A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 360

Third Person’s POV

The thunder of rotor blades broke the island’s fragile calm. The sound was wrong too close, too sudden, too heavy.

Silas’s golden eyes narrowing as the helicopter cut through the clouds and began its descent toward the clearing near the shore. For a moment, his pulse stalled. He hadn’t called for supplies today. No flight had been scheduled.

That aircraft wasn’t one of his..

And whoever was on board… had found them.

His expression hardened in an instant. Without a word, he turned and sprinted down the stairs, the wolf within him surging toward the threat.

Freya stood frozen for a breath, confusion and instinct battling in her chest. She had seen Silas angry before–calm fury simmering beneath his command–but this was different. The air around him had shifted, charged with a primal tension that made the hair on her arms rise.

She glanced toward the distant helipad, the machine’s blades kicking

up waves of sand and salt.

Who could it be?

No one was supposed to know where they were.

The thought struck cold through her. Then, without hesitating, she followed him.

Down the marble staircase, through the open foyer, her bare feet barely touched the floor. By the time she stepped outside, Silas was already crossing the yard, his figure sharp against the blazing sunlight.

The helicopter had landed. The roar of the engine faded into the restless whisper of the sea.

And from its open hatch stepped a man Freya had seen before–tall, silver–haired, with the unmistakable authority of an Alpha who had commanded armies.

Cassian Whitmor.

Silas stopped dead in his tracks. The name alone was enough to chill bloodlines. Cassian–his father, the former Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition. A man once powerful enough to move fleets, now exiled and presumed under guard for crimes against the High Council.

Silas’s voice dropped to a growl. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Cassian smiled faintly, his tone deceptively pleasant. “And yet here I am. Took quite a bit of effort to get out of that little arrangement you put me in.”

Silas’s jaw tightened. He knew exactly what that meant–his father’s escape had burned every hidden bridge and spy he’d once placed in the Coalition’s ranks. The clean–up would be brutal.

“What do you want?” Silas asked, voice like steel drawn thin.

“To help,” Cassian said simply, spreading his hands. “I heard you’ve brought a certain young woman to this island. Freya Thorne,

wasn’t it? Daughter of the Stormveil Pack’s Fifth Branch. You’ve kept her hidden here, even from your own men. No visitors. No comms. Only air drops. Sounds less like protection and more like captivity.”

Freya’s breath caught. He knew too much.

Silas’s eyes darkened. “Watch your words.”

Cassian tilted his head, amused. “Then tell me, son—what is it you’re doing here with her? Keeping her close so she can’t run back to Caelum Grafton and his Silverfang allies?”

Silas took a step forward, his Alpha aura pulsing with warning. “Say what you came to say, and leave.”

“Oh, I intend to leave,” Cassian replied, his tone smooth as ever. “But not without giving Miss Thorne a choice.”

He shifted his gaze past his son’s shoulder, directly toward her. His eyes, the same storm–gray as Silas’s, softened.

“Freya,” he said evenly, “you don’t belong here, do you? If you wish to leave, I can take you. Right now. No more locked gates. No isolation.”

Silas spun around. Freya stood a few paces behind him, the wind tugging at her hair, her eyes wide but steady.

“Father,” Silas warned coldly, “if you don’t turn back now, don’t expect me to remember we share blood.”

But even as he said it, his hand found Freya’s, and his grip trembled–not from weakness, but from fear. Fear that she might actually say yes.

Cassian’s laugh was quiet and sharp. “Blood? You forfeited that bond when you caged me like an animal. You think I’d expect mercy from a son who learned cruelty at my knee?”

He turned to Freya again, voice softening. “You see? The Whitmors always confuse loyalty with possession. I can free you, child. You only have to take my hand.”

“You’re not taking her anywhere!” Silas’s roar split the air, the wolf in him rising. His aura slammed outward, pressing against the clearing with invisible force.

Cassian’s eyes glinted. “We’ll see.”

Then, without another word, Silas lunged.

ather and son collided like thunder meeting stone. The impact shook the sand beneath their feet. Silas swung first, his fist Shing against Cassian’s jaw. The older Alpha staggered but recovered fast, blocking the next blow and countering with a brutal Hook that sent Silas reeling a step back.

Freya stood frozen, heart pounding, as the two men fought – Alpha dominance against Alpha experience. The air shimmered with heat, scent, and fury.

Cassian’s strength, though weathered by age, was fierce; he moved with the precision of a soldier who had survived too many wars. But Silas was younger, faster, driven by something raw and desperate.

Every strike echoed through the clearing. Every growl reverberated off the cliffs.

Freya’s eyes darted toward the helicopter. The engine was still running, its blades turning lazily in idle.

If she could reach it, she could escape this madness.

She clenched her jaw. Cassian might be injured but she had flown before. She could take that chopper herself,

But the sight before her rooted her in place.

Cassian faltered. Silas’s next punch connected hard, sending the older Alpha sprawling across the ground.

The world fell silent but for the crash of waves.

Silas stood over him, chest heaving, his knuckles bloodied. Yet Cassian only smiled up at him, his mouth curling in dark

amusement.

“What’s the matter?” Cassian asked softly. “Did I touch a nerve?”

“I told you,” Silas said, his voice low and lethal, “you’re not taking her.”

Cassian wiped the blood from his lip and gave a small, almost pitying laugh. “Then maybe you should ask her what she wants. She’s not a possession, Silas. She’s not a prize for the strongest wolf.”

He pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly but still defiant. “There are three of us here. You. Me. And her. And unless I’m mistaken, she may prefer the Alpha who offers her freedom.”

He looked to Freya again, his gaze steady. “What do you say, Freya? Will you come with me?”

Two pairs of eyes – father and son – burned into her at once, waiting.

The helicopter’s blades hummed in the background, a promise of escape… or disaster.

And Freya stood between them – between bloodlines, between power, between wolves whose hatred could ignite a war.

The wind shifted, carrying the scent of salt and iron. The next word out of her mouth would decide everything.