A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 164

Chapter 164

Third Person’s POV

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+8 Pearls

“Caelum, if you still cannot forget Freya, it doesn’t matter. I can wait. Tonight, pretend I never said a word. Go back to your room, don’t worry about me.”

Her words struck a chord, tugging at places inside him he thought long buried.

“No,” Caelum growled, his tone rough and urgent. “How could I ever not care about you? And besides–Freya and I have already gone through the Lunar Severance Phase. Whatever bond we had, it’s finished. I will not feel anything more for her.”

Aurora’s lips curved into the faintest smile. In the flicker of candlelight, it was almost triumphant. Her arms wrapped around his broad frame, pressing her warmth into him. This time, Caelum did not push her away.

Even though just hours earlier, on the call, he hadn’t had the chance to ask—who had truly saved him years ago? His instincts whispered that it must have been Aurora. Yes, it had to be. The thought settled inside him like a drug.

He had ordered his people to dig into the past, to verify what he already wanted to believe. But deep down, he knew—it wasn’t Freya. It could never be Freya. He wouldn’t let her shadow touch him again.

And so, he surrendered.

That night, Caelum let himself sink into Aurora’s embrace, into the haze she wove around him. When it was over, his wolf /exhausted, he drifted into a deep, oblivious sleep.

Aurora, however, did not.

Long after his steady breaths filled the chamber, she stirred. Slipping free of his arms, she moved with practiced silence. Her hand dipped into the pocket of his discarded jacket. Her fingers brushed against the smooth surface of his WolfComm device.

With a subtle swipe, she unlocked it. He had never told her the code, but Caelum had never shielded it from her either. She had seen enough times to remember.

Her eyes gleamed as she scrolled through the recent call log. There it was–the last number, the voice that had unsettled him before he turned to her.

Aurora memorized the digits, then placed the WolfComm back exactly where she found it. No evidence. No suspicion. Only quiet control.

Slipping beneath the furs again, she lay beside the slumbering Alpha, studying his sharp jaw, the faint crease still etched

between his brows.

“Caelum,” she whispered, her voice a mixture of tenderness and steel. “Don’t blame me. Wolves who are selfless get torn apart. Only the selfish survive.”

Yes. She would survive. She would thrive. Whatever it took.

The next morning, far from the Silverfang stronghold, dawn broke over Ashbourne. Freya Whitmor residence, her eyes immediately catching on Silas.

Bepped into the sunlit hall of the

The Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition did not look like his usual composed self. His golden shadows, his aura sharp but frayed at the edges.

“You didn’t sleep well?” Freya asked, her brow knitting slightly.

eyes

do were rimmed with faint

“A little, Silas admitted, his voice clipped He did not add that he had spent most of the night restless, consumed by the memory of her lips against his. That single kiss had set his blood on fire, his wolf prowling under his skin until he was forced to stand beneath cold showers again and again, fighting the heat clawing through him.

“Then rest in the car later,” Freya said, her tone soft but firm. “The drive to the Whitmor company branch in Ashbourne will take at least thirty minutes.”

“Alright.” The great Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition, the man whose name struck fear and respect across territories, lowered his head and agreed with quiet obedience.

Wren, hands gripping the steering wheel, nearly swerved. The words of his Alpha, the Ironclad’s unshakable leader, were so absurdly soft–so human–that his composure cracked.

Freya hissed under her breath, “Your Beta is right there!”

In the rearview mirror, Wren caught his Alpha’s deathly glare and nearly shrank in his seat.

“I only drive,” Wren said hastily, his voice trembling. “I see nothing, I hear nothing.”

“Do you want it?” Silas whispered again, his tone husky, dangerous in its need. Or was he the only one haunted by last night’s kiss, restless and insatiable?

The image was devastating–an Alpha of his stature, a man born to dominate, reduced to this vulnerable longing. His striking face, his wolf aura simmering just beneath his skin, all wrapped around those simple words: Do you want me?

Freya’s heart clenched. How could she deny him when he looked

at her like that?”

he was hers?

Her eyes flicked to the front, where Wren sat stiff as stone. Then back to Silas, who seemed ready to break.

She sighed softly. “Fine. You’re my mate, after all. I’ll indulge you.”

Her fingers brushed his strong jaw, tilting his face toward her. Then her lips pressed against his, a kiss that silenced his wolf and set fire through her veins.

His scent enveloped her–powerful, intoxicating, wholly male. Despite his terrifying reputation, in this moment he yielded completely, letting her take control, letting her kiss him as though he belonged entirely to her.

And he did.

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