Freya’s POV
0
0
Finished
“Ss,” Jocelyn’s voice rang out sweet as venom, her eyes glinting behind her sses, “did you know Freya was once married? That Alpha Grafton here–yes, this very Caelum–is her ex–husband.”
She must have thought Ss Whitmor ignorant, that this revtion would snap his interest like a twig.
But Ss didn’t even flinch. His tone was as mild as an Alpha lounging on his throne. “And what of it? I was there when their Lunar Severance Phase was made public. I watched their press conference.”
The hall fell into a hush. Jocelyn froze. She had expected gasps, condemnation–at the very least, surprise. Instead, Ss had known all along.
Her jaw stiffened, though the smile on her lips widened into something almost cruel. I could scent the sour tang of her jealousy beneath the perfume she’d doused herself with. It clung to her like rot.
How could a divorced she–wolf still catch the Irond Alpha’s attention? To Jocelyn, the thought was intolerable.
And then, like every Thorne who ever bore a dagger in the sleeve, she smiled sharper. “Well,” she purred, “perhaps you know she still pines for her ex. That she’s plotting a return to Caelum’s side. That she even pretended to be his savior—stole the title of the one who dragged him back from death<i>–</i>just to wring guilt from him and bind him again.”
I felt the room lean in. Hungry wolves, scenting blood.
Ss’s voice was low, smooth, but the edge beneath it was steel. “Is that so?”
“Yes, it’s true!” Jocelyn pressed on, the glimmer in her eyes gleeful. “Fortunately Caelum already knows Aurora is his true rescuer. That left Freya’s little n to crumble into dust.”
The Irond Alpha turned his head, his ck eyes finding mine. There was something about his stare that pinned me, like talons at my throat. “Do you want him back?”
The words cracked across the hall like thunder.
“I don’t,” I said, steady as the oath–bonds of my bloodline. “The moment I chose divorce, I buried the thought of reunion. There is no going back.”
But Jocelyn wasn’t done. She sneered, turning to the crowd as though they were her jury. “She lies. Of course she lies. What woman could release the title of Silverfang Alpha’s mate so easily? Caelum is young, wealthy, forged his empire with his own hands. That wealth, that power–she could never earn it in her lifetime, Of course she wants it back. Of course she clings.”
The murmurs started then, low whispers among the gathered packs and the Capital officials. They eyed me the way one might eye a wolf crawling for scraps at the edge of campfires<b>. </b>
I could feel Jocelyn’s glee. She thought she had me pinned. She thought she had poisoned Ss’s view of me. He had no patience for wolves who begged for gold. He’d said so often enough–that greed was a weakness he had no use for.
So she smirked, basking in her imagined victory.
And then Ss’s voice came again, cutting the air clean.
“If it were coin she wanted,” he said with a careless shrug, “she could ask it of me. Why would she need Caelum Grafton’s scraps? What I hold in my hand is far greater than what SilverTech Forgeworks can offer.”
The hall stilled.
Jocelyn’s mouth fell open, shock etched across her face. Even Aurora’s sharpposure faltered, and Caelum’s entire frame tensed like a wolf struck between the ribs.
“What… what do you mean by that?” Jocelyn stammered, her usual poise shattered.
“The words you heard,” Ss replied smoothly. “If she sought wealth, if she sought power, <b>I </b>would give it to her. And it would dwarf what Caelum can promise.”
Finished
The ripple that passed through the ballroom was palpable. This was no idle defense. This was the Irond Alpha publicly offering me–me, Freya Thorne of Stormveil’s lesser branch–the kind of choice no wolf expected. Choice. Freedom. His hand, turned upward instead of clenched into a fist.
Wolves don’t offer choices. Not Alphas like Ss.
For a breath, even I stood shaken.
Caelum’s face <b>twisted</b>, storm after storm ripping through him. Rage. Humiliation. Something far uglier that smelled of fear.
Because in that moment, everyone could see it: that the mate he had discarded, the woman he had thought to leave diminished and desperate, now stood with an Alpha far greater and far darker at her side.
“Freya.” His voice cracked out, too harsh, too desperate. “We only just severed our bond, and now you run to another? To him?”
The tone of his voice, the pitch–like an using husband, not an ex. Like he still had im over me.
I let a coldugh curl from my lips. “We are divorced, Caelum. You chose the Lunar Severance. Who <b>I </b>stand with, who I share breath with–why should that matter to you? Shall I file reports of my movements to you, like some tethered she–wolf?”
His mouth opened, then snapped shut. The words cut him, I could see it. But he pressed on anyway, grasping for ground. “It’s too soon,” he muttered. “Far too soon. And Ss of all people-”
Jealousy clung to him like smoke from a burned–out forge. He hated that I looked anything but broken without him.
Hated more that I stood taller.
“Freya,” he tried again, his voice heavy now with false gravity, “Whitmor is only showing you passing pity. Don’t mistake it for something more.” Then, sharper, he turned to Ss himself. “Alpha Whitmor, she is an orphan. No legacy, no pack holdings. She is not like the women who orbit you–nobles, heiresses, wolves of rank. I ask you to let her be. Do not encourage illusions. Spare her, before she believes in something that cannot be.”
There it was.
He thought he’d offered me a lifeline. Thought he’d marked me small before Ss, just another stray wolf grasping beyond her station. He thought Ss wouldugh, agree, dismiss me.
He didn’t see the insult for what it was–not to me, but to Ss himself.
<i>The </i>Irond Alpha’s aura shifted, deep and dark as a winter storm. His eyes never left mine, but his voiceshed out to all.
“She requires nothing from me but what she chooses,” he said. “And if she wished it, she could have all. She owes no one- least of all you–exnations.”
The silence that followed was absolute.
Caelum stiffened, but I saw the truth in his face. He felt it–the power slipping, the humiliation burning into his marrow. For all his empire, for all his titles, here he was–outshone, outmatched, outdone.
And Jocelyn, poor foolish Jocelyn, looked like she had just realized she had set fire to the very pack–hall she hoped to rule.
As for me?
I stood tall, my wolf pacing inside my skin, hungry, triumphant. For once, the choice was mine.
And every wolf in the hall knew it.
Send Gifts
98
B