Chapter 113
Chapter 113
Freya’s POV
Finished
Aurora bit her lip. The faint scent of her unease drifted toward me even across the crowded hall. She didn’t want to see me stand beside Silas Whitmor. No–she couldn’t bear the thought.
But Caelum’s words, the way he bristled every time Silas spoke of me, carved deeper lines into her composure. The Alpha of Silverfang might have broken our bond in the Lunar Severance Phase, but now–now, as Silas’s eyes lingered on me—I could feel the storm building in him.
And Aurora felt it too.
Why, when our marriage was ashes, did Caelum’s attention burn hotter than ever? His jealousy was unmistakable. He was like a wolf unwilling to see prey taken by another pack, even prey he himself had abandoned.
Aurora’s scent soured with doubt, though I could almost hear her mind whispering its own consolations: He doesn’t love her. He loves me. He only says “friend” because the time is not yet right. Once the storm of his divorce passes, he will claim me in the open.
But Silas’s laughter broke across the hall–low, edged, predatory. “Sympathy?” His smile curved like the slash of a blade. “Caelum, it seems you’ve never understood Freya Thorne at all.
The mocking warmth in his tone made my pulse catch. Sympathy? Who among them had the right to pity me? I was not some whimpering stray.
Silas’s gaze flicked over me. For an instant, I saw beneath the Ironclad Alpha’s armor–the truth that from the first, he had never intended to “toy” with me. At the beginning, perhaps, he had been intrigued by my refusal to abandon him when danger snapped its jaws. He’d thought to keep me close until the interest faded.
But the longer I stayed, the stronger his focus became. Not fading–tightening, burning, rooting deeper.
His next words confirmed it. “I am serious about her,” Silas said, voice carrying through the vaulted hall. “If she nods her head, I would take her to my side this very moment. ”
Gasps rippled like wind over tall grass. Wolves whispered behind their hands, eyes flashing, ears straining.
My cousin Jocelyn’s face drained of color. “Silas…. what do you mean by that? You can’t mean–you would court her p>
“Court?” A flicker passed over his lashes, but I saw the hunger there. For Silas, courtship might not be enough. He wanted more. Needed more.
“Freya.” My name fell from his lips with the force of a command. His gaze speared me, molten black and absolute. “If you’re willing, from this moment forward, you’ll be mine. My partner. My mate in truth p>
The words rooted me to the floor.
He couldn’t mean it. Could he? His voice was cool, but husked at the edges, rougher than usual–like gravel dragged across stone. And the way he watched me… every instinct in me quivered. He was dead serious.
Or was this all a shield, a gesture to lift me above the scorn Jocelyn and Caelum had tried to drape over me?
Jocelyn’s composure finally cracked. She stepped forward, her voice rising. “She can’t be your mate! She has nothing, no holdings, no name worth carrying. How could she ever stand at your side p>
Silas turned, his stare slicing into her. “And you think you can p>
She jolted as though struck, then tilted her chin, clinging to her arrogance like armor. “Yes. I am of the first branch of the Thornes, daughter of the Metropolitan line. I carry titles within the Stormveil holdings. I have rank, power, recognition. I am fil. More fit than her p>
Pride shone off her like ice catching light. In Ashbourne, in the Capital, she strutted as if the world itself bowed. She was the jewel of the Metropolitan pack–line, raised high in boardrooms and halls of steel.
And yet-
6:06 AM P
Chapter 113
Finished
Silas’s laugh this time was a scythe. “Your ability?” His eyes narrowed. “If not for the Ironclad Coalition’s favor propping you up, how much power would you wield, Jocelyn Thorne? Do you think scraps from my hand made you a wolf worthy of me p>
His words struck like claws raking her face. The color drained out of her until she stood pale, stiff, eyes wide.
The truth was a spear through the crowd as well. Every wolf who knew her history–how she had clawed her way from bastard–child obscurity into legitimacy only because of favors, trades, whispered bargains–now recalled it in sharp relief. Even the sacrifice she loved to parade, the “one eye” she had given for her rise, felt smaller in the shadow of Silas’s derision.
Around us, wolves traded looks. Speculation. Contempt.
Jocelyn’s breath shuddered. “And what of her?” she snapped, pointing at me like venom. “What does Freya Thorne have? Nothing! Her parents dead in the Hall of Martyrs, her line broken, no holdings but ashes. What can she give you, Silas? Don’t forget–I gave up my eye for you p>
Her words dripped with intent, trying to drag guilt into his gaze. But Silas didn’t so much as blink.
His black eyes burned with the frost of the high peaks. “I require nothing of her. Nothing. And if you ever again dare to belittle her in my presence, I will strip you of every pretension, tear you back down to what you once were–a forgotten stray begging scraps at the Thornes‘ hall doors p>
The temperature’seemed to plummet. His aura poured through the hall, pressing down on every wolf like the shadow of a glacier.
Even Jocelyn trembled, her bravado shattering under that weight.
I stood silent, breath held, heart pounding. My wolf prowled beneath my skin, ears flat, tail high, recognizing the dominance in Silas’s voice–and the protection.
For the first time in years, I was not the one being diminished, the one being stripped bare under others‘ words.
I was the one an Alpha had claimed.
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