Claimed By Silver

Chapter Seventeen: The Night Before

Freya’s POV

He comes early tonight, before I've even finished locking the deadbolt, like some part of him couldn't stand the extra few minutes it would have cost to wait for full dark.

"Tomorrow," I say, when he's inside, when the window is closed behind him and there's nothing left between us except the thing neither of us has said aloud yet.

"Tomorrow," he agrees.

I don't know how to fill the space after that word, so instead I cross the room and kiss him, slow and certain, needing the contact more than I need whatever conversation was supposed to come first. He kisses me back like he's memorizing it, like some part of him is already grieving a version of tomorrow neither of us wants to name.

"I need you tonight," I say, when we finally break apart. "I need you to understand that. Whatever happens tomorrow — I don't want to walk into that room without having had this first. All of it. Not just careful, measured pieces of it."

Something moves behind his silver eyes, raw and unguarded in a way I've rarely seen from him. "Freya—"

"Please." My voice cracks slightly on the word. "I've spent six years afraid of wanting anything too much, because everything I wanted got taken from me. I'm not doing that tonight. Not with you. Not when tomorrow might be the day they decide I don't get to have you at all."

He crosses the distance between us, framing my face with both hands, silver eyes fierce and certain in a way that steadies something frightened in my chest.

"Listen to me," he says, voice low and rough. "Whatever happens tomorrow, you need to understand something first, because I need you walking into that room knowing it as fact, not hope. If they take you from me — if that Council decides your life is a cost worth paying for their peace of mind — I will not survive you. I'm not speaking figuratively. I have no interest in living in a world that doesn't have your face in it, your voice, the way you say my name like it's the only word that's ever mattered to you."

"Sterling, don't—"

"I need to say this." His thumb traces along my cheekbone, achingly gentle. "I would rather die and spend however long it takes searching through whatever comes after this life to find you again, than live one single day on this earth without you in it. That isn't despair talking. That's certainty. I've lived a hundred and sixty years without knowing what it felt like to actually want to be alive for something. I'm not interested in going back to simply existing, once I know what the alternative feels like."

Tears blur my vision, hot and sudden. "You can't promise that. Following me into whatever comes after — that's not something you get to choose."

"Then I'll fight whatever needs fighting to make it true anyway." His voice doesn't waver. "I've spent my whole existence being told what necessity requires of me. I'm done accepting that necessity gets the final word on this. If you go somewhere I can't follow easily, I will make it my only purpose to follow regardless. I will find you, Freya. In this life or whatever waits after it. That's not a comfort I'm offering you. That's a vow."

I press my forehead against his chest, breathing him in, letting the certainty in his voice settle something that's been shaking in my chest since Grant closed that book on the old, ambiguous story that might or might not save my life tomorrow.

"I have something to ask you," I say finally, pulling back to look at him properly. "Before tomorrow. In case the mark, the real one, is never something we get the chance to try."

"Anything."

I go to my bedroom and come back with the knife — the same one, or one enough like it that the distinction hardly matters, kept in a drawer since the night he first used it on me. I hold it out to him, hilt first, watching something complicated move behind his eyes as he understands what I'm asking before I've even said it.

"Finish it," I say. "The mark you started. I want your full name this time, not just the letter. If the wolf's mark is something I might not survive tomorrow, I want this one instead — something I know for certain I'll carry, whatever happens in that Council room. I want to walk in there already yours, in the one way that's actually mine to give you."

His hands shake slightly as he takes the knife from me, silver eyes glassy with something that looks dangerously close to tears, an expression I don't think this careful, controlled man allows himself often.

"Are you certain," he asks, voice rough.

"I've never been more certain of anything."

I pull my shirt down over my shoulder, exposing the healed scar of the letter he carved there weeks ago, and watch him steady himself, the same precise focus from that first night settling over his features, except this time there's no fear in it from me, no scream waiting to break loose. Just trust, offered plainly, the way I've learned to offer him everything else.

The pain is sharp and immediate as the blade moves, tracing new lines beside the old ones, and I hold still through it, watching his face instead of the wound, watching the careful concentration and the barely restrained emotion moving underneath it. He works slowly, deliberately, and when he finally lifts the blade away, I look down to see his full name etched into my skin, fresh blood welling along clean, precise lines.

Sterling.

"Mine," I say, echoing the word he's given me so many times now, watching it land on him like something physical.

He makes a sound low in his throat, something wrecked and reverent at once, and then his mouth is on mine, careful of the fresh wound between us, kissing me like the word itself has finally given him permission to stop holding anything back.

With a fierce urgency, Sterling lifted me effortlessly, my legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed my back against the wall. The coolness of the surface contrasted sharply with the heat radiating between us, an electric tension that threatened to consume us both. His mouth found mine again, fierce and demanding, swallowing my moan as he deepened the kiss.

