BloodMoon: Captivated by the Forbidden Lycan Alpha
Chapter 219: SWEET SUNSET VIBES

Chapter 219: SWEET SUNSET VIBES

{ "Sunsets are like God’s paintings in the sky."}

We did not speak for a while after that. We just stayed.

Freyr sat beside me, knees drawn up, arms loosely slung around them. His eyes were fixed on the waves, watching the tide roll in and out like it might carry the weight of his grief back out to sea. I did not press him. Some silences do not need to be broken they just need to be shared.

The sky had started to soften with the promise of dusk, painting the edges of the clouds in gold and lavender. A breeze lifted off the ocean, cooler now, and I could feel the drop in temperature against my damp shirt. Practicality tugged at me.

"Come on," I said quietly, nudging his leg with mine. "There is a dry patch near the hidden rock. Let us build a fire before we freeze to death looking poetic."

He did not answer with words, just a small, reluctant huff more breath than laugh, but he followed me.

We made our way along the curve of the beach to the old hidden alcove nestled between the cliffs. It had been our secret as kids. A place where no one looked, no one followed. I gathered driftwood and kindling from the higher bank, while Freyr sat on a flat stone, shoulders hunched, eyes flickering now and then toward me.

The fire was easy to coax to life. My hands remembered how to build warmth from nothing. Sparks caught, flames crackled, and a steady glow began to chase away the salt-chill.

"Still watching me like I’m going to disappear," I said lightly, glancing over my shoulder.

He did not deny it.

"I used to do this to get out of barracks rations," I added, shifting the topic as I grabbed the small net Gale and I had stashed nearby just in case. "You want a real meal, you learn to catch your own."

I waded into the surf, let the foam slide over my boots, and cast. It took time, but eventually I came back with two good-sized fish. Simple. Familiar.

By the time I started cleaning them, I could feel his gaze on me like warmth on the back of my neck. Not sharp anymore. Not haunted. Just... there and watching. I skewered the fish on spits and positioned them over the fire, letting the salt crackle in the flames. The scent filled the air, and when I looked up again, Freyr’s posture had changed. Shoulders looser. Face less carved in pain.

"I can’t remember the last time I just sat like this," he said after a while, voice low, as if the fire permitted him to speak softer. "Just... watched. Breathed."

"You needed it," I murmured. "Even if you didn’t want to admit it."

His eyes met mine through the flickering light. There was something softer there now, wounded still, but clearer.

"Maybe I needed you," he said, and the words landed in my chest like a spark I did not know I was holding onto.

I sat back on my heels, licking the last bit of salt from my fingers. The fish was simple but good, warm, fresh, and smoky from the fire. It felt grounding, like I had eaten something real in a world that had not felt steady for days.

Freyr sat cross-legged across from me, eyes flickering in the firelight, and I sensed his hunger grow. His gaze was fixed on me, not on the food, not on the sea. On me. And it was not leaving.

I swallowed and set my empty spit aside. "You, okay?" I asked, voice low.

He did not answer. Just leaned forward slightly, head tilting, like he was scenting something in the air.

Then he was on his knees, crawling closer, the fire casting shadows across his face that made him look half-feral, half-devastated. "Freyr..."

"I can smell you," he murmured. "Salt. Smoke. You."

I did not move. Did not flinch. My pulse quickened as his face was inches from mine now, breath brushing my jaw. And then his nose was at my neck, dragging slowly, deliberately. Inhale. Exhale. A low sound vibrated in his throat, neither growl nor purr, but something primal, possessive.

I tilted my head to the side, baring my neck to him without thinking, trusting, raw, and reckless.

"If you need to feed," I said quietly, "take it."

His fingers brushed my shoulder, then gripped it. Tighter than usual, like he was holding himself back by force alone. His lips hovered against my skin, not touching, trembling.

There was a beat of silence, his breath, my heartbeat, the ocean murmuring in the background. And then I felt his lips against my skin, soft first. Reverent and then the barest scrape of teeth. My whole body went still, and then I let him have me. His fangs pierced slowly, sharply, yes, but carefully. Controlled. Like he was tasting sorrow, not just blood.

