A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 80

Chapter 80

Freya’s POV

I froze in place, breath catching in my throat.

It must have been the shock. Nothing else could explain it.

+8 Pearls

Because I never expected Silas Whitmor’s back–Alpha of the Ironclad Coalition, heir of the feared Whitmore bloodline–to be carved over with scars.

Not the kind of marks a warrior earns in battle with rogues. These weren’t badges of honor. They were cruel, deliberate. They reeked of punishment. Of abuse.

Abuse?

The lines weren’t fresh. Some were years old, healed but jagged, layered one over another. Scars that could only have come from his youth. From when he was still a child.

My stomach twisted, fury knotting inside me. Who would dare? Who would do this to a pup?

The words escaped before I could stop them.

“Those scars on your back… who did that to you?!”

His gaze flicked toward me, unreadable, voice low and cold.

“So you really did see them.” He didn’t answer my question. Instead, his lips curled faintly. “But are you actually angry, Freya? Angry because of the marks carved into my flesh?”

His calmness jarred me back. My heartbeat steadied. Why was I angry? If he had been beaten, the one responsible was surely long gone–or already dealt with. Silas wasn’t some powerless pup anymore. He was Alpha. The predator no one dared to

touch.

I exhaled slowly. “A little angry, yes. But it’s your past, your scars. It’s not my place to pry. I overstepped.”

His lashes flickered once. Then his hand slid off the doorframe, releasing me. “Go back to your room.”

I obeyed, retreating across the threshold into my chamber. I shut the adjoining door softly behind me.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about his back. About the whip–marks carved deep into his flesh. The stories whispered in Bloodmoon Pack about the Whitmore line came back to me. Silas’s father, brutal and unhinged, obsessed with a mate who never returned his love. I’d thought those tales exaggerated. Now I wasn’t so sure.

He could have burned those scars away with SkyVex dermal tech. He hadn’t. He’d kept them, carried them like a weapon etched into his skin. A yow to never be powerless again.

That night, I lay awake staring at the ceiling, restless. Tomorrow, I would have to walk into the Stormveil Primal Hall. My family’s sacred ground. My grandfather had given his life protecting it, and his spirit still lingered there. My parents‘ tablets were enshrined in its heart.

I remembered the last time, when I was younger, walking between my father Arthur and my mother Myra as we carried offerings. Eric, my brother, had been by my side. This time, I would go alone.

But someday… when I find Eric again, we’ll go together. We’ll kneel before our ancestors, before my parents‘ spirits, and they’ll see we endured.

Darkness swallowed the space, but my wolf sight cut through the shadows. On the bed, Silas lay writhing, face twisted in pain.

“Pain… gods, it hurts… stop–please, stop… I’ll obey, I’ll be good… obedient…”

“Silas!” I whispered sharply, stepping to his side.

Suddenly his grip snapped around my wrist, faster than thought, crushing tight. I gasped, startled by his reflex.

But his eyes stayed closed. His voice–raw, shattered–fell into the space between us.

“Don’t leave me….*

My throat closed. The predator was gone; in his place was someone unbearably fragile.

I didn’t pull away. I let him hold me. Slowly, the tension bled from his frame. His breathing steadied. The nightmare receded.

With

my free hand, I reached for a tissue on the bedside table and gently wiped the sweat from his brow.

I had thought of Silas as a man carved of ice and steel, a void where warmth could not exist. Yet now… he looked breakable. Like a pup in need of shelter.

Minutes passed. His features smoothed, and at last, he sank into a deep, steady sleep.

I glanced down at my wrist, still trapped in his hand. I tried to ease it free-

And stopped, staring at his sleeping face.

My chest ached in a way I didn’t want to name.