A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 283

Chapter 283

Third Person’s POV

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Freya’s heart hammered in her chest, each beat echoing like the pounding of war drums deep in her ribs. She stared at the man before her and realized perhaps this was what people meant when they spoke of a wolf’s sudden, helpless surrender to fate.

Every time her gaze met his, she felt her composure slip. That inexplicable pull, the flutter of her heart, the warmth that grew until it turned into something fiercer–love. Piece by piece, moment by moment, she found herself bound tighter to him, as if some unseen thread wove their souls together.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft, almost fragile, though her wolf stirred with a dangerous yearning beneath the words.

Silas leaned closer, his presence overwhelming, his nose brushing hers until his breath mingled with hers. His lips curved into a wicked smile. “If you truly want to thank me,” he murmured, voice thick with heat, “then tonight… you’ll have me more than once.”

Color flared hot across her cheeks. His words, delivered with such brazen confidence, carried an allure she found impossible to resist.

“Do you?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky growl, eyes shimmering like molten gold. The faintest ripple passed through his lupine gaze, a predator softened only for her. His breath brushed her cheek, sending tremors through her body.

Freya had never thought herself the kind of woman to fall prey to raw beauty. Yet here she was, faltering, undone by the sheer magnetism of Silas Whitmor.

“Freya…” His voice came again, low and needy, shaping her name like a vow.

“Yes.” The word slipped free, bold and unhesitant. Her hands cupped his face, pulling him down to her as she pressed her lips to his. His answering growl rumbled deep, and then his mouth claimed hers with a hunger that set her whole body alight.

They tangled together, wolves in a dance older than the moon, each touch sparking fire, each kiss fanning it into flame.

Later, as moonlight spilled across the sheets, Freya asked Silas for the impossible: one hundred

million.

And without hesitation, he gave it. Yet unease lingered in his chest, an itch he could not scratch. Since they had bonded, Freya had never hidden things from him. This time, however,

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10:42 Wed, Sep 24

Chapter 283

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she told him plainly that he could not know. That message she had received on her WolfComm… what was it that had turned her expression so grim? And why did she need not only his gold but also free rein over his bodyguards?

Silas lay awake, watching her sleep. His gaze drifted to the WolfComm resting on the bedside table. If he reached for it, if he opened her messages now, he would have his answers. Perhaps then this gnawing worry would vanish.

His body leaned forward, hand stretching toward the device. So close. He could almost feel the cool glass beneath his fingertips.

But then he stopped.

If he broke her trust like this, would it not only add another wound, another secret between them? She had promised she would tell him when the time came. He had to wait. Wolves who did not honor trust were no better than rogues.

“No, Alpha. But I know Jocelyn Thorne has been residing at Earl Hotel recently.”

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Silas’s wolf flared with unease, his instincts howling. He remembered too well the email Freya had received, the secrecy, the one hundred million. The name Jocelyn was a bitter scent on the wind, and dread slid like ice down his spine.

Before Wren could continue, Silas had already risen, seizing his keys. He strode out with a speed that left his secretary staring after him in bewilderment.

“Alpha-!” Wren called, baffled. Why such urgency? Even if Freya had confronted Jocelyn, Freya’s own strength combined with Silas’s guards would be more than enough. She wouldn’t be at risk.

Yet as Wren replayed the Alpha’s expression in his mind, a shiver ran down his back. Was that… fear?

He shook the thought off immediately. Silas Whitmor, afraid? Impossible.

At the Earl Hotel, Jocelyn Thorne lounged in her room, a triumphant smile curving her lips. She had just finished pocketing her spoils, the stolen millions neatly settled into her accounts.

Her fingers danced quickly over her laptop. From a freshly created anonymous address, she attached the file–the precious footage of Eric Thorne–and sent it on. With one click, it was gone, delivered into the ether.

And just as swiftly, the address self–destructed, vanishing like smoke into the void. No one would ever trace it back to her.

Jocelyn leaned back, savoring the rush of power. Let Freya chase her tail all she wanted; Jocelyn held the leash now.

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