BloodMoon: Captivated by the Forbidden Lycan Alpha
Chapter 218: LYCAN MATE LOVE

Chapter 218: LYCAN MATE LOVE

{ "Time and fate collide as two people learn to love each other and the world learns to accept the lovers without knowing their secret; they are mated."}

The warmth beside me was gone.

I blinked against the haze of sleep, reaching out instinctively to the space where Freyr should have been. Cool sheets. No trace of his body heat. No scent of skin or the soft rumble of his breathing. Just the faint memory of his presence and the silence he left behind. "Freyr?" My voice was raw, groggy, barely more than a whisper.

I pushed myself up on one elbow, eyes scanning the softly lit room. Morning light slipped past the heavy curtains, gold edges catching on the metalwork of Freyr’s armor stand. His clothes were gone. So was he. I sat up fully, the weight of solitude heavier than I expected. Something felt...off. Not wrong. Not yet. But off. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the stone floor biting cold against my bare feet. My muscles protested as I stood, joints stiff from yesterday’s battle or from how Freyr had pinned me down last night, like he needed to burn the war out of us.

I ran a hand through my hair, letting out a breath. "Where did you go, Freyr?"

And then—

"TOR!"

The roar slammed into my skull like a battering ram, not from outside, but inside. Gale’s voice. Mind-link. Raw, jagged, panicked. I stumbled, clutching the side of the bed. "What the—Gale?! What is it?!" No response. Just silence after the explosion. Echoes ringing in the hollow of my thoughts. My heart thundered, pulse syncing to the memory of his scream.

My chest still heaved from the shock of Gale’s voice tearing through the link like lightning through a storm cloud. The silence that followed was deafening until it was not.

"Calm down," Gale said, his voice steadier now but still tight around the edges, like he was barely holding back a tide of something sharper.

I braced a hand on the windowsill, knuckles white. "You scream like that into the link and then tell me to calm down?"

"I didn’t mean to hit you that hard. You were closed off, I had to punch through. I... felt Freyr."

That stopped me cold.

"What do you mean you felt him?"

A pause. Then Gale exhaled, the sound brushing against my thoughts like wind against glass.

"He’s agitated. No, he is seething, Tor. I tried to reach him, but he shut me out. He left the Mira house just before dawn. He is at the beachfront. Where..." His voice dropped, weighted now. "...where Dunco died."

The silence in the room turned suffocating. I stared at the floor for a beat, grounding myself in the cool, solid feel of the stone of the beachfront. Of course. Where the blood never fully washed away, no matter how many tides passed. Where Freyr’s grief still lived like a wound that refused to scab over.

"Damn it, Freyr..." I whispered, already pulling on my shirt, movements sharp and mechanical. "Why didn’t you wake me? Why go out there alone?" My fingers trembled as I buckled the last strap of my clothes, left the bedroom, out of the door of the Mira home, and never looked back.

The sea wind hit me the moment I stepped past the last of the Mira cliffs, briny and bitter, like the ocean itself was still mourning. I followed the curve of the shore, boots sinking into wet sand, heart pounding harder the closer I got.

Then I saw him. Freyr was kneeling in the surf like a broken god, waves lapping around him, clothes soaked, hair matted to his neck. His back was shaking with every breath. Raw, wrenching sobs that tore through the wind like war cries softened by grief.

I stopped. Just... stopped. My throat closed. "Freyr," I said his name as gently as I could, like a hand offered in the dark.

He did not answer, and I took a step closer. The tide rolled in, foam washing over his knees. His fists were clenched at his sides, nails dug so deep into his palms I could smell blood in the air. He rocked forward once, like his body could not contain what was in it, what he had been holding in for days. Weeks. Longer.

"Freyr, look at me," I said again, voice low, steady, trying to anchor him.

Still nothing. Just another sob that broke me right in half.

I dropped to my knees beside him, not caring about the water, the cold, the stinging salt. My hand hovered over his back before I let it rest there, light at first, then firm.

"You shouldn’t be here alone," I whispered. "Not here. Not like this."

He shuddered under my touch, and for the first time, he turned his face toward me, eyes swollen and rimmed red, tears carving tracks through sea spray and salt.

