Chapter 153
Chapter 153
Freya’s POV
Was this some kind of calculated seduction?
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That thought flickered across my mind, bitter and sharp. Silas with his calm, unyielding presence, with those eyes–those hawk–cut eyes that usually held only ice and restraint–now warmed with hunger. It was a dangerous thing, the way he looked at me. Dangerous because I wasn’t sure I could promise myself I wouldn’t feel something in return.
Could I really resist him? I wasn’t certain. Not with those eyes on me, stripped of aloofness, glimmering instead with a raw need that could set any wolf’s heart stuttering.
“Forget it,” I said finally, exhaling. “But don’t say that again. Not in front of Caelum p>
The light in Silas’s gaze dimmed, just a fraction. Still, he inclined his head. “As you wish. I understand p>
The rest of the night unraveled quietly. The investors drifted away after the island conference ended; the charity donations were counted, praised, and the political wolves congratulated one another. By dawn, the halls were emptied of ambition and the stench of forged alliances.
Silas and I boarded the ship back to Ashbourne the next morning. His presence beside me was both shield and weight. When we arrived at his estate–the cold steel–and–stone villa the Whitmors had claimed on the city’s cliffs–I expected silence, perhaps a moment’s respite p>
Instead, we found a shadow already waiting within.
Cassian Whitmor.
I had never met Silas’s father in person. Yet I knew that face; every wolf who walked the Capital knew it. The Whitmor blood ran as sharp as the steel they were named for, and Cassian’s image had been immortalized in political briefings, on Ironclad Coalition documents, even in old war dispatches. Cold, beautiful, dangerous.
He stood in the heart of the room as if it were his own, and in a sense, perhaps it always would be.
The moment Silas saw him, his expression hardened to granite. His voice dropped, edged with warning. “Why are you here? I told you before–stay away from her p>
He stepped instinctively in front of me, every line of his body radiating tension, shielding me as though his father might strike at any moment.
Cassian chuckled, low and dark. “So defensive. Do you fear I’ll harm your precious treasure?” His gaze slid past Silas, landing on me like a predator studying prey. “I heard an amusing tale–that you, Alpha Whitmor, leapt into the sea with her to drag a
from drowning. Imagine my curiosity. I simply had to see the woman who made you abandon your mask of stone p>
pup
The weight of Silas’s silence was heavy. I could sense the battle in him, his wolf snarling to keep me behind him, his pride hissing at the intrusion.
But I would not cower.
I laid a hand briefly on his arm, an anchor, and then stepped forward. His fingers twitched to stop me, but I shook my head and met his gaze with calm steel. Then I walked past him until I stood face–to–face with Cassian Whitmor.
“Well?” I said, voice clear and unflinching. “Have you looked enough p>
One of his brows arched in faint amusement. “You are… not disappointing p>
“Good,” I said, my wolf bristling, my blood roaring with the taste of old promises. “Then it’s my turn p>
Before he could respond, I swung-
My fist drove hard into his gut, with every ounce of strength that Stormveil blood could summon. The impact rang up my arm, a satisfying crack of muscle against hardened flesh. He staggered, breath hitching, retreating several steps before he managed to plant his boots. His hand clutched his abdomen, eyes wide with genuine shock.
I had told Silas once–if I ever met his father, I would strike him. And I was nothing if not a wolf of my word
Chapter 153
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Cassian’s laugh split the air, raw and edged with menace. “Hah..” His eyes narrowed, shadows sliding across his face like storm clouds. “Bold little thing. Do you understand what price you’ve just invoked p>
I straightened, meeting his threat with nothing but fire. “Silas promised me your lawyers would shield me. Didn’t you?” Behind me, I could hear Silas’s breath catch. I knew he hadn’t expected me to actually follow through, hadn’t thought I would bare my claws so openly. But I had endured enough Whitmor arrogance, enough men who believed my role was silence.
“Yes,” he said at last, voice rough. “I promised p>
I nodded once, turning back to Cassian. “Good. Then tell me this–does the price remain the same if I only strike once? Or does it stay the same if I keep going p>
For the first time, genuine surprise cracked Cassian’s perfect mask. His lips parted slightly, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his face.
And then I moved.
I launched at him, fists a blur, every strike calculated to bruise, to batter, to wound without killing. My blows landed fast and merciless, each one angled at the soft places warriors guard but never expose: ribs, kidneys, shoulders, the meat of the thigh. He stumbled under the assault, forced back by my fury, until even his trained bodyguards would have thought twice about stepping in.
Cassian snarled, shock giving way to rage. He had not been struck like this in decades – not by rival Alphas, not by enemies, and certainly never by a woman.
Another punch landed square against his side, hard enough to send him reeling. He lifted his arm at last, striking back. His fist cut through the air, aiming directly for my face.
I did not dodge.
Because in the blink of a heartbeat, Silas was there.
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His body slammed between us, one hand snapping up to catch Cassian’s strike, halting it inches from my cheek. The sound of impact was like stone against steel, two predators colliding.
The room froze.
“Why?” Silas’s voice cracked through the air, colder than winter ice. His eyes were not on his father but on me. mingled in equal parts. “Do you not see what you’re doing? If I hadn’t stopped him, that punch would have shattered your
fury and fear
jaw. ”
I looked up at him, steady, unshaken. “I saw p>
“Then why p>
“Because I wanted to hit him p>
The silence after my words was absolute. Silas’s eyes searched mine, torn between disbelief and something darker. Cassian’s laughter started again, low and dangerous, even as bruises blossomed across his body where my fists had landed.
And I–Freya Thorne of the Stormveil Pack–stood unrepentant, my fists still aching for another round.
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