A breath caught in my throat as the first pull began. More like heat unfurling through my veins, deep and low, crawling across every nerve. My hands dug into the sand beside me, anchoring myself as the world narrowed to the feeling of him, his mouth at my neck, his hand braced on my chest, his breath trembling against my skin.

Freyr groaned low, like he had not fed in days. He fed in slow, measured pulls, and with every draw, I felt his body press closer, the weight of him warm and real against mine. I could feel the tension bleeding out of him, his grief softening at the edges, his storm quieting just a little. And then, just as the heat was cresting into something more dangerous, more wanting, he pulled back. His lips left my neck slowly, with a lingering drag of tongue that made my breath catch. He licked the wound closed, and when he finally looked up, his eyes were different.

Softer. Clearer. But still wild. "You taste like fire," he rasped. "And salt. And something that makes me feel again."

I exhaled, shakily, meeting his gaze. "Good. Then maybe you will remember what it feels like to be alive."

He reached up, fingers tracing the place he had fed from, reverent. "I remember now," he murmured. "Because of you."

We stayed like that, too close, breathing coordinated, hearts pacing a rhythm older than war, older than pain. And in that space between blood and breath, something else bloomed.

The sky looked like it was on fire, molten streaks of orange and rose bleeding into a deepening blue. One of those rare sunsets that made everything else fade. Even the ache in my chest. Even the war inside him.

Freyr sat beside me, close enough that our arms brushed, our knees touching now and then with the soft shift of the sand. Neither of us said much at first. We did not need to. The silence was not empty. It was full. Weighted. Holy.

I stole a glance at him when I thought he was not looking.

His face was turned toward the horizon, lit gold at the edges, eyes narrowed against the fading sun. There was a softness to his mouth that he did not know he had. The kind that only showed up when he was not carrying the weight of the dead.

Gods, he was beautiful like this.

And for once, he was not running. Or haunted. Or angry.

He was here. With me.

"This feels like a dream," I said quietly, the words slipping out before I could stop them.

He turned to look at me, one brow raised. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I smiled faintly. "Like if I blink too long, you’ll disappear."

Freyr huffed softly. "I’m not going anywhere."

I wanted to believe him.

I did believe him. But the part of me that lived in combat zones, in blood and silence, knew how easily beautiful things vanished.

"I know," I said. "I just... sometimes I forget what it feels like to be still. With you."

His hand brushed against mine in the sand. Light, but intentional. I curled my fingers around his without a word. We sat like that while the sun dropped lower, painting his skin in every shade of fire and dusk.

"I used to hate sunsets," Freyr said suddenly, voice low, like he was afraid speaking too loudly would break the moment. "They always felt like endings."

"And now?" I asked.

"Now they feel like you."

I turned to look at him fully. His gaze was on me, steady, honest, a little raw. My throat tightened.

And just like that, I stopped breathing for a second. The wind picked up, lifting the edge of his shirt, brushing my hair back. The stars were beginning to show through the darkening sky, one by one.

I leaned closer, pressing my forehead to his. "I love you," I whispered. "In ways I don’t have words for yet."

I leaned closer, pressing my forehead to his.

"I love you," I whispered. "In ways I don’t have words for yet."

The world held still for a heartbeat. Just the hush of the tide, the crackle of the fire behind us, and the warmth of him in front of me. Then Freyr exhaled a sound that was half relief, half surrender. And he pulled me closer. His hand slid to the back of my neck, fingers threading through my hair like he had wanted to do it forever but had been holding himself back. No more hesitation. No more guarded restraint. Just him and the truth of what lived between us.

He tilted his head and pressed his mouth to mine, and god, it was not soft. It was everything. Heat. Hunger. Grief. Love. A thousand unsaid things poured into that kiss like he needed to taste the words I had not found yet. I kissed him back just as fiercely, hands curling into his shirt, pulling him into me like I could keep him there with sheer will.

His lips parted against mine, a nd I followed instinct, deepening it slowly, then rougher, breath tangled with breath, like we would both forget where we ended and the other began.

He made a sound deep in his throat, primal and vulnerable all at once, and it undid something in me.

Because this was not just a kiss but a promise. That no matter how much had been broken, we still had this. When we finally pulled apart, we were both breathing hard, foreheads still touching, his thumb brushing my cheek like he could not stop touching me even if he tried.

"Say it again," he whispered.

"I love you," I said, breathless.

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