A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 138

hapter 138

Silas‘ POV

She cannot be harmed.

+8 Pearls

The thought rips through me like a command from the marrow of my bones, more primal than the voice of any Alpha before me.

“Alpha Whitmor!” My guards burst from the shadows, loyal wolves of the Ironclad Coalition who have followed me through blood and steel. Their instincts are correct–they move to block me, to preserve the Alpha’s safety. My life is their mission, their oath.

But they do not understand.

I twist away from one, body fueled by the raw surge of my wolf. Another lunges, hand outstretched to restrain me, and I strike–shoulder low, momentum high–sending him crashing over my hip in a brutal throw that cracks against stone. The others hesitate, uncertain if they should pursue, and in that breath of hesitation I am free.

My eyes find her.

Only her.

Freya’s body cleaves through the sea, the Bloodmoon Pack’s flame drowning itself in dark waves for the sake of a child not her own. Each time the surf crashes down, my chest constricts until I think I’ll split open. I do not see the child. I do not see the crowd. I see only her–small against the vast fury of the tide, but unyielding.

And then I am running.

Running like a wolf with death at its heels.

Gasps erupt around me as I hurl myself into the ocean’s maw. The water is a black beast, teeth of foam biting, claws of current dragging me down. The salt stings my eyes, fills my mouth. But my body fights–every muscle, every ounce of strength honed from years of battle–and I cut through toward her.

They will call it madness. The Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition, risking his life in a storm for a child. No- for her. They will whisper, speculate, dissect my motives. But none of that matters. The truth beats louder than the waves: my wolf would not let me stand idle while Freya faced the abyss alone.

I catch her at last. Her hair, dark and plastered to her cheeks, her arms straining as she hauls the limp child against her. Her breath is ragged, every stroke slower than the last. She is faltering. And if she falters now-

I surge beside her, my hand finding the boy’s frail arm. I take the burden, feel the weight drag at me, and with that she gasps, freed enough to breathe, to keep swimming. She looks at me, startled, saltwater clinging to her lashes. But there’s no time for words. We push, side by side, wolves against the sea.

Together, we reach the shore.

Hands drag the child from us, medics already descending like hawks, pounding on the small chest, forcing air back into drowning lungs. I hear the cough, the sputter, the fragile heartbeat returning, but it is all far away.

Because Freya stumbles.

Her strength is spent, her body trembling with the aftermath of the ocean’s rage. She sways, and before she can fall I am there, my arm sliding around her waist. The contact sears me–skin against damp fabric, her body weak yet alive beneath iny touch.

“Steady,” I murmur, but my voice is rougher than I intended, torn raw by fear.

11:30 AM P

I do not want to imagine the sea swallowing her. I do not want to imagine the world where Freya Thorne vanishes beneath waves, her fire extinguished.

She asks me what is wrong. Her voice is calm, but I can hear her wolf’s curiosity beneath it, the edge of concern. She tests the hold, but I do not release her. I cannot. The tremor betrays me–the quiver of my fingers against her back, the violent shiver of my frame.

Yes, I am trembling. Like prey, not predator. Like a pup, not Alpha.

Is it weakness? Perhaps. But it is also truth.

I am Silas Whitmor, Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition. To most, I am steel incarnate, unbreakable, untouchable. But in this moment, wrapped around the woman who flung herself into death’s jaws, I am only a wolf clinging to the one thing that matters more than duty, more than legacy, more than survival itself.

She whispers, “Don’t be afraid. It’s over. We’re safe.”

Her words should soothe. But they don’t. Because even safe, even here in my arms, the tremors don’t stop. The fear still coils in my gut like a living thing.

It isn’t the sea I fear. It isn’t death.

It is the realization of how much she matters.

And how easily she could be gone.