Third Person’s POV


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    Finished


    Lana had seen enough to stiffen her hackles. Ss Whitmor, the Irond Alpha, stood w–to–w with Freya Thorne, and the sight was almost… tender. The infamous predator of the Irond Coalition, feared across the Capital, showing softness–it didn’t fit.


    Beside her, Kade ckridge’s wolf surged forward. He was halfway to storming in when Lana caught his arm, yanking him back.


    “Not here,” she hissed under her breath. “This is Freya’s parents‘ burial, Kade. You want bloodshed at the Hall of Martyrs?”


    Kade froze, jaw tight, lips pressed into a thin pale line. His gaze stayed locked on Ss and Freya.


    Lana muttered low, “Don’t tell me the Irond Alpha actually likes her.”


    The scene before them–silken and almost intimate was nothing like the cold, steel–edged image Ss carried. The way he looked at Freya… it wasn’t hatred. It wasn’t, indifference. It was possession. Perhaps even hunger.


    Kade’s growl rumbled out, sharp as ice. He doesn’t love her. Don’t dream it.”


    Lana arched a brow. “What’s this, then? Afraid your Freya’s going to be imed? Rx. She just wed her way out of a Lunar Severance with Caelum Grafton. Thest thing she’ll want is another male sniffing


    around.”


    But Kade’s wolf wouldn’t be soothed. He had lost once before–lost her to Caelum, toote to even bare his heart before her bond had been sealed. He’d fled across oceans, burying his ache for three long years, thinking he could kill the hunger inside. But the moment he saw her again, his wolf had risen, feral and unrelenting. He had never stopped wanting her.


    Part of him still wanted to tear Caelum apart for not treasuring her. Yet another part of him thanked the Silverfang Alpha’s arrogance–because without it, Freya might never have broken free.


    Now, when he thought he might finally have a chance, another wolf had stepped between them. Ss Whitmor, of all wolves.


    When the rites were done, Freya turned to Ss. “I won’t return to the Whitmor estate with you. I want to stay here awhile, at my parents‘ resting ce.”


    “I could keep youpany,” Ss offered.


    She shook her head firmly. “No. I want to speak to them alone.”


    For a long moment, Ss’s silver eyes studied her. Then he dipped his head. “As you wish.”


    He turned away, leaving Freya in the stillness of the graveyard. She stood before the stone markers carved with Arthur Thorne and Myra Brown’s names, staring at the ck–and–white portraits fixed above them. Their smiles–bright, resolute, unwavering–shone even in death.


    “Rest easy, Father. Mother,” Freya whispered, her voice trembling yet strong. “I’ll visit often. I’ll bring Eric


    too. What you fought for, I’ll carry. What you loved, I’ll honor. And what you guarded, I’ll keep safe.”


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    Finished


    Her hands curled into fists, nails biting her palms. “I’m divorced now. I envied your bond, the way you lived and died as one. I didn’t have that fortune. My own bond shattered, and I won’t mourn it. I’ll live every day with my head high. My life is more than love. When I join you in the earth, I want <i>to </i>stand before you unashamed, proud to say: I was the daughter of Arthur Thorne and Myra Brown.”


    Her words drifted into the night wind, raw with grief yet sharpened with resolve.


    Outside the Hall of Martyrs, Ss had barely set foot beyond the gates when a shadow mmed into him, driving him against the cold stone wall.


    The Whitmor guards bristled, growls tearing from their throats, ready to strike. But Ss lifted a hand, still pinned by the elbow jammed into his throat. “Stand down.”


    His gaze slid to the wolf pressing him hard against the wall. “Kade ckridge. Do you mean to fight me


    here?”


    Kade’s re burned. “What if I do?”


    Ss’s lips curved faintly, his tone t as steel. “Then you won’t leave Ashbourne in one piece.”


    From the sidelines, Lana ran forward, panic shing in her eyes. “Enough! Both of you! You’re supposed to be Freya’s friends, not tearing each other’s throats out at her parents‘ burial!”


    Neither wolf listened. Their eyes locked, power crackling in the air like a storm before the strike.


    Kade’s voice dropped low, guttural, his wolf close to the surface. “Freya is not yours to toy with, Ss. If you darey a w on her, I’ll hunt you down myself.”


    Ss’s silver eyes narrowed, glinting coldly. “What if I told you I’ve never toyed with her?”


    Kade blinked, stunned by the sudden gravity in his tone.


    “I’ve not yed games with Freya Thorne,” Ss said, each word slow and measured. “And hear me well- what lies between her and me is none of your concern.”


    Send Gifts


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