A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 175

Chapter 175

Freya’s POV

Silas pressed his lips together, his expression unreadable, then said in his deep voice, “I’ll go.”

I blinked. “You? You’ll be the Mother Hen?”

“Mm.” He nodded as though the decision were final.

Finished

I couldn’t help the stunned silence that followed. My mind balked at the image–Silas Whitmor, Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition, the wolf most of the Capital feared, playing children’s games on a lawn. It didn’t fit. He was forged of iron, not laughter. Yet he was completely serious, and before I could stop him, he bent toward the little girl who had begged me.

“Freya’s arm is injured,” he said kindly, his tone gentled in a way that startled me. “So I will play instead.”

Dreamer’s eyes lit with excitement, her squeal ringing like a bell. Silas shrugged off his tailored jacket, unfastened his tie, rolled his sleeves to the elbow. Then, to my utter disbelief, he strode onto the grass.

Moments later, I watched him–him, the wolf with a reputation black as night–sprint across the green with a chain of squealing pups trailing behind, his arms stretched wide in mock defense as he guarded them from the “hawk.” The sight knocked the breath from me. This was no Alpha feared by the Capital; this was a man unarmored, a wolf freed of the weight of politics and war, laughing with children as though he had been born to it.

The dignitaries and reporters lining the orphanage lawn froze. Every single one who knew his name stared, mouths parted, as though they’d stumbled into a dream.

That’s Silas Whitmor? The iron–fisted Alpha of the Coalition? The wolf whispered to be untouchable, lethal, merciless? And here he was, playing Hawk and Hens with orphans.

My lips curved without my permission. The longer I stayed near him, the more I saw pieces that defied the legend. And those pieces unsettled me far more than his fearsome reputation ever had.

I tugged out my WolfComm, capturing a few frames of the impossible moment–Silas barreling across the lawn, laughter sparking in his eyes. But before sliding the device back into my pocket, my thoughts snagged on something darker.

The fire.

The message that had shaken Aurora earlier still echoed in my mind. My thumb lingered over the WolfComm screen before, almost without realizing, I pulled up the web archives. My search turned toward the past–the Bluemoon Airborne Wing’s co–pilot who had died five years ago. The report hadn’t softened with time. Negligence, they’d called it. A cigarette carelessly left burning, a fire sparked in the wrong place.

The man had burned, yes, but worse–his family had burned with him, not by flame but by words. Wolves and humans alike had torn them apart in the public square, branding him reckless even in death. Bluemoon Pack had spent fortunes to smother the flames of scandal.

Yet… if his death had been his fault, why did Aurora’s wolf tremble with guilt today?

My eyes narrowed as I scrolled, unease rippling beneath my skin. My wolf lifted its head, scenting lies buried beneath ash.

And then-

“Freya.”

“Were you the one?” she demanded suddenly, her words laced with Beta fury. “The one sending those vile messages to reporters? To me?”

“It’s you!” Aurora snapped, her voice rising. “Who else? You’ve hated me ever since I won Caelum’s side. Jealousy drives you, Freya. Admit it–you knew I’d stand here today, so you schemed to slander me through the mouths of journalists!”

The growl that broke from my chest silenced the air between us. My wolf pressed forward, dominance radiating. “Aurora,” I said, my voice low and edged with threat, “if you imagine I’d soil my claws with your little games over a male like Caelum Grafton, then you are more foolish than I thought. Take him. I don’t want him. But if you shriek so loudly, others will begin to wonder if that message carved closer to the truth than your speech did.”

Her face blanched, then darkened. She trembled, but stubborn pride forced her chin up. “If you’re innocent, then hand me your WolfComm. Let me search it.”

Naughed again, colder this time. “And why, by the Moon, should I hand my device to you? You’ve no authority over me.”

“You refuse because you’re guilty!” she snarled. Her wolf bristled, claws itching.

I turned away, done with her theatrics. But she lunged–reckless, blind, her hand clawing once more for the WolfComm at my belt.

My wolf answered before thought could. I pivoted, hooked her ankle, and let her own momentum do the work. She crashed to the ground with a cry, sprawled in the grass, dignity shattered.

“Aurora!”

The roar ripped across the lawn. Caelum Grafton stormed forward, his Alpha presence flaring like a blade unsheathed. He gathered Aurora up, his arm locking around her shoulders, his storm–gray eyes fixed on me with fury.

“Freya Thorne,” he thundered, “you’ve gone too far!”