A Warrior Luna's Awakening (Freya and Caelum) novel Chapter 400

**Trapped in You by Morrison Lee: Shadows of Our Love**
**Chapter 400**

**Third Person’s POV**

Silas’s fingers, long and graceful, flexed with a latent power that hinted at the strength of a wolf ready to pounce. Yet, across from him, Vaughn wore an expression of calm arrogance, his eyes shimmering with a challenge that dared Silas to act. “Silas,” he remarked lightly, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, “for generations, my family, the Graftons, have stood by the Whitmors. To us, the lives entwined with Whitmor blood are sacred. So, when faced with the choice between ‘you succumb to sleepless nights and the torment of your own mind’ or ‘making a move on Freya,’ my decision is unmistakable—I will choose ‘making a move on Freya.'”

A shadow passed over Silas’s features, his gaze turning predatory, sharp as a knife’s edge. “If you even think of laying a finger on her, Vaughn, despite our shared childhood, I swear I will not hold back.”

Vaughn tilted his head, his smirk deepening as he studied Silas’s face. “Then why not act like any true Whitmor would? Use all the tricks at your disposal, manipulate her, twist her will to align with yours. The Whitmors are never short of cunning when it comes to those they cherish.”

Silas’s expression hardened, the wolf inside him stirring with a low growl. “So, just because the Whitmors can be merciless in their desire to protect what they hold dear, I should forsake my principles and become ruthless as well?”

For a fleeting moment, Vaughn’s confidence wavered, sensing the tempest brewing within Silas. The Alpha released his grip, his gaze drawn upward to the night sky, where the moon hung like a watchful guardian over Deepmoor City. Stars flickered dimly, overshadowed by the haze of city lights. “Yes,” Silas murmured softly, the wolf within him restless, “I could unleash a torrent of ruthlessness. I could devise countless schemes to ensure Freya never strays from my side, not even for a heartbeat. But if I did that… all she would feel is loathing. And I—I lack the fortitude to confront her hatred.”

Vaughn’s smirk faltered, genuine surprise flickering across his features. For the first time, he heard Silas Whitmor utter four simple words that carried a weight heavier than any command: I do not have the courage. The truth was undeniable: Freya Thorne. She was his lifeline, the anchor that kept him from spiraling into the chaos of endless nights.

“When we were together,” Silas continued, his voice low and heavy with the burden of memory, “I yearned to be a better man. Even in our separation, I wanted her to remember me as someone worthy. So, do not lay a hand on her. If you do, I cannot guarantee what I might do… the things the wolf might unleash, the things the man might succumb to. And…” He paused, his fingers brushing over a beaded bracelet on his wrist, worn smooth from constant contact. It had belonged to her. Freya had gifted it to him. Through every sleepless night and every shadow of solitude, that bracelet had been a beacon of her presence, keeping him tethered and preventing him from falling completely into the abyss of his mind. Perhaps it was the reason he remained as sane as someone like him could be.

“Do you understand the taste of both victory and defeat? Of feeling the sky crash down upon you?” Silas’s voice transformed into a growl, primal and low. “I have. I have endured that hell. And if I am ripped from it again, only to be cast back into that darkness with even greater force… I might truly become a monster.”

Vaughn stood silent, awe-struck. What did Freya Thorne represent to Silas? A savior? A curse? A divine gift? If she were to vanish forever, what kind of beast would Silas transform into? The mere thought sent a chill racing through Vaughn’s veins.

The anniversary celebration of the Whitmor Group had arrived, a dazzling affair that attracted the most powerful packs, corporate dynasties, and elite wolfborn of the city. Freya and Lana stepped from their sleek black wolf-forged limousine into the crisp night air, the world around them alive with anticipation. Lana wore a gown of crimson silk that shimmered brilliantly under the lantern lights of the Grand Meridian Plaza, while Freya’s champagne-colored dress flowed around her like moonlight dancing upon a still river. The ruby necklace resting at her throat glimmered like a captured flame, drawing the attention of every onlooker. It was a subtle roar amidst the gentleness—a mark of the wolf and the unbreakable bond that existed between them.

“Freya,” Parker greeted simply, his voice low and rich, imbued with the protective growl of a wolf prepared to defend his pack at all costs.

“Parker,” Freya responded, lifting her chin, sensing the fierce predator within him, yet recognizing the gentle wolf beneath the Alpha’s composed exterior. Her gaze instinctively flicked to the other presence nearby—a shadow of poison in the form of Jenny’s glare. But Freya’s attention quickly returned to her brother, every instinct aligning with his protective aura.

Jenny’s gaze, however, remained fixed, not on Freya’s face but on the necklace that adorned her throat. A ruby fire she longed to possess, a connection she could not sever—yet, not yet.

From across the plaza, a second limousine glided in silently, sleek as a shadow on the hunt. From its doors stepped Everett Williams.

Jenny froze, her heart pounding in her chest.