A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 367

Chapter 367

Third Person’s POV

Under the cold silver light of the moon, Lana stood frozen, her pulse a wild drum beneath her skin.

Victor’s voice was soft, too soft the kind of low, dangerous calm that curled like smoke.

I’m not the sort of male who needs to force anything,” he murmured, his breath ghosting against her check. His lips brushed her ear, a teasing touch that sent a shiver down her spine. “Lana… are you sure you don’t want this? You used to look at me like you couldn’t wait to pin me down. Always saying you wanted to make me obey you. What changed?”

His tone, rough and low, melted into the thick scent of night dominance.

Lana’s whole body went rigid.

–

– cedar, musk, and his wolf’s restrained

For the love of the Moon, he was using his charm again that intoxicating mix of voice and scent she could never defend against. He knew her weaknesses too well. The bastard.

“Lana,” he said again, the name rolling off his tongue like a dark promise. “I’ve never let anyone else take the lead with me. Never. That chance was yours alone. Tell me, do you still want it?”

Her throat worked soundlessly. The golden light from the firepit threw his form into relief – the fine line of muscle, the coiled tension of a predator holding himself back. He was all sharp grace and quiet power, the kind of male who could ruin someone with a look.

And yes, gods help her, he was built exactly to her taste.

She swallowed, trying to keep her mind clear. But every breath she took drew more of his scent, more of that dizzying warmth that made her wolf stir restlessly beneath her skin.

“Lana,” he whispered, his voice a low growl now. “You really don’t want to?”

Her reason cracked like thin ice.

When he tilted his head, the strong line of his throat caught the light, his pulse beating just beneath his skin – and then he brushed his throat against her lips, deliberately.

The control she’d been clinging to snapped.

With a low snarl, Lana surged forward, flipping him beneath her in one quick motion. The furs beneath them rustled as she straddled him, eyes burning gold. “Victor,” she said, voice rough, “tonight, you’ll do what I say.”

A smile touched his lips

–

slow, satisfied, wolfish.

“Fine,” he murmured. “Your call.”

But the glint in his eyes said everything: as long as she only wanted him, he’d let her have all the control

she wanted.

1/

He’d let her think she’d tamed him.

–

As she moved over him, claiming him with fierce, unsteady need, he lay back and watched her the lines of her face lit by moonlight, the tremor of her body, the fire that still burned for him despite all the and wounds between them.

If he’d known she would haunt him this way, he thought, he’d never have let her go in the first place.

But fate had brought her back, and though it was late, it was not too late.

years

When at last she fell asleep, breath soft and shallow against his chest, Victor sat up quietly. He looked down at her the wild, stubborn wolf who had once belonged to him and a shadow crossed his eyes.

–

–

“Don’t make me find out you’ve been hunting two trails, Lana,” he murmured.

Far away, under the same moon, Silas woke with a strangled gasp.

Darkness pressed around him – heavy, absolute. His chest heaved, sweat clinging cold against his skin.

The nightmare lingered like the taste of iron on his tongue.

He had taken the sleeping draught before bed, yet it hadn’t kept the dream at bay. The same dream, the same voices.

“Silas, my son… you will become just like me.”

“No! You’re his son- you’ll turn into the same monster! I should never have borne you!”

The voices tore through his skull like claws, his father’s deep and cruel, his mother’s trembling with hatred and fear. Blood always blood – filled his vision. The moon turned red, and no matter how he ran, it followed.

Stop.

Please, stop.

–

He jerked upright, eyes wide, chest aching with the remnants of panic. The chamber was still, the only sound his ragged breathing. The scent of sweat and fear filled the air – his own.

A nightmare. Again.

He turned his head toward the bed.

Freya still slept, her face calm, touched by silver light spilling through the heavy curtains. There was peace in her expression, the kind that felt distant to him

–

– like sunlight glimpsed from the bottom of a well.

She had once told him, gently, “You’re not your father, Silas. You never will be.”

But even as he watched her now, he felt the old doubt creeping back.

Was it really possible to escape blood? To outrun a legacy carved into his bones?

2/3

Finished

He pressed a hand to his temple. The pain throbbed, deep and familiar.

If the day ever came when I became what he was…

Would Freya still look at him with that same calm, steady gaze? Or would she see only a monster?

The thought twisted something inside him.

Silas rose quietly from the bed, careful not to wake her. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet as he made his way through the darkened hall.

He stopped in front of the washroom’s mirror.

The man who stared back looked almost spectral faintly glowing along his collarbone.

—

skin pale, eyes shadowed, the mark of his bloodline

The reflection mocked him. His father’s eyes. His father’s jaw.

Silas turned on the tap, and icy water gushed over his hands, then his face, spilling down his neck and chest. The shock grounded him a jolt back into the present.

—

Still, the memory clung. Cassian’s visit earlier that day had stirred something deep, something he’d buried long ago.

The past had teeth, and it had found his scent again.

When he finally stepped out of the washroom, dressed and composed, he froze. Freya stood by the doorway, her long hair loose, her expression unreadable in the moonlight.

He blinked. “Did I wake you?”

Her voice was quiet. “Not exactly. I don’t sleep deeply.”

She had felt him leave. Heard the water. And something in her gaze she already knew.

The ghosts in his head weren’t silent tonight.

—

concern, but not pity – told him

Finished