Ch. 71..75: A Warrior Luna's Awakening Chapter 71-75
Chapter 71
The moment Aurora saw Caelum Grafton stride into the terminal hall, she surged forward and threw herself into his arms. Her wolf trembled beneath her skin, eyes glistening as she looked up at him.
“Caelum… you’re angry with me too, aren’t you? You think I was reckless today?” Her voice was low, almost pleading. “But I swear, it wasn’t about Freya Thorne. I was only thinking of pack security, of safety. That’s all.”
Her grip on him tightened. “I know… I misjudged, I didn’t hold back when I should have, and things spun out of control.”
Then, as if her fangs could only sink into one scapegoat, she hissed, “But if Freya had spoken up sooner–if she had told everyone those ashes were her parents‘, war martyrs of the Iron Fang Recon Unit–none of this would’ve happened! She wanted me to stumble. She wanted to see me humiliated.”
Aurora placed the blame neatly on Freya’s shoulders, her wolf snarling softly behind the words.
Caelum looked down at the woman in his arms, his Alpha gaze steady. “But Aurora, didn’t Freya’s friend call out, right there, that the ashes were from fallen warriors? You just… didn’t believe them.”
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Aurora stiffened in his embrace, her expression faltering. “Caelum… are you taking her side now? Didn’t you once vow that, no matter the circumstances, you would always stand with me?”
His lips pressed into a thin, grim line. He didn’t give her the affirmation she wanted. Instead, he said, “Let’s sit somewhere. Have something to eat.”
Aurora nodded, but her eyes flickered dangerously the moment he turned away. His attitude was shifting. Was it because of what Freya had whispered before she walked away from him?
Doubt was creeping into the Alpha’s heart–and that doubt could unravel everything.
They settled in a private corner of a small restaurant near the terminal, two untouched cups of coffee between them. Aurora broke the silence first, forcing lightness into her tone.
“Because of today, the Airborne Wing has grounded me for a time. I’ll be suspended, at least until tempers cool. But I’ve been thinking–maybe it’s for the best. I’ll finally have the time to accompany you to Ashbourne, introduce you to my mother’s kin. It’ll strengthen bonds between Silverfang and Bluemoon. The packs could both benefit.”
Caelum lifted his cup, but the bitter taste of coffee couldn’t drown the question burning inside him.
His eyes lifted, sharp as a wolf’s strike. “Aurora, I need the truth. That night by the river–the night I was dragged from the water, bleeding out from eight blade wounds–who was it that saved me?”
Aurora’s face drained of color.
“Caelum, what are you saying? You doubt me? Because of Freya’s parting words?” Her voice cracked, both wounded and furious, her wolf bristling with indignation.
“No. No, Aurora.” His voice softened, almost frantic. “I’m not accusing you. I just… I just want clarity. To understand what really happened.”
Aurora forced her tone into something calm, almost scolding. “Clarity? Caelum, it was plain. I saw you in the river. I pulled you out. The medics took you to the healers. You lived because I acted. Everyone saw it. Everyone knows.”
Her words rang with practiced certainty, but sweat beaded cold in her palms.
Caelum’s jaw clenched. “And yet… Freya knew. She knew I had fallen, that I had taken eight knives to the flesh. I never told her. No one from Silverfang ever told her. And still she knew.”
Aurora’s wolf,faltered. Her reply slipped out sharper than she intended: “Then ask her how she knew!”
She bit down hard, cursing herself. If Caelum confronted Freya, the truth would crack wide open. Desperately, she reined in her wolf and smoothed her voice. “What happened that night wasn’t exactly secret. Your classmates knew, the hospital staff knew, the healers talked. News spreads through the packs. Freya must’ve heard it from
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someone. If she were truly your savior, why would she hide it? Why never once claim it until now?”
Caelum said nothing, but silence pressed between them heavier than stone.
