head had never married and had no children.
This meant the closest blood ties remaining could very well be…
Freya Thorne.
Eric Thorne.
They, not Jenny, would be the ones standing closest to the Williams legacy.
If their identities were confirmed, every single plan Jenny had—marrying into Parker’s line, securing the family’s wealth, solidifying her status—would come crashing down like a house of cards.
No.
She could never allow that to happen.
If the necklace was the key, then it had to be destroyed.
Before anyone else could lay eyes on it.
Before Parker could unlock any more memories.
Before Freya could be recognized for who she truly was.
Her eyes narrowed, turning feral and cold.
She had to act.
Across the hall, Parker’s gaze was fixed on Freya, who stood in her gown, the ruby pendant glowing like captured fire against her skin.
And then—
his vision blurred, reality warping around him.
A different figure emerged, overlapping with Freya’s: a woman clad in a faded floral dress, sunlight dancing in her smile, the same red gem resting above her heart.
“Do you like it?” she had asked, her voice warm and inviting.
“Yeah,” his youthful voice had replied, timid and earnest. “It’s pretty.”
A shard of pain split through Parker’s skull, sharp and unexpected.
He staggered, clutching his head as sweat broke out across his forehead.
Images crashed over him—violent, unbidden memories.
His mother, kneeling amidst the wreckage of a war-torn outpost.
Explosions shook the very ground as she pressed the necklace into the hands of a foreign traveler.
Her voice trembled, laced with desperation.
Her scent—wolfborn, warm, fading.
Even then, he had understood the necklace’s significance.
It was proof of her bloodline.
The only link she had to her origins—her true family.
Yet she had sacrificed it for food. For medicine. For survival.
Parker had made a promise that day, one etched into the very marrow of his bones:
I will find it again. No matter how long it takes. I will bring it back to her.
His knees buckled under the weight of the memories.
A voice cut through the haze, sharp and concerned.
“Parker! Parker, what’s wrong?!”
Small hands gripped his arm—Freya’s hands, grounding and familiar.
He forced his eyes open, her scent wrapping around him like a warm embrace—soft, pack-kin, the scent he had ignored for far too long.
“I… remembered something,” he murmured hoarsely, the words spilling out like a broken dam.
“Memories of our mother. She… she used to wear this necklace.”
Freya froze, her eyes wide with hope and disbelief.
“You… you remembered?” Her voice trembled, filled with a mixture of fear and excitement. “Parker, are you sure? You really remember?”
He nodded faintly, pulling her into a tight embrace, as if he could shield her from the world.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice rough and raw. “I forgot too much. And I came back too late.”
Late to return to the Pack lands before their parents were buried.
Late, and so convinced he wasn’t a Thorne at all.
Late, and blind to the danger Freya had faced while protecting him—taking a bullet for him, while he denied her as kin.
“Not late,” Freya sobbed softly into his chest, her tears soaking through his shirt. “You’re here now. That’s enough, Parker. No matter what you remember or don’t—
you’re my brother. You always will be.”
Her wolf’s emotions rippled through her scent—relief, grief, joy all tangled together like a beautiful tapestry.
Parker held her tighter, anchoring himself to the moment.
This time, he did not let go.
Across the hall, Jenny Williams watched with a darkening expression, her heart pounding with dread.
No.
This could not happen.
If Parker regained his memories…
If the Pack elders examined the necklace…
If they traced the Brown engraving…
Freya would rise, and Jenny’s ambitions would crumble into dust.
She clenched her fists until her nails bit into her palms, the pain grounding her in reality.
She would destroy that necklace if she had to rip it off Freya’s throat herself.
As night settled over the District, wolf-lamps flickering low against the encroaching darkness, a palpable tension filled the air.
Inside Freya’s room, Lana hung up the pale moon-silk gown Freya had worn earlier, the fabric shimmering faintly in the dim light. The gemstone lay on its velvet stand, catching the light in a way that made it appear almost alive.
“Your brother’s incredible,” Lana remarked, glancing at Freya, her eyes sparkling with admiration.
“He saw you liked the dress and bought it without a second thought.”
Freya smiled softly, warmth blooming in her chest.
Eric had always been good to her—when he wasn’t lost in denial or drowning in the shadows of a past he couldn’t remember.
But tonight, something had shifted.
