Ss‘ POV


    I couldn’t sleep. Not tonight.


    1.76%


    Finished


    The weight of the Irond Coalition, the endless blood–feuds, the phone call from my father… it all wed at me like unseen fangs. So I left my room, my wolf restless beneath my skin, and headed for the sitting room downstairs. The silence of the mansion pressed close, broken only by the low thrum of my heartbeat.


    But I wasn’t alone.


    Freya emerged from the shadows of the hall, barefoot, her eyes wary yet steady. She looked as if she had expected me. A good bodyguard indeed.


    “Where are you going at this hour?” she asked.


    “The sitting room,” I answered. My voice sounded rough even to my own ears. “Since you’re awake, you may as well join me for a drink.”


    We descended together. I opened the cab and pulled a bottle of dark red wine. “What do you drink, Freya?”


    “I don’t.” Her reply was firm, almost clipped. Always the dutiful protector. No weakness, no indulgence.


    I didn’t press her. Instead, I poured for myself. One ss. Then another. The wine burned down my throat, but I weed it. A third followed, then a fourth. I wasn’t savoring it. I was trying to drown something.


    When I reached for the next pour, her hand shot out, slender but strong, stopping me.


    “Enough. You’ll ruin yourself.”


    Her words shouldn’t have mattered. Yet when I looked up, her eyes–steel–gray, steady as the mountains of Stormveil–met mine, and something inside me twisted.


    “You care?” My tone was even, but the truth wed beneath it.


    There was a flicker of hesitation before she said, “Yes. I don’t want anything happening to you while I’m meant to protect you.”


    I almostughed. So it’s only duty, then? My wolf bristled at the thought. “If you weren’t bound to guard me, would you still care?”


    Her lips parted, but no answer came.


    I leaned in, closer than I should have, close enough to breathe her in–storm and moonlight, tinged with the faintest trace of her wolf. “Or is it that if you cared for me–truly cared–you’d worry no matter what?”


    She frowned, instinctively drawing back, but I caught her wrist, holding her there. My voice dropped to a whisper, roughened by drink and something deeper. “Freya… fall for me. Just a little. Would that be so terrible?”


    Her eyes widened. Shock. Maybe anger. And Moon help me, she was beautiful like that. Her face so close,


    her lips trembling between defiance and restraint.


    “No.” The word came sharp, unyielding.


    I blinked,shes heavy from drink, from weariness. “Why?”


    She turned it back on me with a question of her own. “Would you ever love me?”


    The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. I couldn’t answer—not truthfully.


    A 76%


    Finished


    Her voice cut through, clear and fierce. “When I give my heart, it’s to someone who will fight beside me, live and die with me, never betray me. Someone who doesn’t stand at another woman’s side while I bleed. Someone who doesn’t break every promise.”


    Her words struck like ws across my chest, peeling back armor I hadn’t realized I still wore. She was speaking of Caelum Grafton. But every syble lodged itself in me, demanding–prove you are not him.


    “What if I could be that?” The words slipped out, rough and low. “What if I could be the wolf you just described? Would you give me your heart then?”


    She stared, stunned into silence. I didn’t wait for her answer. Instead, I leaned in again–not for her lips, though the urge was maddening–but for her shoulder.


    “Don’t move,” I murmured. “Just let me rest here.”


    And she didn’t push me away. My head lowered onto her shoulder, and the strangest sensation washed through me. Safety. Her frame was smaller than mine, but steady, strong. My wolf settled against her scent as if he had been waiting centuries for this moment.


    “My father called me today,” I said suddenly, surprising even myself.


    She made a small sound, surprise clear in it. No one ever spoke of my father. The world barely remembered he existed, and I had long since wished I could forget him too.


    “Our bond is… poisoned,” I admitted, my voice almost a growl. “If I died tomorrow, the first to celebrate would be him.”


    Her silence was heavy, her warmth grounding me in the storm.


    I nearly told her more. I nearly confessed that as a boy I had craved one thing–to have someone at my side when he belittled me, when he carved into me with words sharper than ws. But the wine, the weight of it all, stole the rest.


    “Never mind.” I swallowed the truth back into the dark where it belonged.


    Still, I did not lift my head from her shoulder.


    For the first time in years, I allowed myself to lean.


    Send Gifts