~FREYA~
Freya stirred, her head throbbing as consciousness returned in fragments. Her body felt heavy, her wrists raw from the coarse ropes biting into her skin. She blinked against the dim light filtering through cracks in the wooden walls of the room she was in. The scent of damp wood and earth filled her nose, mingled with the sharp tang of wolf. Rogues.
Her heart raced as the memory came flooding back—the rogue leader, his hand like iron around her arm, dragging her away from Tobias and George. The fear and chaos of the attack returned in a wave, but she forced herself to breathe slowly. Panicking wouldn’t help her now.
Freya glanced around, trying to take in her surroundings. The room was small, the walls hastily thrown together with planks that didn’t quite meet. Through the cracks, she could hear faint voices and the shuffling of feet. This wasn’t just a rogue den; it felt organised, purposeful—a contradiction to everything she’d ever heard about rogues.
Her wolf stirred in her mind, a soothing presence that eased her growing fear. We’ll get out of this, it whispered, strong and calm. Freya clung to that voice, letting it anchor her.
But as she sat there, her body aching and her mind racing, her thoughts turned to Tobias. The bond between them was still new, unfamiliar, yet she couldn’t ignore the strange pull she felt toward him.
Mate.
The word made her chest tighten. She had never imagined having a mate—someone who would care for her, protect her. Her life had been a lonely one, and the pack had done little to shield her from that. Tobias had seemed different, though. His fierce protectiveness during her shift, the way he’d spoken to her—it had felt genuine. For a moment, she had allowed herself to hope.
But now?
Freya swallowed hard, her throat dry. He won’t come, she thought bitterly, the voice in her mind small but insistent. Why would he? The pack has never cared for me before. Why should he be any different?
The doubt weighed heavily on her, but her wolf pushed back, a growl rumbling in her mind. He’s not like the others, it insisted. He’s our mate.
Freya closed her eyes, wishing she could believe that. But hope was a dangerous thing, and she’d learned long ago not to rely on anyone but herself.
The door creaked open, and Freya tensed. The tall, tanned man with dark, piercing eyes stepped inside—the rogue leader. He radiated dominance, and the air seemed to shift with his presence. His gaze landed on her, and he smirked, his expression cold and calculating.
“Awake at last,” he said, his voice smooth and mocking. “The white wolf.”
Freya’s breath hitched. How did he know? She’d only shifted once, and it had been in the safety of the pack. Or so she’d thought.
“Let me go,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
The rogue leader laughed, low and cruel. “Let you go? Oh no, little wolf. You’re far too valuable for that.”
Freya glared at him, forcing down the fear twisting in her chest. “I’m no one,” she said, her voice firm. “You’ve made a mistake.”
The man crouched before her, his dark eyes narrowing. “Oh, I don’t think so. A pure white wolf with lilac eyes? You’re the first I’ve seen in decades. And I’ve been searching a very long time.”
Freya’s stomach churned. The way he looked at her, like a piece of a puzzle he’d been trying to solve, made her skin crawl.
“What do you want from me?” she demanded.
He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Everything.”
Before she could respond, he stood and left the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Freya slumped against the wall, her breaths coming fast and shallow. Her wolf growled softly in her mind, a protective barrier against the panic threatening to overwhelm her.
Stay strong, it urged. We’re not alone.
Freya didn’t understand what it meant until, hours later, the door opened again—not to the rogue leader but to a woman. Her dark hair was streaked with grey, and her sharp green eyes darted around the room before settling on Freya. She carried a small bowl of water and a piece of bread, her movements cautious.
The woman knelt and placed the bowl and bread beside Freya. “Eat,” she said quietly, her voice clipped but not unkind.
Freya hesitated, studying her. There was something different about this woman—she didn’t have the wild, feral energy of the other rogues.
“Who are you?” Freya asked softly.
The woman glanced toward the door, her expression tense. “Lyra,” she said after a pause. “And if you’re smart, you’ll keep your voice down.”
Freya took a sip of water, the cool liquid soothing her parched throat. “Why are you helping me?”
Lyra’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Because I know what they’ll do to you if they break you,” she said. “And you don’t deserve that.”
Freya’s heart clenched at the quiet pain in Lyra’s voice. “You’re not like them,” she said, her voice trembling.
“No,” Lyra admitted, her green eyes flicking to Freya. “But I’m here, and I can’t leave. Not yet.”
Freya leaned closer. “Why? What’s stopping you?”
Lyra hesitated, then whispered, “Because leaving means they’ll kill me. Or worse. I’ve seen what happens to those who try.”
Freya swallowed hard, her mind racing. If Lyra was willing to help, even in small ways, it might be her only chance to escape.
“What about me?” Freya asked. “Will they kill me too?”
Lyra’s expression softened slightly. “No. You’re too important to them. But that’s not a mercy, little wolf. It’s a leash.”
Freya’s wolf bristled at the words, a surge of anger and defiance rising in her chest. “I won’t let them break me,” she said, her voice steady despite the fear tightening her throat.
Lyra gave a small, sad smile. “I hope you mean that. Because if you don’t, they will
Views: 2