If Freya had been the one, why hadn’t she spoken sooner? Why had Aurora been the one he saw when his eyes opened?
Aurora leaned closer, her wolf gaze searching his. “Don’t you see? Freya must have heard whispers, and now she uses them to wedge herself between us. She wants to break your faith in me. That’s all.”
Still, Caelum could not shake the images that haunted him: Freya astride at Runestone Grounds, Freya gripping the yoke of an aircraft, Freya standing alone against a dozen attackers, protecting her parents‘ ashes with teeth bared and wolf unyielding.
He had once thought Aurora’s poise, her valor, unmatched. But now… Freya’s fire seemed to eclipse hers.
Seeing his silence, Aurora’s voice broke into a desperate snarl. “If you truly want to believe Freya Thorne, then go ahead. But I told you from the start–I never wanted reward. Saving you was instinct, nothing more. I never asked to be your savior. The only thing I ever cared about was your trust. If one word from Freya can shatter that, then I’d rather I had never touched you that night at all.”
She rose abruptly, turning as though to leave.
But Caelum caught her wrist, his grip firm. “No–Aurora, forgive me. It was wrong of me to doubt. When you saved me, I was nothing, stripped of rank and strength. I know it was your wolf’s compassion. I know it.”
Aurora held his gaze, her wolf steadying at last. She softened her voice into a velvet blade. “Then remember that, Caelum. I never cared to be your savior. I only care that you believe me. If Freya’s words can unmake that… then perhaps you never believed at all.”
Chapter 72
A flicker of guilt shadowed Caelum’s wolf–gold eyes.
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Yes. Back then, when he had nothing–no rank, no forge, no authority–Aurora had saved him. What reason would the daughter of Bluemoon’s Beta have to lie about something as sacred as being a wolf’s savior?
It must be Freya, he thought grimly. She must have caught whispers of the incident, and chose to use them now–just to wound him, to drive a wedge into his bond with Aurora.
His voice came steady, resolute, carrying the weight of an Alpha’s vow. “Aurora, I believe you. To me, there has only ever been one wolf who pulled me from the river’s jaws. My savior is you.”
He shouldn’t doubt her again. To doubt was to slash her heart open with his own claws.
Relief spread across Aurora’s face, her lips curving into a victorious smile. “Good. Then don’t ever question me again, Caelum. If you do… I won’t forgive you.”
“Never again,” he swore.
And yet, deep in his chest, his wolf stirred restlessly, claws raking at his ribs with unease.
Aurora had offered to bring him to Ashbourne, to meet her kin of the Bluemoon Pack. But Ashbourne was also the soil of Freya’s bloodline–the ancestral ground of the Stormveil Pack.
Perhaps there, he would cross paths with her. If so, he would demand answers from Freya herself. Why had she chosen to strike him with that truth like a blade? Why attempt to deceive him–if deception it was?
When Freya Thorne disembarked the plane, Silas Whitmor walked at her side. She had intended to check into her own lodging, but Silas was not a wolf to be swayed.
“You’ve agreed to serve as my shield for three moons,” the Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition reminded her, voice low and implacable. “A guardian wolf does not nest apart. You’ll stay with me.”
Freya frowned, her hand resting lightly on the wooden ùrn in her lap. “Tomorrow, I begin the rites for my parents. I’ll be consumed by it, Silas. Living under your roof will… complicate things.”
Silas’s silver gaze was calm, unyielding. “I told you before–I do not need you shadowing me every hour. Protect me when you can. Beyond that, your time is your own. But three months is three months, Freya. You swore it to Aldred, and I will hold you to it.”
Her lips parted, then closed. He was right. She had sworn.
“…Very well,” she conceded at last. Three moons would pass swiftly enough.
The driver awaiting them was a local wolf of Ashbourne. After they loaded their things, Silas gave a curt order: straight to one of the city’s finest dens of food.
