A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 368

Chapter 368

Freya’s POV

The night air inside keep was heavy with salt and storm. I couldn’t sleep. Something in me-instinct or worry-kept stirring until I finally threw the covers aside and went downstairs. The stone floors were cold beneath my feet, the torches burned low, and the scent of rain drifted in from the sea.

When I reached the lower hall, I saw Silas coming out of the bathing chamber, water still clinging to his hair. Steam followed him into the corridor, and his shirt clung damp to his shoulders.

“You took a shower? At this hour?” I asked quietly.

He glanced at me, voice low. “Nightmare. I was drenched in sweat. The water helps.”

He moved to pass me, but something made me stop him. “Wait.”

I stepped into the chamber he’d left, found a clean towel hanging near the basin, and came back to him. “Your hair’s still wet. The air here is thick with damp-you’ll catch cold.”

He didn’t take the towel. Instead, he bent his head toward me, tall frame lowering until his forehead almost brushed my shoulder. For a heartbeat, he looked less like the Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition and more like a tired wolf waiting to be tended.

I hesitated, then sighed and covered his head with the towel, my fingers working through his hair, rubbing gently until it was half dry. He stood utterly still beneath my hands, the muscles in his neck shifting faintly as he breathed.

When I was almost done, his voice came quietly, close to my ear. “I want a drink. Will you sit with me for a while?”

“It’s the middle of the night,” I said. “Why the sudden urge?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he answered. “Thought a little firewine might help.”

“Do you often drink when you can’t sleep?”

A faint shake of his head. “Not often. Just tonight.”

I finished with his hair and set the towel aside. He crossed to the bar in the corner of the hall, uncorked a bottle of dark amber liquor, and poured himself a glass. Before I could speak, he threw it back in one gulp.

“Silas-” I reached out, but too late.

He smiled faintly, eyes glinting in the firelight. “Relax. A few drinks won’t break me.” He poured another.

This time, I pressed my fingers over the rim of the glass. “You shouldn’t drown yourself like this. It’s bad for you.”

Something flickered in his gaze-something sharp. “So you do care,” he said softly. “Just like you did today, when you checked my wounds.” His eyes darkened. “Freya, are you sure you don’t care at all?”

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1 hesitated. “If I said I didn’t, that would be a lie. I still care… but I’m trying to let it go. One day, I will.”

Before I could finish, he leaned forward. The kiss barely brushed my lips-light as a breath, quick as a spark-but it froze me in place.

Don’t say it,” he whispered against my mouth. “If you keep talking, I’ll start to think I deserve every bit of this misery.”

I stepped back, heart pounding, trying to steady myself. “Was the Williams project you handed over to Parker a coincidence?” I asked suddenly. “Or did you do that on purpose-so he’d come to the Capital?”

His expression shifted, calm but unguarded. “If I said yes, I did it on purpose… would it matter?”

“Why?”

His answer came without pause. “Because of you. I wanted you close, not wandering from border to border on dangerous assignments. I thought-if you worked here, you could rest. And maybe…” His voice lowered. “Maybe you’d see I’m not the same man you left.”

For a moment, I couldn’t find words. It was the first time he’d spoken his mind so plainly—his calculations laid bare, his intentions stripped of disguise.

I turned away. “Two days from now, you’re supposed to take me back to the mainland. I expect you to keep that promise. And after that-when we meet again-you can call me Freya. Or Thorne. Nothing else.”

The light in his eyes dimmed. “So this is another no?”

I said nothing.

When I started up the stairs, his voice broke the quiet. “No matter what I do, you’ll never come back to me, will you?”

I stopped halfway, hand on the railing. “Silas, you shattered my trust once. Do you know how hard it is to rebuild something like that?”

He took a slow step toward me. “If I knelt right here and begged-if I gave you everything I own, even the Whitmor name itself—you still wouldn’t take me back?”

“I never wanted any of that,” I said quietly.

His gaze turned shadowed, almost feral. “Then who do you want?”

“That’s my business.” I exhaled, turning to leave. “If there’s nothing else, I’m going back to bed.”

“Freya.” His voice stopped me cold. “I could break the deal.”

I turned sharply. “What?”

He stood at the foot of the stairs, eyes burning like molten amber. “I could keep you here. Lock every gate on this island. We’d stay-just the two of us-until you remembered how to love me. Until you believed me again.”

The darkness in his tone chilled me more than the sea wind. I met his gaze steadily. “So that’s it? You’re

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Finished

telling me I’ve lost the gamble?”

He started forward, each step echoing against stone. “You can stop me anytime,” he said. “All you have to do is say you still believe in me. Say you’ll try again.”

For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The air was thick with his scent-storm and steel, the raw scent of dominance barely leashed.

But I held my ground. Because love, when twisted by possession, wasn’t love

anymore.

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