Freya’s POV
I tugged twice, hard, trying to free my wrist from Ss’s grip.
No luck.
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+8 Pearls
If I really wanted to pull my hand awaypletely, I’d have to break each of his fingers one by one. And that would wake him.
I bit my lip and let out a soft sigh. Fine. He wanted to hold on, he could hold on. Sitting against the nightstand, I could still rest. After all, years of Iron Fang Recon Unit missions had trained me to sleep anywhere, anytime. Short bursts of rest were enough to restore my strength.
I settled on the floor beside the bed, back against the nightstand, letting him clutch my hand. Lights out, eyes closed–I drifted off.
Morning came with the push of a door, and I jolted awake. Wolf instincts alert, I caught the figure in the doorway: Wren, Ss’s personal secretary.
Wren froze, eyes wide, voice trembling. “Miss Thorne… you… you didn’t sleep with Alpha Whitmorst night, did you?!”
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I blinked, ck rising to my cheeks. “You’re overthinking. I was just… doing my job. Bodyguard duty, nothing more.”
His gaze flicked suspiciously to my wrist, still trapped in Ss’s grip. Somehow, it didn’t make sense to him. A bodyguard’s duty didn’t normally involve hand–holding all night. Not to the Alpha of the Irond Coalition. Not to Ss.
“Even as his bodyguard, Miss Thorne… Alpha Whitmor would never allow someone to stay by his side while he sleeps.” Wren’s voice carried disbelief.
I rolled my eyes. “Then ask him. He’s the one still holding my hand–I had no choice.”
I might be the one trapped here, yet somehow Wren’s expression made it look like I’d taken advantage of Ss. As if I’d barged into his Alpha’s bed.
Then a low, husky voice cut through the tension. “You’re saying it’s me holding your hand?”
My body froze. I turned, and there he was–Ss, awake. Eyes dark, cold, yet edged with that raw intensity that always kept the room taut.
“Yes,” I said carefully, st night… I wasn’tfortable sleeping on the bed. I sat on the floor, leaned against the nightstand, and you grabbed my hand when I came to check on you.”
His gaze sharpened, surprise flickering in the golden depth of his eyes. My wrist, still in his hand, radiated warmth straight into his palm and fingers.
Sleep… uneasy sleep. I realized then he’d had a nightmare. His past wing into his dreams again. The memory of whips, of a father’s cruelty, of being helpless <b>as </b>a pup. How many times had he relived it? Therapy. Medication. The nightmares had eased… for years. Untilst night.
Maybe it was me, seeing the scars on his back, that reopened old wounds in his subconscious.
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And yet… the warmth of my hand seemed to tether him to the present. It didn’t make him gag or recoil.
I cleared my throat. “Alpha Whitmor? Could you… release my hand now?”
Numbness had crept in from hours of
pressure.
He frowned. “I thought you said you’d call me Ss Not Alpha Whitmor.”
I blinked, irritation threatening. And Wren, witnessing this, looked as though lightning had struck him— shocked to the core.
Ss Whitmor, who never let anyone call him by his given name, expected me to.
I bit back a smirk. “Ss… can you
let
go now?”
He hesitated, then slowly eased his fingers from around my wrist. Freedom. Sweet, though I flexed carefully to wake cirction back into my hand.
“I’ll be heading back to my room,” I said, standing and brushing off the carpet. “Today I’m visiting the Stormveil Primal Hall. I won’t be able to cover you, so the other guards will have to manage.”
I opened the connecting door, stepping back into my chamber.
Ss’s gaze fell to his hand. The warmth lingered on his skin. For a long moment, I sensed he didn’t want to let go, as if holding my hand anchored some fragile part of him. A wolf hiding behind steel and ice, finding safety in the smallest tether.
Even from here, I could feel it. The Alpha of the Irond Coalition, wolf blood fierce andmanding, still trembling from dreams of pain–and still seekingfort.
And I… well, I was there.