Freya’s POV
I never sought out trouble. But I was never the kind to fear it either.
+8 Pearls
“She’s from the Ashbourne Throne Family’s first line,” Ss said slowly, his gaze unwavering. “And Freya, you and she share the same surname. Surely you don’t think that’s coincidence.”
My breath caught. In The Ashbourne, there was only one Thorne name worth mentioning–our ancestral hall still stood in the city’s golden heart, shadowed by Stormveil Pack’s banners.
“So it seems,” I said coolly, “that fate has a twisted sense of humor.”
Which meant Jocelyn Thorne of the Metropolitan Pack–was my cousin.
I hadn’t yet returned to my bloodline, and already I’d shed with her.
Ss tilted his head. “You don’t want to ask what ties I have to Jocelyn?”
I’m just a bodyguard.” My words were clipped, final.
In other words, whoever Jocelyn was to him–lover, enemy, ghost–it wasn’t my concern.
I refused to drown in the swamp of another man’s tangled past.
But Ss didn’t stop. His voice lowered, rough like iron scraping steel.
“Her eye… almost ruined by my hand. The orb was spared, but her vision never recovered.”
I froze. Jocelyn had once whispered that Ss cared for nothing but her eyes.
His next words made my pulse spike<b>. </b>
“I was eight <b>years </b>old. My mind–shattered. I remember my hands on her throat. My nails digging… gouging toward her eye until I almost ripped it from her skull.”
A chill <b>raced </b>down my spine. My wolf bristled inside me. I hadn’t expected that.
But outwardly, I kept my face calm. I’d seen enough war, enough carnage in the field with the Iron Fang <b>Recon </b>Unit. My youth had been spent staring into the <b>pits </b><b>of </b>conflict beyond our borders. Compared to those mes<b>, </b>this truth did not shake<ol><li><b>me</b>.</li></ol>
“You’re not afraid?” he <b>pressed</b>, his obsidian eyes catching the low light.
<b>2 </b>
“I’ve seen worse,” I said simply. <b>“</b>Perhaps that’s why <b>fear </b>doesn’te <b>easily </b>to me.”
I let my gaze linger on him, my wolf brushing the <b>edges </b>of his aura. “If anything, I think you and Jocelyn are both… tragic.”
His lips quirked, sharp. “So you pity me?”
No one had ever called Ss Whitmor pitiful. He was the cursed Alpha of the Irond Coalition. The beast and the sinner.
“You were eight,” <b>I </b>countered, “lost in madness. That’s not a monster. That’s a child carrying the weight of a curse.”
<b>His </bugh was low, dangerous. “Careful, little wolf. That kind of sympathy can get you killed. Stay too close to a beast, and one day its teeth might pierce your throat. What if I lose my mind again? Would you fear me tearing out your eyes? Remember, I am <b>not </b>a weak child anymore.”
Nared my teeth in something between a smirk and a challenge. “I’m not Jocelyn. If you ever lose yourself with me. Ss, I won’t scream. I’ll put you down with a single strike, make sure you hurt no one again”
For a moment, genuine surprise flickered across his face. Then hunger. Interest
12:52 <b>PM </b>P <b>P </b>
My wolf shivered under his stare.
He thought me intriguing. He thought he would tire of me in three moons.
But I <b>saw </b>the doubt in his eyes now<b>. </b>
When his car rolled to a stop, I realized we’d arrived at a hospital instead of the Coalition’spound.
“You need your wounds checked,” he said. “At the airport, you took more than one hit.”
I said nothing, only followed. In truth, I had been nning to pick up medicine anyway.
+8 Pearls
What I didn’t expect was for Ss to shadow me through the hallways, towering at my side even <b>as </b><b>I </b>signed in at the clinic.
“Won’t you go back first?” I asked.
His mouth curved, a wolf’s smile. “You’re my shield. Where else would I be but with you?”
I bit back a retort and let him follow.
When my name was called, I stepped into the examination room. After I exined the injuries, the physician gestured at the bed.
“Remove your boots and lie down,” the doctor said. “I need to check your abdomen.”
I bent to uce them–then hissed when pain tore through my ribs and stomach, remnants of the Capital’s airport skirmish.
The doctor frowned. “In that case, let your husband help you.”
My head snapped up. “Husband?”
The doctor’s eyes flicked to Ss, looming silent beside me.
Heat rushed to my cheeks<b>. </b>“He’s not my husband.”
The physician arched a brow. “Then your mate<b>, </b>surely. Don’t just stand there, Alpha. Your she–wolf is injured. Help her.”
I opened my mouth to protest again, but Ss’s hand was already at my ankle, his touch burning like fire through the leather of my boot.
And my wolf… betrayed me with a tremor.
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