Freya's POV The air in the Stormveil Primal Hall was sharp with tension, thick with the scent of old cedar and ancestral ash from the braziers burning along the stone walls. This hall had witnessed centuries of oaths, betrayals, and blood sacrifices from my family. Tonight, it bore witness to something else entirely. "You… what did you just say?" Jocelyn's voice cut through the silence, brittle and shrill. Her eyes-wolf-gold, sharp like a blade-fixed on Silas Whitmor as if she could tear his words back into his throat. Around us, members of the Stormveil Pack shifted uneasily, mutters rising like the growl of an unsettled den. No one could quite believe what had just left Silas's mouth. It wasn't just me who froze. Even the oldest wolves, scarred veterans of wars and raids, stared at him in shock. Because what he'd said wasn't the declaration of an Alpha calculating his dominance. It wasn't the cold pragmatism of the Ironclad Coalition's leader. No. It was something far softer. Far more dangerous. Something that smelled like devotion. "I said," Silas repeated, his voice deep, cutting across the hall like a command that demanded silence, "if Freya Thorne wishes to use me, then I welcome it. Gladly. Sweetly." My chest constricted. His gaze swung to me then, steady and unwavering, and I saw no calculation there, no Alpha's scheme. Just raw certainty. He looked at me as though being my weapon, my shield, my pawn-whatever I needed-was not a humiliation, but a gift. And gods help me, part of me believed him. Jocelyn's face twisted. The fury flashing across her wolf aura lashed out like claws against stone, sharp and burning. To her, those words weren't a confession. They were a strike-an Alpha's rejection delivered in front of half the Stormveil bloodline. Her jaw clenched, and I saw the moment she realized what Silas had just done. Not just chosen me, but burned every bridge to her. "You…" Her voice shook, and she took a step closer, as if sheer presence could drag Silas back into her orbit. "Silas, do you forget what happened to your parents? Do you think Freya can withstand the weight of your family's curse? What happens when she betrays you, when she-" The shift in Silas was instantaneous. His expression, calm only moments before, darkened like a storm rolling over the horizon. His wolf surged to the surface, power spiking through the hall, pressing against every wolf's skin. I felt it in my chest, my ribs straining to hold against the crush of his aura.Jocelyn flinched back, but she didn't stop. She never knew when to stop. Before Silas could move, before his claws could even twitch, I stepped forward and caught his hand in mine. His skin was hot, trembling with restrained fury. "Enough." I turned on Jocelyn, my own wolf stirring beneath my skin, white-fire power licking up my spine. "Whether I can carry his bond is between Silas and me. Not you. His parents, his blood, his choices-they are not yours to weaponize. And Jocelyn…" I bared my teeth, letting my wolf seep into my voice, "say it again, and I'll show you exactly how much I can bear. You speak once, I strike once. Try me." Her mouth fell open, outrage mixing with something sharp and sour: fear. She remembered, as we all did, the way I'd laid her father Lennon flat not long ago. His groan still echoed in these walls. She knew I wasn't bluffing. Silas looked down at me, stunned. His hand was still in mine, my grip tight, and though neither of us spoke, I knew what passed between us. A vow. An unspoken tether: no matter what shadows hunted us, I wouldn't leave him to face them alone. Then I shifted my gaze to Ken Thorne, the patriarch whose word still ruled Stormveil like ancient law. His wolf aura was dimmed with age, but his eyes were bright, sharper than most half our years. "Grandfather," I said evenly, though the word was a bitter stone in my throat. "I came here only to reclaim the old Thorne residence. Fifth Branch's rightful claim. I'll deliver the papers to the Reconstruction Office myself. I ask only that Lennon doesn't stand in the way." Ken's hand slammed down on the arm of his carved chair, a sound like bone breaking. "If Lennon dares to block her path, then he can leave Stormveil entirely. My word." A ripple passed through the hall-shock, disbelief, then grudging acceptance. Ken Thorne's decrees were absolute. Relief unfurled in my chest, though I didn't let it show. "Thank you," I said softly. "Silas and I will take our leave then. Rest well, Grandfather. I'll return soon." "See that you do," the old wolf rumbled. "An old Alpha likes the company of the ones who still have teeth." I gave him a small nod and turned, Silas's hand still firmly in mine. But as we passed Jocelyn, he stopped. His voice cut the air like an executioner's blade. "You accused Freya of hiding behind me, of wielding me as her shield. Then hear me now, Jocelyn Thorne: from this moment, you have no claim to me. Or to the Whitmors. Whatever bond existed between us-whether duty, alliance, or debt-is severed. Forever." The hall went silent. Wolves stared, the magnitude of his words sinking like claws into flesh. Jocelyn paled, her lips trembling. "Silas… what are you saying? You can't mean-" Lennon surged forward, desperation spilling from him like the scent of fear in a cornered animal. "Alpha Whitmor, reconsider! If the Fifth Branch claims the estate, that's one thing. But you and Jocelyn-if you cut ties, then-" "Then what?" Silas snarled, eyes glinting like steel catching firelight. His aura slammed into Lennon so hard the man staggered. "Do not mistake my patience for mercy. I nearly blinded your daughter once. Years of reparation followed, years of bending to Thorne expectations I never owed. No more. I owe you nothing. Not you. Not her. Not Stormveil." The words shook the hall. I felt my pulse thrumming, heat and pride swelling in my chest as he turned his gaze back to me. His eyes, ice and flame both, softened when they met mine. "All I will ever protect," he said, low and certain, "is her." Me.