Tonight, he had remembered something.
Something precious.
The moment he laid eyes on the ruby necklace—their mother’s necklace—
the floodgates of memories had burst open.
“Yeah,” Freya whispered, her fingers brushing against the ruby’s surface, feeling its warmth.
“He… remembered because of this piece.”
Chapter 399**
Freya sat in contemplative silence, her thoughts weaving through the past like a gentle breeze stirring the leaves of an ancient forest. The idea of taking Parker back to the places of their childhood—those familiar paths where they had once roamed freely, and the wolves they had known as friends—seemed to pulse with potential. Perhaps, just perhaps, revisiting those sacred spaces could spark a flicker of memory in her brother’s mind, buried beneath layers of time and trauma. Memories, delicate as gossamer threads, could be revived by the scent of familiarity, the rhythm of old territories, and the echoes of laughter shared with their packmates. These elements might awaken even the most deeply suppressed recollections, coaxing them back into the light.
Her reverie was abruptly interrupted by Lana’s voice, a soft yet pointed observation cutting through her thoughts. “By the way… don’t you find Jenny’s look at you earlier a bit… peculiar?” she murmured, reclining against the wall with an air of casual curiosity.
Freya tilted her head, the question hanging in the air like a charged current. “Peculiar? She has never been one to regard me favorably, has she?”
A glimmer of amusement danced in Lana’s dark eyes, a flicker of mischief. “True enough, but this was different. In the past, she merely wore that thin veneer of hostility. Today, after you donned your gown, the way she scrutinized you… it was pure venom. You would think you had annihilated her entire lineage. I swear, I’ve never encountered eyes so… toxic.”
A faint smirk played on Freya’s lips, a mixture of defiance and amusement. “Who can truly decipher what lies in her heart? It matters little to me. I refuse to remain passive.”
“Still,” Lana cautioned softly, her tone turning serious, “individuals like her—like Jenny—are best kept at a distance. Trusting them is a dangerous game.”
Freya nodded, her fingers curling tightly around the velvet box containing her mother’s ruby necklace, a symbol of both love and loss. “I understand,” she replied, her voice low and edged with a dangerous resolve. “Once she has contributed bone marrow to save Parker’s life… if she dares to lay a finger on me, I will show no mercy.”
Lana’s expression darkened, indignation flaring in her gaze. “She is fortunate, really. If it weren’t for her ability to save Parker, she would have already faced exile from the Williams Family. You have shown remarkable restraint.”
Freya offered a small smile, though it was tinged with a hint of sadness. “This isn’t merely about me. Parker is my only family. His life, and the lives of those who protect him, are my responsibility. I must shield them at all costs.”
Lana leaned against the doorway, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You know, there might still be family on your mother’s side. Myra was separated from her kin, which led to her adoption by the Thorne family. Considering her age back then, she could have had siblings. Families often had multiple pups at once.”
Freya’s smile faded, replaced by a shadow of sorrow. “It’s not that straightforward. My grandparents once attempted to locate her family, but they were unsuccessful. Time has slipped away… and besides, my mother is no longer with us. If her relatives still exist, learning the truth might only bring them more pain.”
Lana nodded thoughtfully, the weight of the truth settling between them. “Yes… that is a harsh reality.”
Freya’s fingers brushed over the soft fabric of the box, her thoughts drifting to her mother. She had yearned for the day she would find her family, but all that had awaited her was disappointment. If any of that bloodline still lingered, would they even have the desire to seek her out? Or had they long since abandoned hope, pretending that Myra had never existed?
Meanwhile, in the Whitmor estate, Silas reclined in a high-backed leather chair, the pale moonlight spilling across the mahogany floor like a silken sheet. A cigarette smoldered between his long fingers, the smoke curling into thin, silvery tendrils that shimmered against the enveloping darkness.
“You know that smoking at this hour won’t help you sleep,” a voice interjected, slicing through the stillness like a knife.
Silas turned lazily, his blue-gray eyes glinting with coldness as he regarded the newcomer. “I didn’t summon you.”
“You are my patient. I came to check on your well-being,” Vaughn replied, stepping into the dim light. His boots whispered softly against the polished stone, a stark contrast to the tension that hung thick in the air.
