A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 362

Chapter 362

Freya’s POV

Z(53)

Finished

The helicopter blades cut through the misty sky until they were nothing but a whisper, fading into the horizon. I stood still, watching until even the faintest glimmer of its metallic shell disappeared beyond the cliffs. Only then did I turn to Silas.

“Let’s go,” I said quietly.

He didn’t move. I’d only taken two steps when I realized he was still standing where I’d left him —frozen, like he’d forgotten how to breathe. His amber eyes locked on me with a dazed sort of disbelief, as if I’d done something impossible.

“What is it?” I asked, moving closer.

His lashes trembled, and for a moment, I saw something raw in his gaze–relief, shock, hunger. He looked at me like a man seeing sunlight after years underground.

“You didn’t leave,” he rasped.

“No,” I said simply. “I didn’t.”

His throat bobbed. “Why?”

I shrugged lightly. “Because I can’t stand your father.”

He blinked once, twice–and then, without warning, he pulled me into his arms.

The movement was sharp, desperate. His strength surrounded me, his scent–iron, smoke, and the wild tang of sea air–pressing into my skin. Yet even in that urgency, he was careful. His hand hovered just above my left shoulder, avoiding the injury he’d spent nights tending.

“You didn’t go,” he whispered, his voice shaking as he buried his face against the side of my neck. “You really didn’t go.”

His words were muffled, almost childlike, as though he couldn’t believe them himself. The tremor in his arms gave him away; the Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition was trembling.

I didn’t push him away. Maybe I should have. After all, we’d already ended things. Whatever bond had once existed between us had been burned to ashes. But feeling his heartbeat against mine—uneven, frantic, too human–I couldn’t bring myself to break that fragile contact.

Maybe it was pity. Maybe it was something else.

Not enough distance, Freya, I told myself silently. Not enough courage to be cruel.

16:49 Tue, Nov 4 M…

Chapter 362

53

Finished

He stayed like that for a long time, until the tension finally left his shoulders. When I felt him breathe normally again, I spoke softly, “Alright. Let’s go inside.”

He hesitated, then nodded and released me. The moment his arms fell away, a faint chill crawled across my skin, as if the wind had slipped in where his warmth had been.

When I started toward the cabin, I noticed the scrape along his knuckles–red, raw, slightly swollen. I reached out without thinking and caught his wrist.

“Your hand,” I murmured. “You should put some salve on that.”

He looked down at me, his gaze

unreadable. “Okay.”

Inside, the room was quiet except for the low hum of the generator. He found the first–aid kit, pulled out a jar of antiseptic, and began treating the cuts himself. The faint sting of alcohol filled the air.

“Anywhere else?” I asked, crossing my arms.

He hesitated. “A few places hurt, but I’ll live.”

“I saw how hard he hit you,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. “You might have bruised ribs. Sit down.”

When he didn’t move fast enough, I added, “Now.”

Something flickered in his eyes—amusement, maybe—but he obeyed. He tugged his shirt off without protest, the fabric catching briefly on his shoulder before it slid free.

My pulse jumped.

Bruises marred his chest and abdomen, dark marks blooming beneath pale skin like violent ink stains. He’d taken more hits than he’d admitted.

“Turn toward the light,” I said, stepping closer.

He obeyed again, the muscles in his back shifting under his skin. I reached out, my fingers brushing over one of the bruises. His body tensed at the contact, not from pain, but from the

nearness.

“If it hurts too much, say something,” I told him.

“I’m fine.”

I pressed a little harder, testing bone alignment the way my mother–Myra, the military medic -had taught me years ago. My time in the Iron Fang Recon Unit had left me with enough field

7/3

16:49 Tue, Nov 4 …

Chapter 362

training to know what a fracture felt like.

H

Timated

His skin was warm beneath my palm, his breath unsteady. But when I applied pressure along his ribs, he didn’t flinch.

“Any sharp pain?” I asked.

He blinked, like he’d forgotten how to speak. “No.”

“Then your ribs are intact. Just bruises.” I stepped back and nodded toward the salve. “You’ll live.”

Silas’s gaze lingered on me. There was something in it–something heavy, quiet, unreadable.

“You really think I’m not like him?” he asked suddenly. His voice was low, uncertain.

I met his eyes. “You’re not.”

A strange, almost boyish look crossed his face–relief and disbelief tangled together. “I’m not him,” he murmured again, as if trying to convince himself.

He leaned back, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t leave with Cassian. You might regret that one day.”

“Maybe,” I said. “But not now. Not yet.”

His expression shifted, the light dimming behind his eyes. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”

I hesitated. “I hope you’ll keep your word, Silas. That when the time comes, you’ll let me go.”