Freya settled into the back seat, her gaze sliding to the window. Ashbourne was nothing like ‘The Capital. Here, the air was gentler, rivers winding like veins of silver, streets shaded with heavy green, low buildings rising between weeping willows. Memories stirred like ghosts in her chest.
She had left Ashbourne as a child, trailing Arthur Thorne and Myra Brown to The Capital. The Stormveil Pack’s roots had grown distant for her. She had returned once as a teenager, with her parents, to honor the ancestors. After that, duty and studies had always kept her away.
Three years ago, before Arthur and Myra deployed with the Iron Fang Recon Unit, they had promised her. “When this is done, we’ll return to Ashbourne together.”
Now, she returned–but only with their ashes.
Her fingers brushed the urn, and her wolf keened softly in her chest.
Suddenly, a familiar landmark caught her eye beyond the glass. A weathered ancestral hall stood proud against the bustle of
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the city streets.
“The Stormveil Hall…” Her breath left her in a whisper.
The driver caught her words and gave a nod. “Aye, that’s the Thorne family’s ancestral ground. The Stormveil Pack are old blood here in Ashbourne. Thirty years past, when the real estate lords rose, a developer came waving two hundred million to claim that land. He even brought gangs to back his demand.
“But the Stormveil wolves answered. Kin came from every corner of the land, swearing that no coin would ever buy their ancestor’s soil. They drew lots of blood–oaths–wolves willing to lay down their lives so the Hall would stand. One elder, your grandsire perhaps, refused to draw lots at all. He simply bared his blade and declared, ‘My son is grown, my wife gone to the Moon. I have no ties left. I’ll be the one to spill blood for the Hall.“”
The driver’s voice carried reverence. “That was the day the city learned: Stormveil wolves do not sell their dead. The developers fled with tails tucked, and no wolf since has dared cast greedy eyes upon that Hall.”
Freya’s chest tightened. Yes. Arthur had told her of that day–how her grandfather’s silhouette had been a hero’s, standing before the Hall, daring death itself. Stormveil blood was not rich, but it was unyielding, united. That was the marrow of her pack.
The car rolled past, and Freya’s palm tightened around the urn. She would bring her parents back to Stormveil Hall, back to the stones her grandfather had bled to defend. It was their rightful place.
At her side, Silas Whitmor cast her a sidelong glance, something unspoken flickering in his eyes.
Moments later, the car arrived at the restaurant. They stepped into its polished interior. But before Freya could gather her bearings, a voice rang sharp and lilting across the hall.
“Silas? What brings you to Ashbourne?”
Freya’s head lifted. Approaching was a young woman with an oval face framed by sleek hair, golden–rimmed spectacles perched on her nose. Her body gleamed with the newest fashions, her wolf scent thick with wealth and ambition. Even her jewelry sang of high value.
Freya stilled, her wolf bristling faintly. Whoever this female was, she clearly knew Silas–and did not expect to find him here.
Chapter 73
Third Person’s POV
The woman’s face, pale and almost sickly, drew Freya’s wolf into cautious alert. Behind her trailed a small group of peers, all moving with the same purposeful step.
Silas Whitmor’s voice cut through the tension. “Here on business in Ashbourne.”
The woman tilted her head, curiosity glinting in her sharp gaze. “For the island development project, perhaps?”
Silas remained impassive, his wolf scent taut with alertness. She did not press further. “Well then, since fate has brought us together, let us share a meal. My friends have long heard of your exploits, and they would value the chance to meet you.”
Freya’s ears twitched at the underlying pride in the words. The wolf in her chest bristled at the unspoken challenge in the alpha’s tone. Being seen with the Whitmore heir was not just a privilege–it was an assertion of power.
Silas’s eyes swept over the group, his tone clipped. “I am not interested in dining with acquaintances. Freya Throne, let us go.”
Freya moved, but the pale woman stepped forward, stopping her.
