Chapter 122
Chapter 122
Silas’s POV
Finished
When I returned to the Whitmor estate that night, I knew something was wrong the moment I crossed the threshold.
The air carried it–sharp, metallic, tinged with the wrong kind of dominance. My wolf stiffened inside me, hackles raised, muscles coiling before my mind even caught up.
For half a heartbeat, I thought it might be Freya waiting for me, that she had chosen this night to confront me in my own den. But no–my body knew better. Freya’s presence never triggered this instinctual warning. She was danger of a different breed, one I craved instead of dreaded.
The figure in the living room froze me where I stood.
My breath caught, my chest locked tight, and every scar inside me throbbed as if torn open anew.
Cassian Whitmor.
My father.
The word “father” tasted like ash in my mouth, for he had long ceased to be one. His suit was immaculate–black tailored lines, a stark white shirt beneath. He had always worn such colors since my mother’s death, as though the spectrum of the world had died with her. My mother had been light, and he… he became shadow.
And the face–the gods curse it–the face that mirrored mine. His cheekbones, his jaw, his cold eyes. Looking at him was like staring at a distorted reflection of my own flesh. A cruel reminder that his blood runs in me.
“Surprised to see me, Silas?” His smile was practiced elegance, smooth as silk over a coiled viper. Others might see warmth in it, but I knew better. That smile was venom.
My spine locked straight, every sinew braced against the madness that rolled from him in subtle waves. Since my mother’s death, Cassian had rotted from the inside out. The world thought him merely eccentric, a grieving widower. But I knew–he was broken, twisted. Mad.
“What are you doing here?” I forced the words out cold, flat.
“I hear my son has found himself a woman,” Cassian said lightly, strolling closer with unhurried grace. “Of course I had to come see for myself p>
My jaw clenched. He had seen the trending reports then, the images leaked to the networks before I had them scrubbed. Too late.
Freya.
The way he said it—a woman–made bile crawl up my throat. He knew nothing of her. He could never know what she meant
to me.
I kept my silence.
He tilted his head, studying me as only he could, with the precision of a wolf that had learned to sniff out weakness. “What’s wrong, boy? Don’t tell me you’ve convinced yourself you don’t love her p>
My hands curled into fists. “Whether I love her or not is none of your concern. But if you so much as think of laying a hand on Freya Thorne, I swear I’ll tear your throat out myself p>
Cassian laughed then, sudden and sharp. The sound filled the hall like broken glass. “Oh, Silas. Do you think I’d harm her? No… no, I want to watch. I want to watch as you unravel, just as I did when I lost your mother p>
The mention of her–the only woman who had ever managed to anchor him–slashed through me. My mother. Gone these many years, her absence the wound that had devoured him.
Cassian’s hand came down, slow, deliberate, onto my shoulder. His grip was deceptively light, but I felt the weight of everything behind it: his madness, his certainty.
“You don’t need to love her yet,” he murmured. “All it takes is desire. Once you crave her presence, once you can’t stand the
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Chapter 122
Finished
thought of her eyes looking at anyone but you–then love will come. And with love… the sickness comes too. You’ll want to burn her whole world until only you remain in her vision. You’ll want to lock her away, cage her, make her breathe only for you. That is what it means to be a Whitmor p>
His voice was silk and rot, seeping under my skin.
I met his gaze with pure hatred. “I am not you p>
His smile widened, but it was no smile–it was mockery. “You are me, Silas. My blood, my son. The Whitmor curse runs deep. Obsession is carved into our bones. You will try to resist, but in the end, you will fall as I did. A wolf who cannot have what he wants, driven mad by the wanting p>
The rage burst out of me, a snarl ripping free. “Enough p>
He didn’t flinch. Not once.
Instead he glanced at me with that same infuriating calm and said, “But I did see those pictures of her. The Freya Thorne, yes? Stormveil blood, Bloodmoon kin… strong woman. Beautiful. But she doesn’t look at you the way she should. She doesn’t love you p>
He reached out again, fingers daring to brush against my cheek. “You have your mother’s eyes. Use them. Use your body. Use every gift you inherited to ensnare her. Make her yours. She won’t stand a chance p>
The beast inside me surged, and my hand shot up, snapping around his wrist with iron force.
The bones in his arm trembled under my grip. A single twist and I could shatter it. My wolf howled for me to do it. To break him. To end the stench of his touch once and for all.
Cassian only arched a brow. “Going to cripple your father for giving advice p>
My lip curled back, teeth bared. “I stopped being your son the day you killed yourself with your own madness. Touch me again and I will break you p>
For a moment, silence hung thick between us. Then he smiled again, utterly unfazed.
“Very well. I’ll leave.” He turned, strolling toward the door, but not before casting one last poisoned glance back over his shoulder. “But remember, Silas–no matter how hard you deny it, you are my son. The day will come when you, too, are undone by your own hunger. And I will be waiting for you in that same pit. In that hell p>
His footsteps echoed down the hall, fading into the night.
I stood frozen, my body locked in place long after he was gone. My fists clenched so tightly my claws had cut deep into my palms. Warm blood trickled between my fingers, but I felt nothing.
Even with the house empty once more, my wolf refused to calm. Every musclè screamed to tear, to destroy, to fight the ghost of him still lingering in the air.
I hated him.
But most of all, I hated the seed of fear he left behind–that somewhere, buried deep in my marrow, he might be right.
That one day, Freya would awaken the Whitmor madness in me.
And gods help us both, if that day came.