Silas chose to ignore him, reaching for the glass of amber whiskey on the table. He lifted it to his lips in one smooth, deliberate motion, draining it in a single gulp. The burn of the alcohol chased away the acrid taste of smoke, forming a numbing barrier against the restless thoughts that plagued him.
Vaughn’s lips pressed into a thin line, his concern barely masked. “You truly have no regard for your life, do you? Smoking, drinking… it seems you’re intent on hastening your own demise.”
“Perhaps if I drink enough, I might finally find some semblance of sleep,” Silas replied, his voice flat and detached, as if he were discussing the weather rather than the state of his existence. “Since the medicine you prescribe is ineffective, why not grant me this small indulgence?”
Vaughn’s eyes narrowed, the intensity of his gaze barely contained. “No medication can truly help now. If you cannot release your grip on Freya, why not take advantage of her concern? Allow her to support your recovery. Let her stand by your side willingly.”
Silas’s jaw tightened, irritation flaring within him. “And then what? I manipulate her empathy, she reluctantly stays, I find temporary solace, and then she departs again? It’s a never-ending cycle of suffering. How utterly amusing.”
He leaned back in his chair, smoke curling lazily from his lips, the moonlight casting sharp reflections in his eyes, making them appear both fierce and predatory. He had played this game before, exploiting every vulnerability, every shred of sympathy. Her pity, her fleeting trust, her affection—all had been turned into weapons. He had hidden his wolfborn nature, presenting only the face she adored. Yet, in the end, it had not been enough to keep her by his side. Once trust was fractured, it could never fully mend.
“Do you truly believe this cycle will be endless? Perhaps this time you could… retain her,” Vaughn suggested quietly, his tone almost teasing, yet laced with a dark conspiratorial edge. “If you feel guilty about exploiting her pity, then perhaps I could step in as the villain—bind her to your side, ensure you sleep soundly, even if just for one night—”
Before Vaughn could finish, Silas sprang to his feet with the reflexive swiftness of a wolf. One hand shot out, closing around Vaughn’s throat with the strength of ironclad claws, his grip unyielding.
“Do not touch her,” Silas growled, his eyes blazing with a feral intensity. The room seemed to constrict around them, the shadows deepening under the weight of his presence.
Chapter 400**
**Third Person’s POV**
Silas’s fingers, long and graceful, flexed with a latent power that hinted at the strength of a wolf ready to pounce. Yet, across from him, Vaughn wore an expression of calm arrogance, his eyes shimmering with a challenge that dared Silas to act. “Silas,” he remarked lightly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, “for generations, my family, the Graftons, have stood by the Whitmors. To us, the lives entwined with Whitmor blood are sacred. So, when faced with the choice between ‘you succumb to sleepless nights and the torment of your own mind’ or ‘making a move on Freya,’ my decision is unmistakable—I will choose ‘making a move on Freya.'”
A shadow passed over Silas’s features, his gaze turning predatory, sharp as a knife’s edge. “If you even think of laying a finger on her, Vaughn, despite our shared childhood, I swear I will not hold back.”
Vaughn tilted his head, his smirk deepening as he studied Silas’s face. “Then why not act like any true Whitmor would? Use all the tricks at your disposal, manipulate her, twist her will to align with yours. The Whitmors are never short of cunning when it comes to those they cherish.”
Silas’s expression hardened, the wolf inside him stirring with a low growl. “So, just because the Whitmors can be merciless in their desire to protect what they hold dear, I should forsake my principles and become ruthless as well?”
For a fleeting moment, Vaughn’s confidence wavered, sensing the tempest brewing within Silas. The Alpha released his grip, his gaze drawn upward to the night sky, where the moon hung like a watchful guardian over Deepmoor City. Stars flickered dimly, overshadowed by the haze of city lights. “Yes,” Silas murmured softly, the wolf within him restless, “I could unleash a torrent of ruthlessness. I could devise countless schemes to ensure Freya never strays from my side, not even for a heartbeat. But if I did that… all she would feel is loathing. And I—I lack the fortitude to confront her hatred.”
Vaughn’s smirk faltered, genuine surprise flickering across his features. For the first time, he heard Silas Whitmor utter four simple words that carried a weight heavier than any command: I do not have the courage. The truth was undeniable: Freya Thorne. She was his lifeline, the anchor that kept him from spiraling into the chaos of endless nights.