“Such coincidence,” the woman said with a faint smile, “we share a surname. I am Jocelyn Thorne–Metropolitan Pack, Stormveil Pack line. Silas and I go back a long time. And you, what is your bond with him?”
Freya had barely opened her mouth when Silas’s silver gaze froze her. “My bonds are none of your concern.”
“I meant no harm. Merely curiosity. If Miss Thorne is… an ally-
“Not merely an ally,” Silas interrupted, his hand closing around Freya’s wrist, leading her away with the quiet authority of a born Alpha.
Jocelyn’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her eyes darkened ever so slightly, and the crowd behind her murmured, half–mocking, half–admiring.
“That one is played like a pup,” a male wolf whispered, his voice rough with envy.
“Though they share a surname, she cannot rival me in lineage or standing,” another added.
“Yes,” a third chimed in, “the Stormveil Pack commands respech No random pup can claim that heritage.”
Inside the private room, Freya and Silas sat. The faint scent of iron and wolf musk lingered in the air, blending with the aroma of Ashbourne’s famed dishes.
“This is your home pack’s soil,” Silas said, handing over the choice. “Choose our fare.”
Freya scanned the menu. Each dish called memories of her parents to life–flavors she remembered from childhood, from her first lessons in Stormveil traditions and hospitality.
She selected a few, all favorites of Arthur Thorne and Myra Brown. Silas took the menu from her, nodding to the server. “Bring these first. If more are needed, we’ll adjust.”
Freya’s brow arched slightly, silently noting his lack of interference. He trusted her choices–or perhaps he did not care. Either way, it suited her wolf just fine.
As the first scents of cooking reached their table, Silas’s eyes flicked toward her, voice softening, yet firm. “At the airport today… the last words you spoke to Caelum Grafton–what were they?”
Freya’s pulse quickened, but her expression remained calm. He had noticed. Somehow he had sensed the shift, even without hearing the words.
“Nothing of consequence,” she said lightly. “Merely a passing remark.”
Indeed, saving Caelum had been effortless–a flick of instinct, a thread of gratitude. She had never spoken of it, not then, not after. Only now, in the heat of anger, had she spoken to provoke thought, or perhaps to test him.
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Silas’s wolf observed her closely, ever alert. After a moment, he asked casually, “If Caelum were to regret letting you go…. would you return to him?”
Freya’s answer was unwavering, the steel of her pack flowing through her tone. “I would not.”
Silas’s gaze sharpened, almost predatory. “Even if he begged on his knees?”
A wry edge touched Freya’s lips. She returned the question. “And you, Silas? If a bondmate left, only to regret it, to come groveling–would you take them back?”
He let a small, cold smirk cross his face. “If I marry, I never release. That is the vow of my blood.”
Freya’s eyes glinted with quiet mockery. Caelum had spoken similarly once–a promise of eternal devotion, only to break it silently, haunted by a white moon in his heart. Yet Silas’s tone bore no faltering; no hesitation.
“You speak of vows with the gravity of a wolf who owns his word,” she murmured. A rare respect pricked at her pack instinct.
Silas inclined his head, silver eyes catching the firelight, unyielding as a wolf on frozen rock. “A bond forged is a bond unbroken. Only death dissolves it.”
Freya’s tail flicked, subtle, beneath the hem of her seat. The Ironclad Alpha before her was no false moonlight–he carried the weight of his pride and his pack like claws in her chest, leaving her wolf alert, watchful, yet intrigued.
Send Gifts
Chapter 74
Freya’s POV
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From the very first moment I saw him, I knew Silas was not a man meant for ordinary love. Not the kind that lingers a lifetime. Not the kind that belongs to just one person.
I tested him with the question that had been gnawing at my thoughts. “And if they don’t love you? If they change their heart and insist on leaving you?”
Silas’s eyes, the silver glint of his Ironclad Alpha dominance in every line of his face, never wavered. “To me, there is no divorce. Only death. If she can kill me, then she may leave. Otherwise… not.”
