Ss’s POV
製節
Finished
I never thought one look from a woman could undo me, but when Freya leaned over me that night, her wolf–bright eyes locked on mine, I was stripped of every defense.
Her gaze clung to me as if she couldn’t pull away, and I prayed she wouldn’t. Myshes trembled with the force of holding myself back, but then I let them lift, revealing the truth I usually buried deep.
“Freya,” my voice rasped, raw and hungry, “do you… want to do something to me?<b>” </b>
My lips were parted, slick with the heat of breath I couldn’t control. I knew what I was asking. I knew how desperate it sounded. But the craving burned too deep to mask.
And then her head dipped.
Her mouth pressed to mine, firm and sudden, stealing every thought I had. My wolf roared inside me, demanding more, demanding her. I closed my eyes and kissed her back, careful but fervent, as if one wrong move might scare her away. My lips begged hers to stay, to give me more, to im me as surely as my soul longed to im her.
When the kiss broke, I was trembling with want. Her taste lingered, sweet and sharp, and my chest ached for more.
But she only pulled the nket up, ttening it over both of us as shey down beside me, her breathing uneven but determinedly calm.
“That’s it?” I blurted, staring at her profile in the dark. My wolf wed at me, furious that she had stopped. “Just one kiss? Nothing more?”
Did she not feel it—the pull<b>, </b>the bond wing between us? Was <b>I </b>not enough to rouse her hunger the way she ignited mine?
“Am I not… attractive to you?” The words spilled before I could choke them back. “Or did I do something wrong?<b>” </b>
For <i>the </i>first time in my life, I felt like some nervous pup, unworthy of her me. My heart hammered, uncertain, raw.
She turned, eyes steady, voice low. “No, Ss. You’re… incredibly attractive. You did nothing wrong.”
Then why–why stop when she had me burning alive?
“Then why didn’t you continue?” I pressed, desperate.
Her gaze sharpened, and gods help me, it made me feel like the supplicant I was. “Because it wouldn’t be fair to you.”
1 froze. “What do you mean?”
“I like you,” she said bluntly. No hesitation, no game. “But I don’t know if I love you. And until I know that… I won’t let it be only about desire.”
The words struck me harder than any de ever had. She–so fearless, so principled–was holding back not because she didn’t want me, but because she refused to take what wasn’t bound by love.
Only when she loved
would she truly im me.
And I–Ss Whitmor, Alpha of the Irond Coalition, hardened by blood and war–found myself nodding, nearly breaking under the force of her honesty.
“I’ll wait,” I whispered, lifting her hand and pressing my lips to her palm. Her skin burned against my mouth, and I lingered there, breathing her in. “Freya, I’ll wait until the day you love me. No matter how long. I’ll do anything.”
She stilled, her breath hitching. I felt her pulse quicken under my lips, and it lit hope in my chest like fire.
That night, I didn’t let go of her hand. Not once. I held it until my wolf finally eased, until sleep dragged me under, though I knew shey awake, restless with thoughts of me.
3:03 PM P
Finished
Dawn found me restless again. I rose before her, unable to banish the ache in my chest, and took refuge in the washroom. The shower scalded my back, but the heat never erased the scars etched there.
I had just reached for my robe when the door opened.
She stepped in.
Freya froze when she realized I was half–naked, droplets tracing down my hair and spine. She turned sharply, reaching for the door. “Sorry–I didn’t know anyone was in here-”
“Ugly, isn’t it?” My voice cut out of me before I could stop it.
Her steps faltered. “What?”
“The scars,” I said tly, still facing away. I could feel them burning under her stare, the ridges of pain carved into my flesh years ago. “They’re hideous, aren’t they?”
I didn’t reach for the robe. I let her see. Thesh marks,yered and jagged, souvenirs of a childhood spent beneath cruelty. Even faded by time, they told the story too clearly–how a boy had been beaten until the wolf inside him howled and bled.
expected silence. Disgust. Maybe pity.
Instead, her voice broke, raw and sharp. “No. Not ugly.”
And then–her hand touched me.
I went rigid, breath caught in my throat as her fingers traced the scars, gentle where once there had been only pain.
“You don’t think they’re ugly?” My voice cracked, betraying me.
She shook her head, firm. “If scars are ugly, then I’m ugly too. I have plenty of my own from missions. Would you call me hideous?”
“Of course not!” I turned halfway, meeting her eyes.
“Then neither are yours,” she said fiercely. “What’s ugly is the one who gave them to you. These scars don’t make me recoil, Ss. <i>They </i>make me want to heal you.”
Her words tore me open. And then–her lips pressed against my
back.
I stiffened, every muscle tight, my wolf howling with the shock of it. Warmth spread through the ruined flesh, through my blood, through my very soul. She was kissing the ces I hated most branding them with tenderness <b>I </b>never thought I deserved
In the mirror above the basin, I saw her–Freya Thorne, fierce, proud, unyielding–kneeling against my back, her mouth soft against the scars.
My throat closed. I had fought battles that shattered mountains, but this undid me.
And yet–gods forgive me—I was a coward even now. Because while her kisses seared away my shame, another thought coiled in my chest.
That I was using herpassion, her instinct to nurture, as a chain to bind her to me.
I wanted her to love me. So badly I’d take even her pity and twist it into something more.
If she knew that, would she still look at me the same way?
“Freya,” I whispered, voice–breaking as my wolf pressed against the edges of my skin. “I…”
But the words failed.
Because what I really wanted to say was I need you to love me, and I’ll bleed, burn, crawl through ash until you
And I didn’t know if that was devotion–or something darker.