“When we were together,” Silas continued, his voice low and heavy with the burden of memory, “I yearned to be a better man. Even in our separation, I wanted her to remember me as someone worthy. So, do not lay a hand on her. If you do, I cannot guarantee what I might do… the things the wolf might unleash, the things the man might succumb to. And…” He paused, his fingers brushing over a beaded bracelet on his wrist, worn smooth from constant contact. It had belonged to her. Freya had gifted it to him. Through every sleepless night and every shadow of solitude, that bracelet had been a beacon of her presence, keeping him tethered and preventing him from falling completely into the abyss of his mind. Perhaps it was the reason he remained as sane as someone like him could be.
“Do you understand the taste of both victory and defeat? Of feeling the sky crash down upon you?” Silas’s voice transformed into a growl, primal and low. “I have. I have endured that hell. And if I am ripped from it again, only to be cast back into that darkness with even greater force… I might truly become a monster.”
Vaughn stood silent, awe-struck. What did Freya Thorne represent to Silas? A savior? A curse? A divine gift? If she were to vanish forever, what kind of beast would Silas transform into? The mere thought sent a chill racing through Vaughn’s veins.
The anniversary celebration of the Whitmor Group had arrived, a dazzling affair that attracted the most powerful packs, corporate dynasties, and elite wolfborn of the city. Freya and Lana stepped from their sleek black wolf-forged limousine into the crisp night air, the world around them alive with anticipation. Lana wore a gown of crimson silk that shimmered brilliantly under the lantern lights of the Grand Meridian Plaza, while Freya’s champagne-colored dress flowed around her like moonlight dancing upon a still river. The ruby necklace resting at her throat glimmered like a captured flame, drawing the attention of every onlooker. It was a subtle roar amidst the gentleness—a mark of the wolf and the unbreakable bond that existed between them.
“Do you think Jenny will make an appearance tonight?” Lana murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “With her… antics… and the way she acts around Parker…”
Freya’s dark eyes remained calm yet alert, her wolf instincts on high alert. “With her temperament, she is almost certain to show up.”
“Do you think she’ll attempt something?” Lana’s voice dropped, laced with tension. “She’s been flaunting her ability to save Parker’s ward, acting as if everyone’s lives were mere pawns in her game.”
A faint smile crossed Freya’s lips, predatory in its calm confidence. “All weapons, in time, return to their wielder. Today marks the Whitmor Group anniversary. I doubt she possesses the courage to provoke Silas tonight.”
“Let’s hope so,” Lana sighed, her relief mingling with a lingering tension.
Meanwhile, Parker and Jenny sat in the back of a sleek black hovercar, weaving through the bustling city streets toward the celebration. Jenny fidgeted, biting her lip, her golden eyes darting repeatedly to Parker. She felt a knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach at the thought of Freya appearing adorned with the ruby necklace tonight. That single piece of jewelry, a remnant of her mother’s legacy, had the potential to unravel everything Jenny had meticulously plotted. No matter the cost, she silently vowed, that necklace must never come to the patriarch’s attention. Tonight, she would act decisively if it meant eliminating the threat.
As the limousine arrived, Parker stepped out first, the Alpha of the Williams Family, his wolfborn instincts guiding him effortlessly through the throng as he searched for his sister. He needed no words; the scent of kinship, of shared blood, led him directly to her. There she was—Freya, emerging from her own vehicle, her hair cascading around her shoulders, the ruby necklace glowing like a heartbeat against her fair skin.
“Freya,” Parker greeted simply, his voice low and rich, imbued with the protective growl of a wolf prepared to defend his pack at all costs.
“Parker,” Freya responded, lifting her chin, sensing the fierce predator within him, yet recognizing the gentle wolf beneath the Alpha’s composed exterior. Her gaze instinctively flicked to the other presence nearby—a shadow of poison in the form of Jenny’s glare. But Freya’s attention quickly returned to her brother, every instinct aligning with his protective aura.
Jenny’s gaze, however, remained fixed, not on Freya’s face but on the necklace that adorned her throat. A ruby fire she longed to possess, a connection she could not sever—yet, not yet.
From across the plaza, a second limousine glided in silently, sleek as a shadow on the hunt. From its doors stepped Everett Williams.
Jenny froze, her heart pounding in her chest.