The taste of him—warm, intoxicating—set fire to my senses, and I pressed myself against him, craving more. He responded to my need, his hands roaming down my sides, fingers curling around my hips, anchoring me against him. “Freya,” he breathed, pulling back just enough to look into my eyes, his silver gaze darkened with desire. “You’re everything. ”In that moment, I felt a surge of confidence, a wild abandon that urged me to push back. I gripped his shoulders, feeling the taut muscles beneath my fingers, and pulled him closer, letting him feel my need. “Then take me,” I whispered, my voice laced with urgency.

“I want all of you.” With a growl of approval, he began to move, his hands shifting to my thighs, lifting me higher. I gasped as he pressed me against the wall, and my body responded instinctively, arching towards him, craving the heat that radiated from his skin. The world outside faded, leaving just the two of us in this moment of raw, unfiltered desire. His lips trailed down my neck, kissing a path that ignited every nerve ending, leaving a trail of fire along my skin. He paused at the scar he had carved into my shoulder, his tongue flicking out to taste the fresh blood, a possessive gesture that sent a shiver of excitement through me.

“Mine,” he murmured, as if to remind both of us of the bond we shared. I felt him shift, his body pressing more firmly against mine, and I gasped as he ground his hips against me. The friction sent waves of pleasure coursing through my body, the ache between my legs growing more intense. “Sterling,” I moaned, the need spilling from my lips. “Let me hear you,” he urged, his voice low and gravelly, eyes dark with lust. “I want to make you feel everything. ”He captured my mouth again, his kiss deepening, as his hands slid under my shirt, fingers grazing along my bare skin.

The sensation was exquisite, sending jolts of pleasure through me. I felt him explore every inch of me, his touch both tender and fierce, igniting my body like a match to kindling. “God, you’re beautiful,” he breathed, breaking the kiss to trace his lips along my collarbone, his breath hot against my skin. I could feel him drawing closer, the heat between us becoming almost unbearable. “Please,” I begged, my voice trembling with urgency. “I need you. ”With a primal growl, he lifted me again, positioning me against the wall as he pressed forward, filling the space between us with his heat.

I could feel the weight of him, the promise of what was to come. My heart raced, anticipation mingling with desire, as he captured my mouth once more, our bodies moving in perfect harmony. As he began to explore lower, his hands cupping my face before trailing down my body, I felt the tension build within me. I surrendered completely, allowing him to take control, to lead us into this dark abyss of pleasure. Every touch, every kiss ignited something deep inside, a fire that threatened to consume us both. His hands moved to my waist, fingers digging in slightly as he pressed his body against mine, each thrust sending waves of pleasure crashing over me. I gasped against his mouth, the sound swallowed by his lips as he continued to devour me, claiming me with every breath. “Freya,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, “I need you to let go.” As his hands gripped my thighs, lifting me higher, I surrendered completely to the moment.

The world faded into nothingness as he pressed against me, our bodies moving in a primal rhythm. Each thrust was a promise, each kiss a declaration of what we were to each other. I felt myself spiralling, the tension coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap. “Sterling,” I cried out, lost in the depths of pleasure, the heat of his body against mine. I could feel the walls closing in, the darkness of the night wrapping around us like a cocoon, isolating us from everything else. And then, as if sensing my impending release, he captured my mouth again, his kiss fierce and demanding, urging me closer to the edge.

“Let go, Freya,” he growled against my lips, and with one final thrust, the tension broke. I cried out, my body arching against him as pleasure washed over me in waves, pulling me into an abyss where nothing else mattered. I felt his body tense, surrendering to the moment with me, our cries mingling as we fell together into the darkness, the world outside forgotten .

Afterward, I lie tangled with him in the dark, the fresh mark on my shoulder throbbing gently beneath a loose bandage, his heartbeat slow and steady under my ear.

"Whatever happens tomorrow," I say quietly, "I don't regret any of this. Not the knife, not tonight, not any part of the last few weeks. I want you to know that going in."

"Neither do I." His arms tighten around me, solid and certain in the dark. "You gave me something tonight I didn't think I was allowed to have anymore. Whatever that Council decides tomorrow, they can't take that back. It already happened. It's already true."

We lie there together until the sky starts to lighten at the edges of the curtains, neither of us sleeping, both of us simply memorizing the weight and warmth of the other in case tomorrow takes it away.

"I love you," I say, into the quiet, plainly, without any of the fear that usually tangles itself around the words. "Completely. Without reservation. Whatever that turns out to be worth to a room full of strangers deciding my fate."

"It's worth everything," Sterling says, voice rough with an emotion I've never heard from him before tonight. "It's the only thing that's ever actually mattered, in a very long life spent believing otherwise."

Morning comes too soon, the way it always does when you're not ready for it, and we rise together to face whatever the hearing decides, carrying between us a name carved in skin and a vow spoken in the dark, and whatever else, at least, that much is already true.