A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 145

Chapter 145

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+8 Pearls

Third Person’s POV

When Caelum lifted his gaze and collided with those cold amber eyes, his throat locked. Words–sharp and practiced, meant to wound–died before reaching air.

“Caelum Grafton,” Freya Thorne said, her voice a blade honed by disdain, “do me a favor and stop dragging me into your questions about the night you nearly drowned. We’re done. The Lunar Severance Phase stripped us clean. Whoever saved you–it doesn’t concern me. Or is it that, if it was me, you would regret it? Regret the three years you spent sneering at me? Regret discarding me?”

Her gaze was pure mockery.

Caelum’s lips parted, but nothing emerged. He stood bound by silence, his wolf straining inside his chest, claws raking against his ribs.

Only after Freya walked away with Silas at her side did his body stumble as though unmoored.

Regret? The thought lanced through him like silver.

No. He would not regret. Could not.

It was she who would regret.

She thought Silas Whitmor’s attention was victory? That running with the Ironclad Coalition’s Alpha would grant her safety? A fool’s hope. Males like Silas consumed and discarded. His so–called devotion would wither when novelty dulled.

Caelum’s path was already set. He only needed to weather SilverTech Forgeworks‘ current storm. Once he steadied his pack and his company, he would rise higher than ever before. And then–then Freya would see what it meant to spurn him. She would learn that no longer bearing the Silverfang Alpha’s mark was the greatest loss she would ever suffer.

But still… his chest twisted, restless and uneasy, as if some unseen thread yanked against his heart.

Driven by something darker than reason, Caelum turned back into the infirmary.

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The matron of the Ashbourne orphanage frowned when she saw his pallid face. “Alpha Grafton? Do you require something?”

He ignored her, eyes fastening on the boy sleeping soundly beneath the blankets. The child’s breathing was steady, but Caelum’s mind was a storm. That image–the small form clutched against Freya’s chest, her voice weaving calm–stirred memories he’d buried deep.

Long he stood there, haunted by a night of icy waters and a vow in the dark

..

At last, he left the infirmary and lifted his WolfComm, voice low and sharp when the line connected.

“I want you to dig into the night I went into the river. Every detail. I need to know if Aurora was truly alone that night–or if someone else was there.”

When he ended the call, his hand trembled faintly.

This wasn’t betrayal of Aurora. No. This was to confirm her. To ensure there would be no cracks, no shadow of doubt gnawing his loyalty. He needed certainty, nothing more.

Or so he told himself.

Meanwhile, Freya and Silas walked the stone path back toward the banquet hall, moonlight painting silver across the sea breeze.

Silas’s voice broke the silence. “If one day Caelum discovers you were the wolf who saved him, if he regrets the severance and wants you back… what would you do?”

Freya faltered. “What?”

“Would you mate with him again?” His eyes lingered on her profile, searching, probing.

Freya turned to him, faintly startled. “You believe it was me?”

She stared. “What… is this?”

“I’m sleeping here tonight.” His tone was calm, assured.

“…Reason?”

“I don’t like being alone,” he said solemnly. “You’re my protector, aren’t you? You’ll keep me safe.”

Freya nearly choked.

Afraid? Silas Whitmor? She had seen him break attackers with bare hands. His wolf thrived on danger. And yet here he stood, face earnest, insisting on fear.

“There are Whitmor sentries outside your chamber,” she reminded. “You’re not exactly undefended.”

“They aren’t you,” Silas countered smoothly. “I trust only you.”

Her mouth opened, then shut.

The wolf inside her huffed. Against such relentless insistence, resistance was wasted. She exhaled a long breath. “Fine. You take the bed, I’ll use the sofa.”

But Silas merely set his pillow on the couch and lowered himself onto it, sprawling with casual grace. “The sofa suits me.”

And there, the Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition stretched like a satisfied wolf, content under the gaze of the very female he sought to guard–and perhaps, to claim.

Freya could only stare, heart torn between irritation and something far more dangerous.

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