Chapter9
1155 Words
The words of the council still echoed in Freya’s mind long after the meeting ended. When will the Alpha give us pups? The demand had been delivered without mercy, as if she were nothing but a vessel, a womb waiting to be filled.
Her heart had burned with humiliation, but she had kept her silence. And now, alone in her chamber, she knew the truth: whether Alpha Logan was ready or not, she had already made up her mind. She would give herself to him—body and soul. After all, was that not why her father had given her away? To repay a debt with her life, her body, her future?
If this was her fate, then she would embrace it. But she would do it on her own terms.
Freya moved to the closet, its carved doors opening to reveal silks, velvets, and lace finer than anything she had ever touched in Silverfang. She let her fingers trail over them, fabrics that whispered of luxury and desire. Wolves they may be, yet their ways mirrored the humans she had once read about. They dressed in gowns, bathed in perfumes, and yes—even wore lingerie to stir a mate’s blood.
Her hand stilled on scarlet silk. Red. The color of fire, of courage, of passion. A boldness she did not feel but desperately needed. She lifted the lingerie carefully, her heart thudding as she imagined wearing it beneath Logan’s gaze.
“You do have good taste.”
Freya startled, spinning around to find Samantha leaning against the doorframe, grinning.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” Freya said, clutching the fabric to her chest.
Samantha smirked. “That’s because you were too lost in your own world. So… red, hm? I’d say that’s a dangerous choice.”
“I like red,” Freya murmured, slipping the fabric over her skin, the silk clinging delicately to her curves.
Samantha’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Any special occasion? You look dazzling, my lady.”
Freya rolled her eyes, though warmth rose in her cheeks. “I’m meeting the Alpha tonight. I can’t keep him waiting forever.”
“Ouu!” Samantha squealed, clapping her hands. “Someone’s finally going to earn her title tonight.”
Freya swatted at her arm. “Don’t be ridiculous. This isn’t about romance or passion. This is duty.”
Samantha’s grin softened into something gentler. “You may tell yourself that, but I’ve seen the way he looks at you. Logan is not made of stone, Freya. There’s more to him than what the rest of the pack sees.”
“Perhaps,” Freya whispered, “but it feels like he wars with himself. Gentle one moment, cold the next. As though his heart belongs somewhere else.”
Samantha hesitated, her laughter fading. Her gaze drifted, uncertain, as if she had revealed too much already.
Freya caught it instantly. “Tell me,” she pressed. “Tell me what you mean.”
“It isn’t my place,” Samantha said quickly, shaking her head.
“You can trust me,” Freya urged, taking her hand.
Samantha bit her lip, then spoke so softly it was almost a whisper. “Lucia. She was the Alpha’s—”
A sharp knock at the door shattered the moment.
Both women stiffened. Samantha rose quickly, nodding once at Freya before slipping out.
In her place came Amaya, Freya’s quiet maid, carrying a small parcel and a folded note. “From the Alpha,” she said, bowing.
Freya unwrapped the parcel and felt her breath catch. Another set of red lingerie—more daring than her own choice, studded with jewels, cut to reveal more than it concealed. Her hands trembled as she unfolded the note.
Wear this. Come to me. Now.
Her chest tightened. For a moment she wanted to rebel, to throw the garments aside and cling to the one choice she had made for herself tonight. But then she froze. Logan had asked this of her deliberately. To defy him now would be to widen the distance between them.
With trembling hands, she changed into his chosen garment. When she draped the heavy cloak over her shoulders, hiding the revealing silk beneath, it felt like armor before battle.
---
The corridor outside Logan’s chambers was silent, heavy with anticipation. Freya’s pulse thundered in her ears as she raised a hand to push the door open.
He was waiting.
Logan sat on the edge of his bed, dressed only in loose shorts, his bare chest illuminated by the golden glow of the fire. The sight made her breath falter, heat rising unbidden to her cheeks. She looked away quickly, ashamed at the way her body reacted.
“You came,” he said simply, his deep voice filling the room.
She nodded, her fingers clutching the cloak around her.
“Sit,” he commanded, gesturing to the chair beside him.
Freya obeyed, lowering herself slowly, every movement stiff with nerves.
“Did you receive my parcel?”
“Yes.” Her voice was barely audible.
“Then look at me.” His hand was unexpectedly gentle as he lifted her chin, guiding her eyes to meet his. His gaze was sharp, unreadable, yet something softer lingered there. Slowly, deliberately, he drew the cloak from her shoulders, letting it fall.
Freya crossed her arms over herself, but his eyes did not waver.
“I don’t want this to begin with bitterness,” Logan said at last. His voice was quieter now, less command, more confession. “Eve… she is like a sister to me. That is all. I should not have let you feel otherwise.”
“I don't understand. What do you mean?”
“It's actually about what happened before we left for the council meeting.”
Freya blinked, startled. “I understand. You only protect her. That’s what a brother would do.”
He studied her carefully, as though measuring the truth of her words. His jaw tightened, then eased. “If you are not ready, we can stop. Another time—”
Her heart raced, fear and determination colliding. “No,” she interrupted, her voice trembling but resolute. “I am ready.”
His brow furrowed. “I will not force you.”
“You aren’t,” she whispered, meeting his gaze steadily despite the trembling in her limbs. “This is my choice. I accept it.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken words. Then Logan exhaled, a low sound that was part relief, part surrender.
“Very well,” he murmured, drawing her closer. His hand brushed over her shoulder, sliding the strap of her lingerie down her arm. His touch was careful, restrained, but the heat it left made her shiver.
Freya closed her eyes. Whatever destiny awaited her, whatever storm this bond would bring, she would not run from it any longer. Tonight, she surrendered.
- Writer