I blinked, stunned. The words were said so calmly, so plainly, but their weight struck like iron.
“So… if she doesn’t kill you, she can never leave?” I murmured, my wolf curling inward at the unnatural coldness behind that smile.
“Yes,” he said softly, almost serenely. Yet beneath the calm, his wolf shone–fierce, unyielding, like a predator who sees life Jand death as instinctual law.
For a moment, I froze. The chill in his words cut through the warm scent of the restaurant, leaving me oddly breathless.
Luckily, the server arrived with the first dishes, the aroma of Ashbourne’s finest filling the air, and I let my senses anchor to that small comfort.
I picked up my chopsticks, each bite a memory of my parents‘ love for Stormveil Pack’s home flavors. My wolf nuzzled the faint nostalgia lingering in the air. Silas had brought me here, to Ashbourne’s top–tier dining, yet it was not the taste of memory. Somehow, it lacked the simplicity and warmth of the little local restaurants my father had taken me to years ago.
“Not good?” Silas’s voice drew me out of my thoughts, sharp as a wolf’s fanged smile.
I startled. “No… it’s fine. Very good.”
“But your expression… you don’t seem satisfied,” he said, calm but alert. “If this place displeases you, we can go elsewhere.”
“No need,” I murmured, forcing a small smile. “It’s just a meal. Besides, this restaurant is the best in Ashbourne. Far better than those small spots my parents and Eric would take me to.”
A flicker of something passed in his eyes–interest, curiosity, maybe even the smallest spark of wolf pride.
“You rarely speak of your brother,” he observed quietly. His voice was almost lost in the hum of the restaurant, yet it carried the weight of someone who could read the unspoken.
“He disappeared… five years ago,” I admitted, the shadow of the past darkening my tone. Others said he was likely dead, but my wolf refused to believe it. Not while a shred of Stormveil Pack blood still ran in ine, not while no body had been found. My brother lived, that much I knew.
Shifting the conversation, I said, “While I serve as your protector for the next three months, are there rules or things I should know, Alpha Whitmor?
“Simple,” he replied, his wolf’s authority unmistakable. “Take care of your own tasks in Ashbourne. Protect me during your free hours. Attend functions with me when necessary. That is all.”
“Understood,” I said. Though I had never been a personal bodyguard like this before, I had faced protection and combat in the Iron Fang Recon Unit. This task would not intimidate me.
“And the most important rule…” His tone deepened, a low rumble like a wolf’s growl resting under calm control. “… Under no circumstances may you abandon me.”
I choked slightly on my soup. Abandon him? The Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition, heir to the Whitmore authority, feared abandonment? My wolf’s hackles flicked instinctively–this was a man accustomed to command, yet vulnerable to betrayal in ways most would never perceive,
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“Of course,” I said firmly. “I will not leave you.”
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A faint smile touched the corners of his cold, sculpted lips. For the first time, a subtle warmth softened his predatory aura. Spring mountains smile indeed. My gaze lingered longer than it probably should have.
After the meal, I excused myself to the restroom. Standing there at the sink, I froze–Jocelyn Thorne, of the Metropolitan Pack’s Stormveil line, was waiting.
“Miss Thorne,” she said, adjusting her gold–rimmed glasses. Her voice was soft, courteous, but there was a subtle edge in her scent that my wolf immediately noted. “Silas said you and he are more than friends. I am curious–what exactly are you?”
I met her gaze evenly. “Nothing,” I said. Nothing at all. Silas and I weren’t friends–barely anything beyond the temporary bond of this protection arrangement.
Jocelyn smiled faintly. “If you prefer not to say, that is fine. But know this–women like you, I see often. They get close to powerful men and mistake attention for significance. In the end, they are nothing more than playthings.”
I raised a brow, letting the wolf in me stir at the challenge. “Is that so? Noted.” I turned and walked away, leaving her observing my back.
