Freya’s POV
Finished
I was dragged out of sleep by the sharp trill of my WolfComm. The glowing screen nearly blinded me in the early dawn haze.
I groaned and fumbled for it, only to hear Lana’s voice explode through the receiver.
“Freya, are you kidding me? You’re with Alpha Ss, and you didn’t tell me?”
My eyes cracked open. “What?” My voice rasped, still half–asleep. “Since when am I with Ss?”
“Don’t y dumb!” she shrieked. “Last night, at the banquet–he confessed to you in front of the entire Ashboon delegation It’s all over the feeds. You’re trending!”
That jolted me awake. I sat up, tangled in the hotel sheets, and swiped across my WolfComm to check. Sure enough, the top headline zed red:
SHOCKING: Alpha of Irond Coalition Linked to Divorced Woman of the Stormveil Pack
And beneath it–pictures. Me and Ss, frozen in a thousand camera shes. One shot caught the exact moment his cold, steel–gray eyes softened as he looked at me. A tenderness there that no one had ever seen before, not from the infamous Irond Alpha.
I cursed under my breath. No wonder thements were feral.
“That’s Whitmor? The coldest Alpha in The Capital? No way he actually cares about her.”
“She’s just a divorced she–wolf, what could he possibly see in her?”
“If he looked at me like that, I’d throw myself into his arms this second.”
“Moon above, those eyes…. one flicker of warmth from a man like him is enough to destroy you.”
I scrolled, heat creeping up my neck. Ss Whitmor, the Irond’s stone–hearted Alpha, was being dissected like some forbidden fruit—and I was standing in the middle of the storm.
Lana’s voice bellowed again from the phone, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Well? Are you together or not?”
“No,” I said tly. “Of course not. Do you think I’m the kind of wolf who leaps into another’s arms the moment a bond is severed?”
Lana scoffed. “You’re not seriously still hung up on Caelum Grafton, are you? That bastard—”
“I’m not,” I cut her off quickly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to start… dating Ss.”
“You’re insane.” She huffed. “Ss Whitmor just confessed to you in front of half the realm. He’s been voted the most desirable Alpha in The Capital–women literally dream of conquering him. And you’re telling me you didn’t even feel a spark?”
Her words echoed too loudly through the speaker. I cringed and nced at the walls. Damn it–I’d left it on loudspeaker. The entire room was echoing with her ridiculous im. Most desirable Alpha to conquer? What kind of ridiculous magazine put that on print?
And yet… my lips tingled faintly, unbidden. As if they remembered the heat of his hand when he’d brushed against mest night. My skin still carried the ghost of his touch.
“No,” I muttered, a little too quickly. “Definitely not.”
But even to myself, it didn’t sound convincing.
When Lana finally let me go, I tossed the WolfComm aside and stumbled into the shower, trying to wash away the lingering warmth I refused to name.
By the time I made it downstairs, Ss was already waiting in the dining room. Of course he was. Impably dressed, posture rigid, eyes cool as winter steel. The Alpha of the Irond never looked anything less than carved from iron.
606 AM P P
Finished
1 sat, poured myself a bowl of congee, and tried to ignore the weight of his gaze. But then–his voice cut through the silence.
Tell me,” he said, tone calm but deadly direct, “do I not stir in you… the desire to conquer me?”
I nearly choked. The spoon froze halfway to my lips. The porridge suddenly tasted like sand.
“What did you just say?”
He repeated it without shame. “Do I not make you want to conquer me?”
My jaw dropped. My gaze shot to Wren, his ever–stoic secretary, who stood nearby holding a data pad. The poor man’s eyes bulged like a startled pup.
Ss Whitmor. The Irond Alpha. Asking if I wanted to conquer him.
Moon above, had the world gone mad?
“You I sputtered. “You overheard my call this morning, didn’t you?”
His answer was matter–of–fact. “Your friend’s voice carries. I was in the next suite. It was impossible not to hear.”
Lana’s thunderous voice. I cursed her again silently.
“And?” he pressed. “Am I so unappealing that I fail to stir even a flicker of desire in you?”
I stared at him. Ss Whitmor was… infuriating. Objectively, he was beautiful–every line of his face, every taut line of his body radiated dominance. His presence alone could make lesser wolves drop to their knees. But I wasn’t going to feed his
ego.
“You’re attractive,” I admitted carefully, “but I prefer… lighthearted men. Warm, humorous. The yful type.”
Theplete opposite of him.
He lowered hisshes, expression unreadable. “I see.”
I thought that was the end of it. But his silence carried weight, and behind his eyes something unreadable flickered.
“Today,” I said quickly, changing the subject, “I need to go to my family’s hall. Ken Thorne hasn’t been well. I want to visit him. I’ll be gone most of the day.”
“I’ll drive you,” he offered immediately.
“No need. I’ll take a cab.”
“Very well,” he said smoothly.
I finished my meal faster than usual, eager to escape the heavy atmosphere. As I left, I felt his eyes on me, burning holes into my back until I disappeared through the lobby doors.
Behind me, I could almost hear him speak–low, frustrated, butced with a longing he’d never admit openly.
How do I get closer to her?
Wren murmured something in reply, but I didn’t catch it.
The Stormveil Pack’s ancestral estate loomed before me by midday. Ken Thorne sat in his armchair, his once–mighty frame diminished with age, though his spirit still clung stubbornly to life.
“Grandfather,” I said softly, kneeling beside him. “How are you feeling?”
He smiled faintly, eyes glinting. “Don’t you worry about me, child. The bones of an old wolf don’t break so easily. But I hear whispers you’ve no intention of joining the Thorne enterprises?”
His voice carried both curiosity and disappointment, and my heart clenched. The weight of family, of legacy, pressed against
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me
Finished
I bowed my head. The truthy heavy on my tongue, but I wasn’t sure I could give him the answer he wanted to hear.
Send <b>Gifts </b>
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