A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 364

Chapter 364

Third Person’s POV

Finished

In the heart of The Capital, power ran thicker than blood–and among the city’s four dominant law circles, none held greater sway than the Ashford lineage. Rumor said that crossing Victor Ashford meant spending the rest of your life tangled in lawsuits and whispers of ruin.

But Lana didn’t care for rumors.

“He won’t find out,” she said coolly, her voice sharp with impatience.

Across from her, the club manager hesitated. “Miss Rook… Alpha Victor specifically instructed us not to take your bookings anymore. No male models, no private escorts.”

Lana’s expression froze. “He said what?”

The irritation flared in her chest like static before a storm. Victor Ashford might have been her contractual partner, but lately, his control over her personal life was tightening like a silver collar. “We’re not even truly together,” she muttered. “ “He doesn’t get to dictate who I meet.”

“I’m sorry,” the manager stammered. “If we let you see him-”

“I just want to talk to Duke,” Lana cut him off, eyes narrowing. “That’s all. I’m not hiring him.”

The manager wrung his hands. “Please understand, Miss Rook. If Alpha Victor finds out, this establishment could lose its license. He… doesn’t take disobedience well.”

Before Lana could snap back, a commotion broke out across the marble hall. A male voice rang out–desperate, defiant. “I’m not for sale! I only serve drinks here!”

Then came the shrill reply of a woman: “If you’re not selling, what are you doing in this place? Tonight, you’re mine! Drag him back–money isn’t an issue!”

A young man stumbled out of a private suite, panic carved into his features. Two burly guards and a jeweled woman pursued him. His shirt was torn, his breathing ragged.

Lana’s eyes widened. Duke.

“Duke!” she called.

The

young man froze mid–step, eyes darting to her. Recognition flickered through the fear clouding his gaze.

“Don’t be afraid.” Lana stepped forward, slipping between him and the oncoming guards. Her stance carried the quiet dominance of a wolf who’d seen battlefields far less civilized than this

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club. “He’s with me.”

M

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Finished

The jeweled woman–clearly of wealth–stopped short, chin lifting. “He’s mine tonight. Step aside before you regret it.”

Lana turned her gaze to the manager. “Your club’s selling people now?”

The man paled. “N–no, of course not. But if both parties consent-”

“Does he look consenting to you?” Lana’s tone was a low growl, wolf scent prickling faintly in the air.

The woman scoffed. “If he refuses, I’ll make sure he never works in The Capital again. I’m from the Vane family.”

At that, Lana’s lips curved–not kindly. “The Vanes?” she repeated, her voice dipped in dangerous amusement. “Then perhaps you’ve heard of Victor Ashford.”

The woman stiffened. “You–You’re with him?”

“His girlfriend,” Lana said simply. “Want me to call m and tell him you harassed my friend?” She waved her WolfComm idly, the blue light reflecting off her manicured claws.

“You’re friends with a male model? When Victor finds out, you’ll be the one in trouble,” the woman sneered.

Lana tilted her head. “He already knows Duke. In fact, he’s met him. Should I call him right now, see whose name he erases first?”

The silence between them was sharp and heavy. Finally, the woman clicked her tongue, eyes flashing with fury, but she turned on her heel and stalked away, her guards trailing like scolded

pups.

As the scent of her perfume faded, Lana turned back to Duke. “You alright?”

He exhaled shakily. “I… think so. Thank you.”

“Good. Then come with me. I want to talk.”

He blinked. “Talk?” His confusion was honest–and tinged with fear. In his world, “being taken out” by a client rarely meant talking.

Seeing it, Lana softened her tone. “Relax. I’m not that kind of woman. Just dinner. Or midnight noodles, if you prefer.”

The manager stepped forward again, sweating. “Miss Rook, please—”

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But Lana was already guiding Duke toward the door, her grip firm but protective. “He’s off the clock. Bill it to my name.”

Once outside, the chill of night brushed against their skin. Lana’s car–a sleek black vehicle with silver–etched runes visible only to lupine eyes–waited by the curb. They climbed in.

“What do you want to cat?” she asked as she started the engine.

“Anything,” he murmured, voice still unsteady.

She smiled faintly. “Then noodles. Something simple.”

They drove through the sleeping edges of The Capital until they reached a narrow alley lined with old brick. A small noodle bar glowed dimly under the warm yellow of paper lamps. It wasn’t glamorous–just familiar.

Duke paused at the doorway, staring. The place hadn’t changed. Not the chipped counter, not the scent of broth and scallions. He remembered coming here once–years ago—with her. Before everything fractured.

They sat at a corner booth, and the owner, an elder woman with sharp eyes, recognized Lana immediately. “Two bowls of the house special?”

Lana nodded. “Triple seafood.”

When the woman disappeared into the kitchen, Lana leaned her elbows on the table. “Does that kind of thing happen often?”

Duke blinked, caught off guard. “You mean… at the club?”

She nodded.

He shook his head. “No. First time. I only started a few weeks ago. Needed the money.”

Lana studied him quietly–the tension in his shoulders, the faint wolfish pulse beneath his skin, like someone who had learned to suppress instincts in a world that preyed on the weak.

“Still running from the past?” she asked softly.

He looked up, startled. “You always did see too much,” he said.

“And you always did underestimate me,” she replied with a ghost of a smile.

The steam from their noodles curled upward, blending with the faint city hum outside. In that small moment–two wolves bound by old debts and unspoken grief–the world felt quieter.

But somewhere across the city, a phone buzzed to life in Victor Ashford’s penthouse.

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“Sir,” came the voice of the club manager, nervous and trembling. “Miss Rook just took Duke out of the establishment. Should we-”

Victor’s voice, low and calm, cut through the line like a blade. “No. Let her run. If she crosses the line, I’ll be the one waiting when she does.”

His eyes shifted, pupils flaring gold in the dark.

Because in The Capital, even freedom had teeth.