A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 394

**Chapter 394**

**Freya’s POV**

“Freya,” Silas’s voice broke the heavy silence, low and gravelly, as if he were struggling to find the right words. “What I mean is—I don’t know how much longer I can keep myself from you.”

A chill ran through me, and I felt my muscles tense involuntarily. “What are you saying?” I demanded, my heart racing.

His gaze, darkened by the overcast sky, held a tempest of emotions—an inner wolf pacing restlessly, starved for something it could not name.

“My control is slipping,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sleeping less and less. My mind is burning itself out. Even when I tell myself to stay away—” His jaw clenched tight, a muscle twitching with tension. “I don’t know how long that reason will hold.”

His words struck me like icy daggers, sending shivers down my spine.

He looked like a man engaged in a fierce battle with himself, and the truth was, he was losing.

“I take every precaution,” he continued, his tone quiet yet hollow, as if the weight of his admission was too much to bear. “I remind myself each day that I am not him. That I am not my father. I refuse to become that obsessive, twisted shadow he was.”

He inhaled deeply, but the breath quivered as it left his lips.

“But I can’t guarantee I’ll stay this way forever.”

I stood there, stunned, my breath caught in my throat.

Then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he added, “If one day I lose control—if I hurt you, or frighten you—then I want you to fight back. Freya, listen to me. Hit me. Break me. Cripple me. If you have to—kill me.”

“Silas!” I snapped, a surge of heat flooding through me. “What is wrong with you? What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he replied, almost gently, though the softness in his voice felt dangerously deceptive.

I stepped closer, unwilling to let his calm demeanor deceive me. “Your sleep. It’s gotten worse, hasn’t it?”

His silence was the answer I feared.

“I’ve noticed the shadows under your eyes,” I said softly, my heart aching for him. “You’re not resting. Not at all.”

He pressed his lips together, a silent confirmation of my fears.

“You’ve seen a doctor?” I pressed, needing to know.

“I have.”

“Which doctor? How do I contact him?” I asked, urgency creeping into my voice.

He raised an eyebrow, skepticism written across his face. “Why? Are you planning to drag me back for treatment?”

“Yes,” I answered, my voice sharp and unwavering, slicing through the tension like a knife.

He blinked at me, clearly taken aback, as if my determination was something he hadn’t expected.

“Freya… I told you to stay away from me. After we leave the cemetery, you should—”

“Enough,” I interrupted, my voice firm. “Give me your doctor’s contact information.”

He stared at me, a mixture of disbelief and stubbornness etched on his features.

Silent.

Stubborn.

Infuriating.

With a sigh of frustration, I pulled out my WolfComm and dialed Wren.

As Silas’s assistant, he would surely have the information I needed.

“Which healer has Silas been seeing?” I asked without preamble, cutting straight to the chase.

Wren hesitated only a moment before responding. “Vaughn. I’ll send you his details.”

“Thank you,” I replied, relief flooding through me.

I hung up, turned to Silas, and declared, “We’re seeing Vaughn today.”

“Why?” Silas asked quietly, his voice laced with confusion. “We’re no longer together. You owe me nothing.”

My heart ached—not because of his words, but because he believed them.

“Because even if we’re no longer together,” I said firmly, “I don’t want to watch you lose yourself one day. I don’t want that on my conscience. Is that reason enough?”

To himself.

To me.

I swallowed hard, fighting back the swell of emotions. “I understand.”

I released his hand, and the warmth vanished instantly, leaving a hollow ache in its place.

I felt him reach toward me—just an inch, a half-inch—then stop, fingers curling into a fist before falling uselessly to his side.

We walked out of the cemetery like two souls carrying the weight of something broken—carefully, quietly, pretending we weren’t still bleeding from the edges.

In the car, I checked the message Wren had sent.

“Driver,” I instructed, “Take us to this hospital.”

The driver glanced instinctively at Silas, gauging the atmosphere.

Silas remained silent for several seconds, the tension thick in the air.

Then—

“…Take us,” he murmured, resignation lacing his voice.

When we stepped into Vaughn’s office, the man looked up, saw us together, and nearly choked on his surprise.

“…Did you two get back together?”

“No,” Silas said immediately, his tone firm.

“Of course not,” I added, my voice steady. “I brought him for treatment. His insomnia needs proper care.”

Vaughn leaned back in his chair, studying me with an irritating sharpness, as if trying to peer into my very soul.

“And what is Freya’s role in this?” he asked casually, his eyes narrowing.

I met his gaze unflinchingly. “He stood up for my family. Protected my parents’ honor. I’m not ungrateful.”

Vaughn tapped his pen once, twice, then said, “But what if… the only cure for his insomnia—is you?”