A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 165

Chapter 165

Silas‘ POV

“Freya,” I murmured, “if you ever want to kiss me again, you know you don’t have to ask.”

+8 Pearls

Her sigh was soft, amused, teasing. I could feel her wolf’s pulse against mine–curious, wary, but playful. Outside, the streets of Ashbourne blurred past, the city waking, unaware of the storms that prowled its shadows. Our trip here was supposed to be simple: deliver my parents‘ ashes to the Legion’s Hall of Martyrs, perform the ceremonial rites, and fulfill the military escort obligations.

Yet, as always, the universe seemed intent on testing me.

The car descended into the underground garage of Whitmore Ashbourne. I allowed my eyes to close for a moment, but my wolf stayed alert. And then—the tires screeched. A violent jolt threw me upright. My senses screamed before my human mind could catch up.

“Collision–another vehicle!” Wren, muttered as he opened the door. I barely caught the flicker of movement from the corner of my vision—a white car, positioned to force us into a corner.

Instinct took over, My claws flexed beneath my gloves; my wolf coiled, ready to spring. Freya shifted slightly, sensing it too, though she didn’t need me to tell her anything. Her wolf flared, eyes bright.

Then I saw it–Wren stiffened unnaturally, back to me. My teeth clenched. A dart, a subtle glint–I caught the reflection of needle being injected into his neck. He crumpled, consciousness stolen in an instant. My wolf snarled, rage and warning fused into a single vibration that rolled down my spine.

a

Freya reacted before I could. Agile, precise, lethal. She rolled from the vehicle, claws flexed, wolf flaring in the primal instinct of survival. The Rogue female who emerged from the white car–predator scent heavy, wolf–stench of violence thick–was trained, calculating, dangerous.

She dove toward the main attacker, rolling and twisting, the grace of her wolf–essence in every motion. The Rogue sneak attack, but Freya was faster–flipping, slashing, striking with teeth and claws. Her arm bled freely, the crimson marking her strength, her resilience.

I stepped in only when she needed an opening, biting at a Rogue’s flank to ensure he wouldn’t rise again. Freya’s wolf flared beside mine, synchrony perfect, a dance of claws and instinct. Her breathing was sharp, shallow, but eyes alight with the fire

of battle.

Finally, the female Rogue faltered. I lunged, powerful and controlled, pinning her to the concrete. Teeth sank into shoulder. claws held her fast. My wolf’s growl filled the parking garage–a deep, resonant warning that none could ignore.

“End it!” My voice, low and commanding, reverberated through the chaos. The Rogue froze. Freya’s eyes flicked to me, relief washing over the primal tension.

I released her shoulder but kept the Rogue pinned, eyes scanning, wolf flaring. She had bled on her sleeve; crimson streaks vivid, alive. “You hurt yourself?” I asked, concern laced with frustration.