A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 174

Chapter 174

Finished

Third Person’s POV

“Miss Aurora,” he said, holding up a WolfComm device, its screen still glowing, “I received this message this morning. I believe the audience has the right to see it.”–

Murmurs rippled through the hall. The man swiped the screen open, projecting the message so that the nearby journalists and charity patrons could glimpse the jagged words. The reporter then walked forward, extending the device toward Aurora

Aurora’s face drained of color. Her fingers tightened at her sides, though she forced herself to take the WolfComm with calculated composure. Her eyes flicked down, skimming the text, and the icy calm she wore cracked for the briefest of heartbeats. Beneath the mask of poise, terror flared.

Who? The question screamed in her head. Who could possibly know what happened that night?

Her wolf stirred uneasily beneath her skin, hackles lifting, throat taut with a snarl she dared not release.

“This number is untraceable,” the reporter added, tone neutral but edged with sharp intent. “A virtual reroute. But the content is… alarming. Miss Aurora, would you care to clarify the truth of the matter?”

Every eye in the hall was upon her. Around the stage sat not only journalists, but benefactors of the Stormveil Orphanage, and even nobles of the wider werewolf coalitions. If she faltered, even for an instant, suspicion would sink its claws into her reputation.

Aurora inhaled deeply, drawing wolf–strength into her lungs. When she lifted her chin again, her expression was smooth, proud, untrembling.

༄ ཟ ། ག ཆ ་ ་ ་ ་ ག ་ ག ་ ་

“Yes,” she said evenly. “There was a fire. And yes, one of my fellow pilots fell to it. But it was an accident–tragic, unforeseen. I was not at his side in the moment of disaster. By the time I reached him, the blaze had already taken him. All I could do was raise the alarm and fight the flames with what little I had.”

Her voice carried, strong and unwavering, echoing across the vaulted hall. The crowd hushed, listening.

“The official investigation confirmed it,” she continued. “The cause was negligence. A discarded ember, a cigarette left to smolder. That was the verdict. Not murder. Not betrayal. If anything, it was a warning to us all. Fire is not merciful, and every wolf—every human, for that matter–must respect it.”

The weight of her words settled like iron. And then, as if on cue, polite applause stirred from the audience, building into something more forceful, more convincing. Aurora’s pale cheeks regained their color as she pressed on, her wolf aura lacing each syllable with commanding conviction.

“I don’t know who has stooped to such vile games as sending anonymous messages,” she declared, her eyes sweeping the sea of faces before her. “But if they think lies will undo my work, they are mistaken. Justice has already spoken. If I were guilty of such horrors, would the government of the Capital have honored me? Would I have received medals, recognition, and the trust of my Pack?”

Her words grew hotter, her wolf spirit bristling just beneath her skin. “To the coward behind this–if you are even in this room–I say this: shadows and whispers will never undo the truth, Those who strike from the dark will never prevail!”

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause this time, louder and longer, Aurora tipped her chin higher, her pride restored, and descended gracefully from the stage.

She slid back into her seat beside Caelum. He leaned toward her, his steel–blue eyes softened with concern.

“Are you all right?” he murmured.

“I’m fine,” she answered quickly, her sinile composed. But only she knew the slick cold sweat that clung to her palms, the Tremor she concealed beneath the tablecloth.

Who sent it? Her mind churned, frantic beneath the still surface. Who knows what happened that night?

No one should have known. No one could have known. She had been there with And he had perished in the blaze, his body consumed. The dead did not speak.

co–pilot–the only witness to his death.

1228 AM p p

“Maybe not entirely. But she’s hiding something.” Freya’s tone was flat, thoughtful. “An innocent wolf accused falsely would rage, protest, howl their denial. But Aurora? She was too smooth. Too… rehearsed.”

Silas grunted in agreement, his wolf aura flickering with distrust.

Before Freya could add more, a small weight collided with her legs. She looked down in surprise as a young girl, barely ten, threw her arms around her waist.

“Freya!” the child beamed up at her, eyes bright as moonlight. “Did you see me perform?”

A smile cracked through Freya’s stern façade. She crouched, ruffling the girl’s hair. “I did. And you were brilliant.”

The pup’s grin widened. “Then come play with us! We’re playing Hawk and Hens, You can be the Mother Hen!”

Freya’s lips parted to agree, but Silas’s hand caught her arm. His gaze flicked to the bandaged gash across her forearm.

“Your wound isn’t healed,” he warned. His voice carried the edge of an Alpha’s command, protective and unyielding.

“It’s nothing,” Freya replied, brushing him off with a half–smile. “Mother Hens don’t need their arms to shield their chicks.”

But Silas’s wolf bristled. He shook his head. “No. I won’t risk you for a game.”

Freya’s wolf ached at the disappointment flickering in the children’s faces, their eager eyes fixed on her. The pull between instinct and duty warred within her–between the fierce protector who longed to bring joy to the pups and the cold truth of her injuries.

She let out a soft sigh, gaze lingering on the little girl’s hopeful face.