-FREYA-
Freya sat at the edge of the training yard, the faint hum of conversations and the rhythmic clash of sparring wolves surrounding her. She hugged her knees to her chest, her gaze flickering between the warriors. Tobias was nearby, his blue eyes watching her like a hawk even as he spoke with George.
Finn, his sandy hair tousled and his bright blue eyes sparkling with mischief, bounded over to her, his grin as infectious as always. He dropped down into a crouch beside her, his elbow resting casually on his knee.
“Hey, Freya,” Finn said cheerfully, nudging her shoulder lightly. “You look like you’re plotting something. Should I be worried?”
Freya blinked, startled by his sudden appearance, but a small smile crept onto her lips. “Plotting? Hardly. Just… thinking.”
Finn tilted his head, his grin widening. “Thinking is dangerous. You should try smiling instead. I promise, it’s much more fun.”
Freya chuckled softly despite herself, the sound drawing Tobias’s attention. His eyes narrowed as he watched Finn, his jaw tightening.
“Don’t let him fool you,” Tobias said as he strode over, his voice gruff. “Finn’s entire existence is one long distraction.”
Finn shot Tobias a mock-offended look, holding his chest as if wounded. “And here I thought we were friends.”
“We are,” Tobias replied curtly, stepping closer to Freya. His presence was commanding, his protectiveness palpable. “But that doesn’t mean I trust you around her.”
Freya’s smile faltered as she glanced between the two of them. “Tobias, it’s fine. Finn’s just being nice.”
“Exactly!” Finn exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “See? She gets me.” He turned to Freya, winking playfully. “You’re way better at reading people than some wolves I know.”
Tobias growled low in his throat, his wolf bristling beneath the surface. “Careful, Finn.”
Freya flinched at the sound, her shoulders hunching slightly as if expecting something worse. Tobias froze instantly, his expression shifting from anger to fear. He stepped back, his hand half-extended toward her.
“Freya,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I—I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” she whispered quickly, though her posture remained guarded. “I’m fine.”
But Tobias wasn’t convinced. His heart hammered in his chest, a cold knot of dread forming in his stomach. What if she rejected him? What if his protectiveness, his intensity, was too much for her? The thought made his wolf whimper in protest, the bond between them humming with unease.
Finn, sensing the tension, cleared his throat. “Alright, I think I need to say something before this gets out of hand.” His playful demeanour shifted slightly, his voice more serious than usual. “Tobias, you’ve got it all wrong.”
Tobias’s eyes snapped to Finn, narrowing dangerously. “What are you talking about?”
Finn raised his hands in surrender, though his smile remained faintly in place. “Look, I like Freya, okay? But not like that. She’s… I don’t know, special. She’s been through a lot, and I just want to be her friend. Someone who’s, you know, not growling at her every five seconds.”
Tobias’s growl deepened, but Freya placed a hand on his arm, her touch grounding him. “Finn…” she began, her voice soft. “Thank you.”
“No, really,” Finn insisted, his gaze earnest as he looked between them. “You two—you’re mates. Anyone with eyes can see how much you care about each other. I just… I want you both to be happy. And if that means stepping back so you can figure things out, I’m okay with that.”
Freya’s eyes softened, a flicker of gratitude shining through her uncertainty. Tobias, though still tense, gave a small nod, his wolf settling slightly. “Fine,” he muttered, his voice begrudging. “But if you overstep—”
“I won’t,” Finn interrupted quickly, his grin returning. “Promise.”
Freya laughed quietly, the sound easing some of the tension lingering in the air. Tobias glanced at her, his expression softening as he watched her smile.
“Thank you, Finn,” she said again, her voice steady. “For everything.”
Finn winked. “Anytime, Freya. Just don’t let him scare you too much. He’s all bark.” He dodged Tobias’s half-hearted swipe with a laugh, bounding back toward the training yard.
Freya turned to Tobias, her gaze searching his face. “He’s just trying to help,” she said softly.
Tobias sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he cupped her cheek gently, his thumb brushing over her skin. “I know,” he admitted. “But you’re mine, Freya. And the thought of anyone else even looking at you—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I just… I can’t lose you.”
“You won’t,” Freya whispered, leaning into his touch. “I promise.”
Tobias pressed his forehead against hers, the tension between them melting away as the bond hummed softly, strengthening. Whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.
-DAEMON-
Deep in the forest, far from the packlands, Daemon crouched near the edge of a small stream, his piercing grey eyes scanning the treetops. The silence of the forest pressed against him, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves in the night breeze and the soft murmur of flowing water. His wolf was restless, its energy coiled like a spring, every muscle in his body taut with anticipation. He dipped his hand into the icy stream, the cold biting against his skin, but even the sharp chill couldn’t quiet the storm raging within him.
The whispers had reached him days ago. Fragmented, faint, yet unmistakable. A name. Freya.
He clenched his jaw as memories surfaced, unbidden and vivid. A girl’s laughter, bright and unrestrained, ringing out in the sunlight. Her small hand gripping his tightly as they ran together, both fearless in the way only children could be. And then the cold emptiness of being torn away. The screams of protest. The helplessness of knowing he couldn’t protect her. His fingers curled into a fist, water dripping between them, the icy rivulets mirroring the ache in his chest.
It had taken years to piece together the fragmented trails that led him back here. Years of shadowing packs, gathering scraps of information, and chasing faint traces of a life stolen from him. The packlands were close now. He could feel Freya’s presence like a faint hum vibrating through his very soul. She was alive. And if the whispers were true—if she had shifted—everything had changed.
Daemon rose from his crouch, his movements fluid and purposeful. His sharp features were etched with resolve as his wolf stirred beneath his skin, eager to break free, to run, to protect. His long dark hair, tangled from the journey, framed his angular face, the moonlight catching on the streaks of silver that ran through the strands. His piercing grey eyes seemed almost luminous in the dim light, holding a mix of determination and unspoken pain.
The journey back to the packlands had been fraught with danger. Rogues had crossed his path, their attacks swift and merciless, but they had been no match for him. He had become something more than a shifter over the years—hardened by solitude, sharpened by loss. His power, still untapped in its entirety, simmered beneath the surface, waiting.
He gazed into the dark expanse of trees before him. Somewhere beyond the treeline, Freya waited. He didn’t know what he would find—whether she was safe or if she had been hurt again—but one thing was certain: she needed him. She had always needed him. And he would not let her down again.
Daemon’s wolf growled softly, urging him onward, but he lingered for a moment longer, his sharp gaze scanning the shadows. He could feel the presence of others—not close, but near enough to warrant caution. Rogues had been thick in the region, their movements strange, almost coordinated. They weren’t the wild, aimless creatures he’d come to know over the years. This was something different. Calculated. Dangerous.
A faint breeze stirred his hair, carrying with it a scent that made his wolf bristle. Magnus. The rogue leader. Daemon’s lips curled back into a snarl, his sharp canines glinting in the moonlight. If Magnus had anything to do with Freya’s plight, there would be no mercy.
He flexed his fingers, the sharp crack of his knuckles breaking the stillness. His mind sharpened, the memories of Freya’s laughter mingling with the reality of her name whispered on the wind. The packlands were no longer just a destination—they were a battleground. And he would face whatever waited for him there, because Freya’s life depended on it.
Daemon turned, his cloak sweeping behind him as he moved toward the treeline. The shadows seemed to part for him, his presence commanding, his resolve unshakable. The bond that had tethered him to Freya since they were children, fragile though it had been over the years, now burned with renewed strength.
Whatever awaited him, Daemon vowed silently, nothing would stand between him and Freya again.
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