Freya's POV Silas caught my hands before I could pull away. His grip wasn't rough, but there was a tremor of urgency beneath it. When he turned to face me, his dark eyes gleamed with a rare, unguarded light. "If you don't despise me for what I am… then swear it, Freya. Don't just say you'll accept me. Prove it. Be better to me than anyone else ever has. Promise me that." For a heartbeat, I just stared at him. The Ironclad Coalition's Alpha, the man who carried scars on his back like a map of suffering, looked at me now like a wounded pup begging not to be abandoned. I almost laughed at the absurdity of it, but instead a helpless smile tugged at my lips. "All right," I said softly, squeezing his hands. "I'll treat you better." The words seemed to undo something inside him. His control, always taut as a drawn bow, snapped. He hauled me against his chest, one arm clamping around my waist like steel, and his mouth crashed down on mine. His lips were cold at first, cautious, as though even kissing me might break some sacred trust. But when I didn't pull away-when I tilted my head and pressed back-he deepened the kiss with a hunger that stole my breath. His restraint burned away, leaving behind raw need. By the time we stumbled out of the bathroom, my cheeks were blazing, and my lips were swollen and red. Even the hollow of my throat bore the evidence of his fervor-small marks that throbbed faintly against my pulse. My wolf stirred uneasily inside me, whispering that his claim was dangerous, intoxicating, and far too easy to accept. Silas, on the other hand, looked utterly unbothered. His breathing was steady, his face calm, his body loose with confidence. I couldn't help glaring at him. "Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked, as he casually began dressing right in front of me. He smirked, never breaking eye contact. "Because you're staring at me as though you've discovered something." "I'm staring because you're too damn calm," I retorted. "Like what just happened was… normal for you." His laugh was low and warm, rumbling in his chest. Then, without warning, he caught my hand and pressed it against his chest-right over his heart. "Does that feel calm to you?" he whispered. Under my palm, his heartbeat slammed against his ribs, fast and frantic, as though my presence alone had set his blood aflame. "Freya… to you, maybe it was just a kiss. But to me? You're the first woman I've ever truly wanted. The first I've kissed, the first I've lain beside without shame. You're not just the first-you'll be the last." I froze, my eyes widening. My brain tripped over his words, stumbling to catch up. "You… what? You can't possibly mean-" But I thought back to our first kiss. How clumsy he'd been, how stiff and untested. It wasn't my imagination-he really had been awkward, inexperienced. Silas, heir of the Whitmore line, had given his first kiss to me. The revelation rattled me so badly that for the next several days, I kept replaying it in my mind. How was it possible that someone like him-powerful, feared, cold-could still be unclaimed, untouched? Yet if he was a student, he was a quick learner. Each time he stole a kiss in passing, his lips moved with more confidence, more insistence, until it was my turn to be breathless and off balance. And I didn't push him away. The truth was, I liked it. More than liked it. The pull between us was undeniable. And besides… wasn't he my chosen mate? At night, the lines between restraint and surrender blurred further. After that first night together, he never asked again-he simply appeared at my door, slipping into my room like it was his right. At first, I wanted to refuse. To remind him that we weren't there yet, that I wasn't sure if my feelings for him were strong enough to withstand the storm of his world. But then he'd look at me with those haunted eyes, or worse, he'd smile with that wicked, knowing curve of his mouth, and I caved. I let him in. Again and again. And yet… for all his power and hunger, he never crossed the line. His hand would brush along my skin, teasing, daring me to ask for more, but when I didn't, he'd simply hold my hand as sleep dragged us under. My wolf understood the unspoken vow in that gesture-Until she asks, I won't take. It both comforted me and drove me insane. Meanwhile, the human world spun on outside our cocoon. The incident with the Consortium's trapped workers had spread like wildfire across every network. Footage of the rescue efforts went viral, sparking debates across the packs. For once, the press didn't slander us-they praised us. Praised the Coalition, praised Whitmor, praised the Stormveil branch that had joined the mission. Everywhere I looked, commentary hailed our speed, our cooperation, our unity. One night, as I sat on the edge of Silas's bed scrolling through WolfComm, my screen lit with an unfamiliar number. "Hello?" I answered cautiously. "Miss Freya Thorne?" A woman's voice, polished and professional, greeted me. "This is with Halston Broadcast. We're producing a feature on the recent rescue efforts, and we'd like to invite you onto our program." I almost laughed. "Sorry, but I don't do talk shows. Not my thing." "Please, reconsider," the woman pressed. "Every other participant has already agreed, and we want the full story. Aurora, for instance, has confirmed her attendance. You flew beside her that day, didn't you?" Aurora. The name soured on my tongue. My wolf bristled instantly, hackles rising. That Beta's daughter-newly minted pilot of the Bluemoon Airborne Wing-had the audacity to stand in front of cameras and bask in glory that didn't belong to her? My fingers tightened around the phone. "Fine. I'll come." "Wonderful," the producer gushed. I hung up before she could say more, my pulse already quickening. If Aurora thought she could twist that rescue into her story, she was about to learn the hard way that Freya Thorne didn't sit quietly while others stole her pack's honor. And this time, I wouldn't be fighting with guns or claws. I'd be fighting with truth. Silas shifted beside me, glancing at the tension in my face. His hand slid over mine, grounding me, his wolf brushing against mine in quiet support. "Another battle?" he asked softly. I smiled, sharp and humorless. "Yes. And I intend to win."