And my wolf growled softly, beneath the calm of my exterior. Power, pride, and danger mingled in this room, and I could smell it all–predators in human skin, and the Alpha who had claimed my attention. My senses sharpened, every instinct alive.
Send Gifts
Chapter 75
Freya’s POV
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Jocelyn Thorne’s eyes narrowed, a subtle shadow of displeasure crossing her otherwise composed, golden face. She stepped in front of me, her smile still polite, but I could smell the tension coiling beneath it.
“Let me be clear,” she said, voice soft yet venomous. “To Silas, you are nothing. He will never love anyone.”
I didn’t flinch. My wolf growled low in my chest, smelling the scent of entitlement and threat she carried. “So…. he won’t love you either?” I asked, voice steady.
Her face flushed crimson. Before she could react further, she swung her hand toward my cheek.
Instinctively, I caught it with one hand, holding it firm. “Between people, there’s no such thing as worthier or lesser,” I said coldly, letting my wolf’s dominance temper my words. “Why do you assume you’re above anyone else?”
“You… you don’t even know who I am! I am-” she tried to assert, her pride flaring.
“I know your name is Jocelyn Thorne,” I interrupted, my voice flat. “As for your pedigree or pack status? I have no interest.” I flicked her hand aside.
A bitter laugh slipped from her lips. “What if I told Silas you pushed me, broke my glasses, even hurt my eye? What do you think he would do to you?‘
Before I could respond, she yanked off her glasses and smashed them against the sink. The golden frames shattered, lenses splintering into jagged shards. My wolf flared at the reckless aggression–but I kept calm.
“My eyes… are what Silas cares about most,” she said, venom dripping from every word.
I barely restrained a snarl. She had misread him–and me. Silas was no man to be trifled with, and anyone thinking to manipulate him or threaten those under his protection would discover just how deadly patience could become.
I pressed a button on my phone and flipped it to speaker. The call was already live–Silas’s voice cool and clear filled the restroom. “I heard everything.”
Jocelyn froze. The chill of Ironclad Alpha authority brushed against her soul like a wolf’s bite. She could feel it in the air, in the tension vibrating off my skin. My wolf purred satisfaction at the fear now crawling across her posture.
From the corner, Silas emerged, tall and lethal, his presence radiating dominance. My grip on the phone tightened, wolf instinct guiding my actions. “Since Alpha Whitmor has already heard, I trust he won’t blame me,” I said calmly.
Jocelyn’s features twisted with fury. “You deliberately set me up!”
“If you hadn’t tried to hurt me, none of this would have happened,” I replied, my words icy but measured.
She lunged at me, but Silas’s hand intercepted, a quiet yet absolute command. “My people are not yours to touch.” His gaze, as sharp as a wolf’s fang, rested on her injured eye. “Next time you weaponize that against anyone, don’t expect my old promises to stand.”
Jocelyn froze. Her arrogance faltered under the weight of his presence. “I… understand,” she whispered finally, a shadow of fear crossing her face.
Silas and I left the restroom. Outside, I felt my pulse steady into its wolf rhythm again. The predator scent lingering from Jocelyn wasn’t strong enough to bother me when Silas walked beside me, an unyielding wall of Alpha authority.
In the car, Silas finally spoke. “If I hadn’t answered your call, what would you have done?”
Tsmirked faintly, letting the wolf sharpen in my veins. “Then I would have told Jocelyn Thorne–if I wanted to hurt her, she wouldn’t be standing here in one piece.”
“Not afraid she might retaliate?” His voice was calm, the iron edge of his command barely hidden.
Life’s too short to live in fear,” I said, feeling the fire of my pack blood flare. “If we fear every possible strike, we’re already
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half dead.”
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Silas’s lips curved, a faint wolfish smile tugging at the corner, and I allowed my gaze to linger on him, wolf and human alike— both Alpha, both predator, and now, for the first time, uneasy allies in this hunt of power and pride.