<b>10:16 </b><b>Tue</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>16 </b>
Freya’s POV
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65
s
Ss’s voice brushed against my ears like a low growl, warm and careful. “Are you hurting?”
still
I blinked at him, realizing how clear my skin felt–no sticky traces, no difort. He’d washed me, tended to me while I slept so soundly I hadn’t stirred once. That realization alone startled me. I, who never truly lowered my guard, who’d survived in the shadows of Stormveil’s politics, had slept like a pup safe in its den. Because he was there.
“It’s not pain, just… sore,” I murmured.
His silver–grey eyes darkened with worry. “Was I too roughst night? You didn’t enjoy it? I—I swear I’ll do better. It was my first time too. Next time, I’ll—”
Heat flooded my face. “No, Ss. You were… good.” More than good. His touches had been clumsy but earnest, every moveyered with hunger and reverence that left me trembling. And every time I thought we were finished, his desire surged again, impossible to resist. I’d told myself to push him away, to demand rest, but then I saw that desperate fire in his gaze- Alpha fire–and I cayed. Again and again.
My cheeks burned hotter. “You just… didn’t seem to have enough.”
The corners of his lips curved faintly, almost wolfish.
“But,” I continued, voice softer, “I realized something. I must trust you more than I thought.”
His brows rose.
“I slept straight through the night while you bathed me, Ss. Normally, I would’ve woken at the slightest touch. But with you…” My voice faltered. “I felt safe.”
That earned me a rare, unguarded smile from him, tender enough to tighten my chest. “Let me dress you,” he offered.
I shot upright, horrified. “No! I can do it myself.”
“You’re still sore. Let me. I want to take care of you.”
The words made my face ze. “Just… hand me my clothes.”
He obeyed without protest, pulling garments from the wardrobe–every piece, even the
10:16 Tue, <b>Sep </b><b>16 </b>
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<b>65 </b>
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intimate ones–his movements <b>so </b>steady, soposed. My pulse quickened at his calmness. Sometimes he was all nervous edges, uncertain of my heart. Other times, he carried himself like the true Alpha he was, unshaken andmanding.
“Turn around,” I demanded.
He did, obedient as a wolf awaiting its Luna’smand. Only then did I slip from beneath the sheets and tug on my clothes, though my body protested every stretch. Spirits, I felt like I’d been in a full Iron Fang training run. My thighs burned. My back throbbed. And yet, beneath the ache, something inside me whispered of the next time.
Next time.
My fingers stilled. Was I really anticipating more nights likest? With him? The thought didn’t feel terrifying. It felt… natural. As though fate itself had intended this.
“All done,” I called softly.
When I reached for my shoes, Ss suddenly knelt before me, taking them into hisrge hands. He slid them onto my feet with such gentleness it made my throat close.
“I can-
<b>99 </b>
“I know you can,” he cut in, lifting his gaze to mine. “You’re not the kind of woman who needs anyone to do things for her. You’re strong, Freya. You always will be. But let me do this, just this. It’s something I want to give you. Don’t push it away.”
My heart clenched. He had no idea how dangerous it was to say things like that to me, to peel away my walls with tenderness. If I let myself rely on him too much, if I gave him all of me, would I survive it if he ever walked away?
But for once, I stayed quiet and let him slip the shoes onto my feet.
By the time we reached the dining room, the scent of something warm drifted to me. Ss moved quickly, carrying bowls from the kitchen. “Sit. I’ll bring breakfast.”
“Breakfast?<b>” </b>I blinked.
“Porridge. I made it myself.” His tone was half–proud, half–anxious. “If it’s not to your taste, tell me what you like. I’ll learn.”
I stared at him, imagining this Alpha–the head of the Whitmor line, the Irond Coalition’s heir–in an apron at a hearth. “Did you… wear an apron?”
He frowned. “No. Should I have?”
<b>10:16 </b><b>Tue</b><b>, </b><b>Sep </b><b>16 </b>
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<b>65 </b>
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A pang of disappointment slipped out before I could stop it. “I just wondered what you’d look
like in one.”
That made him chuckle. “If you want to see me in an apron, Freya, I’ll wear one. Next time I cook for you, I’ll make sure of it.”
My hand shot out to stop him as he started toward the kitchen. “No need. I was joking.”
“I wasn’t,” he murmured, setting the steaming bowl in front of me. “Next time, you’ll <b>see</b>.”
The porridge was simple, but warm and faintly sweet. As I tasted it, a thought struck me- dangerous in itsfort. Perhaps living like this, with him by my side, wasn’t something to fear. Maybe it was what I’d been searching for all along.
–
Later that afternoon, when I stepped into the offices of SkyVex Armaments, I was immediately ambushed by Lana. Her grin was sly, her Beta aura buzzing with mischief.
“Well?” she demanded, practically bouncing at my side. “Spill it, Freya. Did you finally devour Ssst night?”
I nearly choked.
Spirits help me–Lana would never let me live this down.