Claimed By Silver

Chapter Twenty-One: A Name From the Past

Freya’s POV

Grant calls two days after the hearing, his voice tight in a way that tells me before he even says it that he's found something.

"I need you both at my apartment tonight," he says. "I know who sent the wolf."

Sterling's whole body goes rigid beside me when I relay the words, some old instinct sharpening behind his silver eyes. "Who."

"Not over the phone. Tonight."

The two days between the hearing and this call have been quiet in a way I haven't fully trusted — good quiet, the kind that comes after surviving something, but underscored by an awareness that whoever sent that wolf is still out there, still capable of trying again. I've caught myself glancing over my shoulder more than usual, checking the street below my apartment window before I let myself relax into evenings that otherwise feel almost ordinary. Sterling's noticed it too, I think, the way he's stayed closer than usual, rarely leaving my side even during the daylight hours when danger seems less immediate.

Grant is pacing when we arrive, a habit I've come to recognize as his version of barely restrained fury, and he doesn't waste time on pleasantries once we're through the door.

"Veera," he says, watching Sterling's face carefully as the name lands.

Something complicated moves across Sterling's expression — recognition, old history, a flicker of something that might be guilt. "Veera wouldn't—"

"She would, and she did." Grant's voice is hard, certain. "I traced the wolf back through three different contacts before I found someone willing to talk. The assassin was pack-adjacent, loosely affiliated, the kind of wolf who takes contracts when the price is right and the target obscure enough not to draw attention. He was paid. Generously. By a woman matching Veera's description, using a name she hasn't used publicly in years."

I look between the two brothers, feeling like I've walked into the middle of a conversation I don't have the full context for. "Who is Veera?"

Sterling is quiet for a long moment before he answers, something old and unresolved sitting behind his eyes. "Someone I grew up with. Our families were close, generations back — the kind of closeness that comes with certain expectations attached. There was a time, before the bond found you, when everyone assumed she and I would eventually be paired. Not fated. Chosen, the way most wolves are matched. It never happened, but she never entirely let go of the expectation either."

"She's in love with you?" I ask slowly, understanding arriving in pieces.

"She believes she is. I've never returned it, not the way she wanted, and I made that clear more than once over the years." Something pained crosses his face. "I didn't realize how badly she'd taken my bonding to you. I should have. I know her well enough to have anticipated this, and I didn't."

"You think she'd actually try to have me killed. Over jealousy."

"I think jealousy and desperation make people capable of things they'd never otherwise consider," Grant says grimly. "And I think there may be more to it than simple heartbreak. The payment for the assassin was substantial. More substantial than Veera's own resources would easily cover."

The implication sits heavy in the room before anyone says it aloud.

"My father," Sterling says quietly.

"I can't prove it yet," Grant says. "But the timing, the resources, the fact that Veera would have motive but likely not funds on this scale without help — it fits a pattern I don't like. Our father wants this bond resolved. If Veera wants you for herself and our father wants Freya gone, their interests align neatly enough that a partnership makes uncomfortable sense."

I sit with that, something cold settling in my chest. "So your father might have not just failed to send the wolf himself. He might have funded someone else to do it instead, specifically so his hands would look clean."

"It fits him," Sterling says, voice tight with fury he's visibly working to control. "He's always preferred solutions that don't implicate him directly. If Veera acted alone, from his perspective, then he's simply benefited from an outcome he didn't personally orchestrate. Plausible deniability, wrapped around exactly the resolution he wants."

"How well do you actually know her?" I ask, needing to understand the shape of this threat properly before we decide how to face it. "Not the history with Sterling. Her, as a person. What she's capable of."

Grant considers the question seriously. "Intelligent. Patient. Not prone to rash decisions, which is precisely why this took so long to trace — she covered her involvement carefully, used intermediaries, never touched the transaction directly herself. That patience worries me more than impulsiveness would. It suggests she's playing a longer game than a single failed assassination attempt."

"Meaning she'll try again."

"Meaning she'll adapt," Sterling says. "Whatever she tries next, it likely won't look anything like a wolf through a door. She's smarter than that approach, and she's already learned it doesn't work."

"What do we do," I ask, looking between the brothers.

"We need proof," Grant says. "Real proof, not speculation, before we bring anything back to the Council. An accusation against Marcus Voss without solid evidence would be dismissed instantly, and would only draw more danger toward Freya rather than less."

"And Veera?"

"Veera is more vulnerable," Sterling says slowly, something calculating entering his expression. "She's not protected by Council standing the way my father is. If we can get proof of her involvement specifically, we can at least neutralize that half of the threat, even if we can't touch my father directly yet."

"How."

Sterling is quiet for a long moment, some old reluctance visible in his face. "I could speak with her directly. She might not admit to attempted murder outright, but she's never been particularly good at hiding things from me. I might be able to read enough in how she responds to at least confirm what Grant's already found."

Something uneasy moves through me at the idea of Sterling alone in a room with a woman who loves him, who's already tried once to have me killed. "I don't like that."

"Neither do I," Sterling says, turning to me, taking my hand. "But it may be the fastest way to get confirmation, and I'd rather move quickly than let her regroup and try something worse next time."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"Freya—"

"I'm not asking permission." I hold his gaze steadily, echoing words we've both used on each other more than once by now. "If she's going to look me in the eye and lie about trying to kill me, I want to be there to see it happen. And if she's dangerous enough to hire an assassin, I don't like the idea of you facing her without backup."

Grant watches the exchange with something like reluctant approval. "She has a point, Sterling. And honestly, Veera might react differently with Freya present than she would with you alone. Watching the two of you together might provoke something useful — an admission, a slip, anything that gives us more than we currently have."

Sterling studies me for a long moment, some internal argument playing out behind his eyes before he finally exhales, some of his resistance giving way. "All right," he says. "Together, then. But we do this carefully. Veera is dangerous precisely because she doesn't look dangerous. Don't underestimate her because she seems soft-spoken or wounded. That's precisely the version of herself she's best at presenting."

"What does she look like?" I ask, wanting to be prepared, wanting to know exactly what I'm walking into. "So I recognize her, if nothing else."

"Fair-haired. Smaller than you'd expect, given everything Grant's just told you about her patience and precision. She has a way of seeming fragile that's entirely deliberate — I watched her use it as a weapon more than once, growing up, long before any of this started." Sterling's jaw tightens. "Don't let the softness fool you. It never has for me, not since we were young enough that I first noticed how carefully she calculated every impression she gave."

I nod, filing the warning away carefully, already bracing myself for whatever comes next — a woman who's tried once to kill me, about to meet me face to face for the first time.

"When," I ask.

"Tomorrow," Sterling says. "The sooner we know what we're dealing with, the sooner we can actually protect ourselves properly."

Grant pours us each a drink, something dark and old, and for a moment the three of us simply sit with the weight of what's coming, the fragile peace of the past two days already giving way to whatever Veera's reappearance is about to bring crashing back into our lives. I look at Sterling beside me, jaw still tight with old history and fresh fury, and wonder, not for the first time, how much of his past I still don't know — how many other names like Veera's are waiting somewhere in the years before me, ready to resurface exactly when we can least afford them to.