Freya’s POV


    C


    .


    +8 Pearls


    I pressed my back to the crumbling stone wall in–game, fingers flying over my WolfComm screen as I strafed out and unleashed a rain of bullets at the enemy squad closing in.


    “Go,” I barked into thems. “Lana, take the others and finish the mission. I’ll hold them off.”


    This wasn’t the first time I’d volunteered to take the heat. I had no active quest that needed clearing, and if I had to throw myself into a digital meat grinder to cover my team, so be it.


    “Understood!” Lana’s voice crackled back, firm as always. She and the three veteran yers slipped through a gap in the enemy’s line while I cut a path for them.


    My thumbs mmed my avatar’s ultimate ability into y. Explosions ripped through the battlefield, sending half a dozen enemy characters sprawling. For a moment, I felt the rush–the same raw, reckless surge I’d once known running with the Iron Fang Recon Unit, shoulder to shoulder with wolves who trusted me with their lives.


    But this wasn’t blood and steel. It was pixels. And yet my pulse still thundered as if I were truly back in a kill–zone.


    Gunfire and grenades nketed me in a storm of fire. I ducked behind cover, teeth grit, dragging out every second I could. My ammo counter blinked red, shing its warning. Just a little longer. Just until they finish-


    Then, Lana’s triumphant cry rang in my headset: “Objective secured!”


    Relief cut through me, sharp and sweet. I let my avatar stand tall, bracing for the inevitablest exchange. At least their mission was done. I was ready to burn out in a ze of glory.


    But it didn’t happen.


    The enemies that had cornered me–one by one, they fell. Precise headshots dropped them cleanly, no wasted bullets, no hesitation. My screen filled with kill notifications, not from me… but from him.


    I froze, my wolf stirring uneasily in my chest.


    “Freya!” Lana’s voice rose, incredulous<b>. </b>“You said Ss Whitmor was new at this? That was insane!”


    “Too sharp,” one of our teammates added, awe heavy in his tone, “No way a rookie ys like that.”


    “Is he even human?” another whispered.


    I turned my head. Beside me on the couch, Ss sat calm and steady, his massive frame rxed as if this was just another training drill. He wielded the rookie rifle I’d handed him earlier, but in his hands it had turned into something deadly. His in- game avatar approached mine, step by measured step, until his soldier stood over mine.


    And then his voice–low, unyielding–filled thems.


    “Even in a game, I won’t watch you fall.”


    My heart skipped a beat. No, it lunged. Wolf–sense and human instinct tangled together, pounding against my ribs until I had to suck in a breath just to ground myself.


    When we finally logged off, the silence in the room felt strangely charged. I busied myself with my WolfComm, cheeks burning, forcing a casual tone.


    “Well. That’s enough for tonight. It’ste–you should rest. I’ll head back to my room.”


    Istood, but his hand caught mine. Firm. Warm. Unrelenting.


    “Wait


    I blinked down at him. “What is it?”


    His storm–grey eyes caught mine. “Did you really go with Lana to a bar to chase males back then?” His voice <b>was </b>deceptively calm, but I felt the undercurrent, <b>a </b>growl held on a leash.


    10:09 AM P P.


    I nearly choked. Of all the things he could ask, it was that.


    0


    “That was Lana exaggerating,” I said quickly. My face heated despite myself.


    His gaze sharpened. “So you never went? Never looked?”


    +8 Pearls


    I hesitated, lips parting but no wordsing out. Technically, yes–we’d gone. Lana had been heartbroken and dragged me along. She’d ordered drinks and even called in some of the bar’s so–called “famous charmers” for her own distraction. I’d sat through it, nursing my drink, my attention fixed on her misery, not the men.


    But the truth lodged in


    I my throat ***


    His grip on my hand tightened fractionally. “Your silence tells me enough. You did go.” His tone dropped to a murmur, dangerous in its softness. “Did any of them catch your eye? Were they better than me?”


    My wolf bristled at the sheer audacity, a mix of irritation and reluctant amusement twisting in my chest. “No! Of course not,” I said hotly. “That was years ago. And no one there came close.”


    For a moment, he said nothing. Then his mouth curved, the barest hint of satisfaction tugging at his lips. “So you think I’m better looking than them?”


    The words were in, but in his voice they coiled with something primal, something that scraped against the edges of a im he hadn’t spoken aloud.


    I swallowed. “Yes.” It wasn’t even a lie.


    His smile deepened, predator–smooth. “You really believe that?”


    “Yes,” I admitted.


    I could barely remember the faces of those men Lana had brought into that private booth. They’d been meaningless distractions in her heartbreak, blurred silhouettes in a haze of music and liquor. But Ss… he was here, real, carved into every one of my senses. His presence was inescapable, his scent–iron, smoke, and something dangerously intoxicating- curling into me.


    His eyes didn’t leave mine. “Then that means you can see yourself with me, doesn’t it?”


    I stared, breath catching. The question shouldn’t have made my pulse race, but it did. In the Capital, in every pack and every whispered corner of werewolf society, Ss Whitmor’s name carried weight. Irond Alpha. Son of the richest dynasty this side of the continent. And yet here he was, tethering me with a simple question that felt heavier than any battlefieldmand.


    hemane


    “Who,” I thought, faintly dazed, “would dare say no to him?”


    He leaned back slightly on the couch, still holding my hand, his head tilted at an angle that exposed the clean, elegant line of his throat. The position was casual, but the effect was devastating. My wolf stirred again, restless and conflicted.


    I had no answer for him. Or maybe the answer was already written in the way my heart thundered, betraying me.