Freya’s POV
獎
Finished
I hadn’t expected anyone to disturb me tonight. After the mission, after the storm winds and the adrenaline of flying into danger, I thought the silence of my quarters in the Stormveilpound would finally settle my nerves. I had just extinguished thestntern glow when the door creaked open and a shadow stepped through.
Ss.
The Alpha of the Irond Coalition carried himself with that same gravity he wore on the battlefield, but tonight, something in his posture was unsettled–like a wolf pacing too long inside a cage. His silver eyes caught mine, and for a heartbeat, I forgot to breathe.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, voice low..
He hesitated only a moment before answering, “I can’t sleep.”
I tilted my head. “Can’t sleep? That’s not like you.”
His jaw flexed. “Eyery time I close my eyes, I see you in that storm, your chopper tilting against the gale. You vanished into the clouds, and all I could think was what if I never saw you again?” His voice was quieter than I had ever heard it, the steel stripped away, leaving only raw honesty.
I folded my arms, though my wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin. Ss Whitmor wasn’t <i>a </i>man who admitted weakness. <i>That </i>he said this to me <b>was</b>… dangerous “You knew I would be fine. I’ve flown worse.”
“I know your skill,” he said, gaze dropping for a fraction, “but knowing doesn’t stop the fear. Not when it’s you.”
Something in my chest tightened. I wanted to tell him I understood, but that would’ve been too much. Too close. So instead, I arched a brow. “So what? You want me to tell you a bedtime story?”
His lips curved, faint but real. “I’m not a child.”
“Then what is it you want, Ss<b>?</b><b>” </b>
His eyes locked onto mine, fierce and unyielding even in their vulnerability. “I want to sleep here. With you.”
My heart stumbled. Sleep? My mind tripped over the word, wondering which meaning he intended. My wolf pricked her ears, curious, tempted. “You mean… in my bed?”
He stepped closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating from him. “Yes. Tonight I can’t rest alone. I’m afraid…”
“Afraid?” I echoed. Fear was not a word that belonged to him. Not Ss Whitmor, who had stared down armies without blinking.
“Afraid I’ll wake and find you gone,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Afraid that fate will take you from me the way it’s taken everything else.”
I thought of the storm, of his expression when I returned, the way his arms had crushed me to him as if to anchor me in his world. “But I dide back,” I said softly. “I’m right here.”
“That doesn’t erase the fear. The aftershock lingers.” His voice broke in ces he tried to mask. Then, more firmly, “Let me stay. I swear, Freya, I won’t touch you without your consent. I just need to be near.”
His eyes were wolf eyes then, glowing faintly in the dim light–pleading, restless, full of a loneliness so sharp I almost flinched. The refusal bnced on my tongue, but I couldn’t push it out. Not when I saw him like this.
After a long silence, I exhaled. “Fine. Stay. But just sleep.”
Relief flickered across his face, softening that usually untouchable exterior. He followed me to the bed, and when hey down beside me, the mattress dipped under his weight, the space suddenly far too small. His scent–a mixture of pine, iron, and the faint burn of steel forge<b>–</b>surrounded me, making it hard to think clearly.
3:02 PM P <b>P </b>
Finished
I shifted, leaning across him to tug the nket from his side. But before I could pull it free, his hand shot out, wrapping firmly around my wrist.
My pulse skipped. “Ss?”
His voice was husky, almost teasing but underpinned with heat. “I promised not to touch you without permission. But what about you, Freya? You’ve got me pinned here… don’t you want to do something?”
My eyes widened. I hadn’t realized until that moment howpromising the position looked–me braced above him, one hand supporting myself by his shoulder, the other stretched across his chest as I reached for the nket. My body half- draped over his, his face so close I could feel the whisper of his breath against my cheek.
He tilted his head slightly, exposing his throat in the smallest, most dangerous invitation a wolf could give. His lips parted, words flowing like smoke. “Tell me you don’t want to.”
I should have pulled away. I should have snapped at him for being reckless. Instead, curiosity sparked. I let my fingers trail from his corbone upward, brushing the corded muscle of his neck until they lingered at the sharp rise of his Adam’s apple.
He swallowed under my touch, his throat moving against my fingertips. To my shock, color rose at the edges of his ears, a flush betraying theposure of the Irond Alpha.
“You… I murmured, eyes narrowing. “Ss Whitmor, are you actually blushing?”
His lips twitched, but his voice was low, rough, and entirely sincere. “Freya, whatever you do to me, I’ll ept. Anything. I’d let you mark me,mand me, break me–just so I could feel you want me as much as I want you.”
The air between us thickened, humming with a tension that was more dangerous than any battlefield. His usual icy demeanor had melted into something raw, unguarded, vulnerable. And gods help me, it drew me in.
For the first time, I realized how much power I held over him. Ss Whitmor–Alpha of an empire forged in iron and fire- <iy </i>beneath me willingly, offering not dominance, but surrender.
And the wild, dangerous part of my wolf wanted to take it.
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