"I heard him, Tor," he rasped. "Last night. In my dream. He was screaming for me. I woke up and I could not breathe."

His voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands. "I should’ve saved him."

My chest twisted, and I pulled him into me without a word, letting him break against me, the way the waves broke on the shore around us. "You were just a young man," I murmured into his hair. "It wasn’t your fault, Freyr."

He finally stilled, just a little, though his breathing still came hard and uneven against my chest. I held him tighter, fingers brushing the back of his neck, grounding him against the storm inside him.

Then his voice broke the silence, Low. Flat. Too calm. "I need to kill them."

I froze, and Freyr pulled back from me, just enough for me to see his face. His eyes were godlike, his eyes were glassy with tears, but lit with something else entirely now.

Rage. "They took him from me, Tor. My father. Because he would not sell them out. Because he dared to care more about his people than their profit margins and power games." He shook his head slowly, sea wind raking through his hair. "They drained his blood, like he was in their way. And then they buried the truth like it was dirt under their boots." His jaw clenched, and I could almost hear the grind of his teeth. "I will take revenge. I must. Not just for him but for every lie they have dressed in Honor and medals."

I did not speak right away. My mouth opened, closed again. My pulse thundered in my ears. I should have told him to breathe. To wait. To think. But all I could do was look at this man I have fought beside, bled for, kissed like he was the only thing that made me real, and see the knife edge he was walking.

"Freyr..." I finally managed, voice quiet but steady, "you do not come back from revenge. Not the same. You know that."

He turned fully to face me now, eyes locked onto mine like they were looking through me.

"I’m already not the same," he said. "They made sure of that."

I stared at him, at the way the sea clung to his skin like a second grief, at the fire in his eyes that used to be reserved for us. For the way he looked at me when I touched him, like he mattered more than the war. More than blood. More than legacy.

But now that fire was pointed elsewhere, outward. Burning everything in its path.

My voice cracked before the words even left my mouth.

"What about me?"

He flinched. Just barely. But I saw it.

I stepped in front of him, chest rising and falling like I had just run ten miles in armor. "What about us, Freyr? What about your mother? Qadira? The people who love you, who are still here?"

He turned away, but I was not done. I caught his wrist. Not hard. Just enough.

"Do we not count?" I asked, softer now, but no less desperate. "Or do we just not weigh as much as your ghosts?"

He did not answer right away. The tide came in again, lapping at our boots like the sea was trying to pull us both under.

Then he spoke, voice barely above the sound of waves.

"You count," he said. "Gods, Tor, you’re the only thing that keeps me breathing some days."

"Then don’t do this."

"I have to." He looked at me, and there it was againthat pain, that need, that hunger for justice that was eating him alive from the inside out. "If I do not make them pay, who will? If I do not take it backmy father’s honour, our future, then what am I even doing?"

"You’re living, Freyr." I let go of his wrist and placed my hand on his chest, right over his heart. "You are here. With me. You do not have to bleed just because they made you watch your father die."

He looked down, eyes listening, and then he turned his face toward me, eyes searching mine like he was only just realizing I was there, not a dream or a memory pulled from the wreckage of his mind. "How did you find me?" he asked, voice hoarse, brittle around the edges. "I did not tell anyone I was leaving. I did not want anyone to follow."

I huffed a breath, half relief, half ache. "You did not. But you are bonded to more than just me, remember?"

He chuckled.

"It was Gale," I said, crouching beside him again in the wet sand. "He felt your distress through the link. Woke me up like the world was ending. Damn near shouted through my skull."

Freyr’s brow furrowed, and I saw the guilt flicker across his face. "I did not mean to wake him. I tried to lock it down—"

"You were locked down," I interrupted gently. "That is the only reason Gale had to tear through like that. You were hurting so deeply, Freyr, he had to break in to feel it."

He looked away, jaw tight. "I didn’t want anyone to feel it."

"Yeah, well, too bad," I said, trying to keep it light even as my throat burned. "You are not a storm, you get to bottle up and throw into the sea. We are connected. Gale knew. I felt it. You cannot outrun a bond like that, not when it is real." He did not say anything at first, just dragged a hand down his face, salt and tears mixing in his palm, and I pulled him into my arms and held him.

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