A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 269

Chapter 269

Third Person’s POV

The kiss Silas pressed upon Freya was not tender–it was a raw, feral hunger that clawed at the edges of reason. She tried to pull away, to put distance between them, but it was as if the Alpha’s desire was a living thing, wrapping around her and rooting her in place. His strength, tempered by the restraint of a lifetime as Ironclad Coalition’s Alpha, made any attempt at escape futile.

Time blurred into moments, breaths mingling in a rhythm older than the packs themselves, until finally, Silas broke the kiss, his chest heaving with restrained fire. His lips hovered near her ear, the low, gravelly murmur sending shivers down her spine.

“Freya… don’t ever leave me,” he breathed.

She chuckled softly, her own voice warm and teasing. “Silly, how could I ever leave you?”

Silas’s amber eyes softened just enough for vulnerability to flicker through the predatory mask. “Exactly… how could you? There’s no one in this world who could love you like I do.”

The night passed in tangled shadows and whispered promises. By the morning, Freya was weary yet restless, the remnants of Alpha fire lingering in her veins like wildfire. When she and Lana Rook walked through the gleaming halls of the Ashbourne Commerce Center to attend the bid conference, Lana couldn’t help but tease her.

“Quite the… intense evening?” Lana said, eyes flicking to Freya’s high–necked blouse, concealing traces of the night before.

Freya’s cheeks tinged pink, a flutter of discomfort under her calm exterior. Silas had been insatiable, a predator feeding on her body as though it were a hunt he had waited years to pursue. She sometimes wondered if he had taken some mysterious elixir–his appetite, his fervor, seemed almost inhuman.

“Well…” Freya admitted reluctantly, “he did say I’m his first woman…”

Lana whistled softly, remembering Victor Ashford, her former partner in the Capital. Even he, with all his composed façade, had become a reckless beast once the barrier of restraint fell. Wolves, it seemed, bore their animal instincts beneath the veneer of civility.

Then realization struck Lana like lightning. “Wait… you’re saying Silas Whitmor… had never…?”

Freya nodded, a wry smile tugging at her lips. “No one before me.”

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Chapter 269

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Lana’s jaw practically hit the floor. “No way… that’s… insane. He’s… so… pure in that sense?”

“Yes,” Freya confirmed with a soft shrug. “Believe it or not.”

The two women laughed quietly, the humor in the absurdity of it settling between them, before Lana’s expression turned serious. “After this, come with me to the sanctuary.”

“Sanctuary?” Freya asked, curious.

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Chapter 269

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Freya’s hand pressed down on her shoulder, a weight impossible to resist. Giselle struggled, but Freya’s wolf–enhanced strength pinned her like iron. Every movement was an assertion of power and justice, a reminder that she was no ordinary girl.

“Freya, let her be!” Lana barked, restraining Eleanor as she lunged. “She deserves this–her arrogance, her lies, her cruelty!”

Giselle cried out, the mixture of fear and pain sharp in the air. “Let me go! Freya, release me!”

Her eyes met Freya’s, the storm within the Thorne girl unyielding. “Kneel and apologize!” Freya demanded, the sound of her voice resonating through the sanctuary, a pack Alpha’s command woven with righteous fury.

“Why should I?” Giselle spat, defiance intact but trembling.

“Because my family bled for honor, for this land, for our packs!” Freya’s voice rang, the weight of centuries of Thorne loyalty and sacrifice threading every syllable. “My parents gave their lives for the greater good. My brother disappeared serving the nation. And I….. I have done nothing but uphold the legacy of my family and my pack. You accuse me of misdeeds? Then name one–what sin have I committed?”

Her words thundered through the marble halls of the sanctuary, sorrow and rage intertwined, the pain of being the last of a lineage of warriors, the last sentinel of the Stormveil Pack’s honor, sharpening her tone.

Visitors froze, hesitant, the authority and presence of Freya Thorne, the last loyal scion of the Stormveil, imposing itself like the weight of the moon over the forests.