A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 291

Chapter 291

Chapter 291

Freya’s POV

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I had barely ended the call when my hand went limp at my side, the WolfComm heavy in my palm.

“It’s his fingers,” Wren’s voice still echoed in my ears. “Alpha Silas refused to allow his wolf to heal themselves. If Alpha Silas refuses treatment any longer, even if the bones are set, the damage will cripple him. He could lose his hand entirely.”

My chest tightened, the words cutting deeper than I wanted to admit. His fingers–his hand- broken because of me.

I had only wanted to leave that night, to make him let go. I hadn’t thought beyond the desperate snap of bone beneath my strength. I hadn’t thought what it meant to break the hand of a warrior Alpha who lived by his command, by his grip.

When I finally spoke, my voice was hoarse.

“Where is he?”

“At the apartment,” Wren said quickly, relief pouring through his words. “The one you both shared.”

I didn’t answer, just ended the call.

The silence that followed was deafening.

I drove there without memory of the streets, only the pounding in my chest guiding me. When the familiar high–rise finally rose before me, every step toward it felt wrong–too many memories pressed into the walls, into the air itself. What had once been safe and warm now stank of something alien.

Wren waited outside the door like a sentinel. The moment he saw me, he hurried forward.

“Alpha is inside. Freya, I’ve never seen him like this before. Whatever passed between you-”

“Wren.” My voice was sharp, enough to cut his words in half. “What lies between Silas and me isn’t yours to carry.”

He dipped his head, chastened, and stepped aside.

I opened the door.

1/4

0:04 Fri, Sep 26

Chapter 291

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The smell hit me first–sharp, bitter whiskey tangled with the iron tang of blood and the faint, fading echo of his cedar–ash scent. Empty bottles littered the table, their glass throats reflecting the dim light like shards.

And there he was.

Silas Whitmor, Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition, sprawled on the leather sofa like a fallen god. His clothes were the same from yesterday, creased and stinking of smoke and liquor. His chest rose and fell unevenly, as if every breath clawed through pain.

My eyes dropped to his right hand.

Three fingers bent at impossible angles, swollen and bruised, twisted in the way only broken bones could twist. My stomach lurched. I had done that.

The wolf inside me keened, low and agonized, even as I forced my jaw tight. This was what I had chosen. I was the one who had walked away, who had torn the bond before it could bind me forever.

Yet seeing him like this-

Moon above, it was killing me.

I moved closer, breath shallow. His face, even in the fog of drunken sleep, was locked in a grimace of torment. The mighty Alpha still dreaming in pain.

My gaze snagged on his wrist.

A bracelet.

The one I had chosen, beads of darkwood strung with jade–green flecks, meant to rest against his pulse. I had imagined giving it to him on his birthday, placing it there myself, his lips brushing my hair in thanks.

But I hadn’t. And now here it sat, already claimed by him in silence, as if he had taken the gift before I could revoke it.

My throat burned.

“Silas,” I whispered. My voice cracked against the quiet.

No answer.

6:54 Fri, Sep 26

I bent, slipping an arm beneath his shoulder. But when I tried to lift him, something caught my eye–his left hand, clutching something tight to his chest.

“Here, let me-”

Together, we half–carried, half–dragged Silas out into the night.

“Freya…” His voice, low and ragged, breathed against my ear. Again and again, he said my name, slurred and needy, his body leaning harder into me.

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6:54 Fri, Sep 26

Chapter 291

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Every time his lips brushed my throat by accident, every broken whisper, my heart threatened to splinter.

By the time we got him into the car, I was shaking. I climbed into the backseat beside him while Wren started the engine.

“Sit still,” I muttered, fumbling with the belt across his chest. But when I leaned close, his eyes snapped open.

Those crimson wolf–eyes, glazed with drunken fire, locked onto me.

I froze.

He wasn’t fully awake, but he was aware enough. His stare pinned me where I sat, molten and unblinking.

When I tried to pull back, his broken right hand lashed out, fingers mangled yet fierce, wrapping around my wrist.

I stilled, afraid to hurt him further. With three fingers shattered, he should not have been able to hold me at all. Yet his grip burned, desperate.

“Silas, let go,” I whispered, trembling. “If you keep this up, you’ll ruin your hand beyond repair.”

His lips parted, voice nothing but a rasp.

“Is this… a dream?”