A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 88

Chapter 88

Third Person’s POV

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Finished

Jocelyn knelt rigidly on the cold stone floor of the Stormveil Primal Hall, her face pale. Ken Thorne’s words still echoed like thunder in the vaulted chamber, each syllable cutting into her pride like a blade. She had long basked in the false glory of clinging to Silas Whitmor’s name, earning the shallow reverence of pack members who fawned on her. Now, stripped bare before the family’s ancestral spirits, she had not felt such humiliation in years.

Freya could see it clearly–her great–grandfather’s rage had not been for show. The old Alpha Elder’s fury came from a place of fierce love for her bloodline. She bowed her head, heart tight, before answering softly.

“I will, Elder Ken. I’ll come sit with you, talk with you whenever you wish.”

When she finally stepped out of the Stormveil Primal Hall, the night air hit her lungs like a cleansing fire. Out beyond the circle of torches that guarded the ancient stone grounds, a lone figure stood–silent, still, as though carved from steel and shadow.

Silas Whitmor.

Freya froze, her pulse leaping. He was really waiting. Not seated, not hidden away in a nearby vehicle, but standing openly, unwavering, before the sacred hall of her ancestors.

As though sensing her gaze, Silas lifted his eyes to meet hers. For a moment, everything within her chest twisted and surged. His steady, storm–gray stare locked with hers, unflinching. Then, he began to walk toward her, every step purposeful.

“Did you settle what you came here to do?” His voice was low, even, carrying that quiet command only an Alpha of his stature could hold.

“Yes,” she nodded.

“They didn’t give you trouble?”

“No.”

“Then why stand here?” she finally asked, her voice tinged with disbelief. “You’ve been waiting like this for… more than an hour?”

“Standing at the gate of your ancestral hall,” Silas replied calmly, “was the only way I would see you the very moment you emerged–before anyone else could.”

The words struck her harder than she expected.

“But it’s exhausting,” she countered, her throat tight. “And people stare. Don’t you think it draws too much attention?”

“I don’t care.”

His answer was flat, unwavering.

Freya faltered, brushing her hand against her cloak, unsure what to say. Finally, she muttered, “The rites are

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Chapter 88

finished for tonight. Let’s… go back.”

But before she could turn, his voice cut through the night.

“Freya.”

She froze, glancing back.

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“They’ve been placed in the Stormveil Primal Hall. In three nights, they’ll be interred at the Ashbourne Legion’s Hall of Martyrs.”

“That’s good. They’ll rest in honor,” Lana said. Then her tone sharpened, “By the way–did you hear Aurora’s been detained?”

“Detained?” Freya was startled.

“Of course! At the airstrip–after what she did, insulting the ashes of your parents, mocking the fallen? The Iron Fang Recon officers were furious. With so many witnesses, there was no escaping it. Ten days in detention, and worse, an official disciplinary mark on her record. Aurora’s career in the Bluemoon Airborne Wing? Over.”

Lana’s laugh was edged with satisfaction. “Can you imagine? Caelum Grafton’s been scrambling, begging for strings to be pulled, trying to shield her from punishment. But who would dare? She disrespected warriors.

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Chapter 88

who bled and died for the packs. That’s a line even an Alpha of the Silverfang cannot cross.”

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Freya sat silently, her grip tightening on the phone. Aurora’s arrogance had always burned, but this… this was different. She had tried to desecrate the remains of her parents–of heroes.

And now, the wolves themselves had answered.

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