Chapter 7: The First Night Alone

The moment the Violet Pack disappeared behind her, Freya felt the world change.

It wasn’t immediate in the way pain was immediate it was quieter.

A slow, unsettling unraveling.

With every step beyond the pack’s borders, something invisible seemed to strip away from her piece by piece.

The bond to territory.

The fragile illusion of belonging.

The protection she had spent her entire life taking for granted.

The forest stretched endlessly ahead, dark and unfamiliar beneath the deepening night. Moonlight barely filtered through the towering trees, leaving more shadow than clarity. Every sound felt unnaturally sharp here—the rustle of leaves, the snap of distant branches, the whisper of wind through unfamiliar land.

For the first time in her life Freya was truly alone still, she kept walking because what other choice did she have?

Behind her was betrayal Humiliation Death Ahead Only uncertainty.

At first, it almost felt like freedom.

No expectations.

No duties.

No one demanding loyalty while offering none in return.

No one to disappoint.

No one to break her.

But freedom, Freya realized quickly, came with a brutal cost.

And out here that cost was survival.

A branch cracked somewhere behind her.

Freya stopped instantly.

Every muscle in her body tensed.

Her senses sharpened with sudden intensity, her pulse slowing—not from calm, but instinct.

She wasn’t alone.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The voice came from the shadows, rough and edged with cruel amusement.

Freya turned slowly, forcing herself to remain steady.

Three figures emerged from the darkness.

Wild.

Unkempt.

Their clothing was torn, their scent unstable, their eyes gleaming with hunger that had little to do with food.

Rogues.

Realization settled cold and hard in her chest.

One of them smirked as he circled her slowly.

“Well,” he drawled, dragging his gaze over her in a way that made her skin crawl, “looks like the Violet Pack finally threw something valuable away.”

The others laughed not kindly.

Predatorily.

Freya forced her breathing to remain even.

“I’m not looking for trouble.”

That only seemed to amuse them more.

“Out here,” another said, stepping closer, “you don’t get to choose.”

They spread around her with deliberate patience.

Not rushed.

Not reckless.

Experienced.

They knew exactly what they were doing.

And why wouldn’t they?

She was alone.

No pack scent.

No Alpha.

No protection.

For the first time since leaving fear pressed sharply against her ribs.

Not fear of Kaelen.

Not heartbreak.

Survival.

The first rogue lunged.

Fast.

Too fast.

Before Freya could react properly, her arm was seized and twisted violently behind her back.

Pain shot through her shoulder.

A gasp tore from her throat as another rogue slammed her forward, forcing her to her knees.

Laughter echoed around her.

“Not so powerful now.”

Freya’s fingers dug hard into the dirt beneath her.

Pain burned.

Humiliation followed close behind it.

No.

Not again.

She had begged once.

Broken once.

Died once.

She would not do it again.

“Let go,” she said, her voice low and dangerously steady.

They tightened their grip.

A mistake.

The heat returned instantly.

This time, there was nothing subtle about it.

Power surged through her chest like wildfire, sharp and violent, as though something ancient inside her had been waiting for precisely this moment.

Her head lifted slowly.

“Move.”

The word left her lips with unnatural force and for one impossible second. They hesitated that was all she needed the power exploded outward.

Raw.

Uncontrolled.

Brutal.

A violent shockwave tore through the clearing, hurling all three rogues backward bodies slammed into stone and branches.

One hit a tree hard enough to crack bark.

Silence followed.

But this silence was different.

No longer mocking.

Wary.

Freya staggered to her feet, her breath ragged, her pulse hammering wildly her body trembled not from fear but from force.

One of the rogues pushed himself up slowly, blood at the corner of his mouth. His expression had changed completely.

“What the hell are you?”

Freya didn’t answer because she didn’t know.

He charged again, this time anger overpowering caution.

Freya moved on instinct she sidestepped narrowly drove her elbow hard into his ribs then felt something shift not just physically.

Inside her.

Like her body remembered something her mind did not.

Her movements sharpened became faster cleaner and Deadlier.

She twisted his wrist, redirected his momentum, and threw him to the ground with force that should not have belonged to her.

He crashed hard.

The others hesitated again and somehow that hesitation terrified her more than the fight itself because she could feel it.

The power was fading.

Fast.

Her limbs grew heavier Her breathing rougher.

Whatever had awakened inside her was draining just as quickly as it had come.

If they realized She was dead.

Freya made the only choice she could She ran.

Branches tore at her skin as she forced herself deeper into the forest, ignoring pain, exhaustion, and rising panic. Her lungs burned. Her body screamed. Her legs threatened collapse.

Still she didn’t stop.

Not until her strength gave out completely.

She collapsed hard against the forest floor, palms scraping against dirt and stone.

For several long seconds, she simply lay there, gasping for air, her body trembling violently beneath exhaustion she could no longer fight.

“I can’t keep doing this…”

Her voice was barely a whisper.

Because now reality had fully settled.

One burst of power would not save her forever.

One victory did not mean survival alone she was vulnerable.

“You’re right.”

The voice behind her was calm.

Controlled.

Dangerous.

Freya froze instantly she already knew.

Eros Draven.

Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself upright and turned.

He stood several feet away, impossibly still, his dark gaze fixed on her with unnerving precision.

Not pitying.

Not mocking.

Assessing.

“You were there,” she said.

Not a question.

A fact.

Eros gave a single nod.

“I was.”

Anger flickered hot beneath her exhaustion.

“You watched.”

His expression did not change.

“You refused my help.”

“That doesn’t mean you let me get attacked.”

For the first time, something sharper entered his gaze.

“I would not have let you die.”

The certainty in his voice unsettled her more than comfort would have.

Because somehow she believed him.

🐺 Eros Draven

He had known she was being followed long before the rogues revealed themselves he had tracked them.

Watched.

Waited.

Not because he was cruel but he needed answers and Freya Lunareth was rapidly becoming the greatest unanswered question of his existence.

She was untrained.

That much was obvious.

Her movements lacked polish.

Discipline.

Formal combat.

And yet her instincts were extraordinary.

Ancient.

Her power did not behave like ordinary wolf strength it answered something deeper and buried.

When she fought back, Eros had felt it clearly.

That force.

That impossible, deeply familiar surge.

He had spent four hundred years mastering grief, suppressing memory, and burying hope beneath war and crowns but watching her he felt certainty fracture again.

What was she?

More dangerously Who had she once been?

🌙 Freya

“I can handle myself,” Freya said, though exhaustion made the words thinner than she intended.

Eros’s gaze remained unreadable.

“You survived,” he said evenly. “But survival is not mastery.”

The words struck harder because they were true.

Freya looked away briefly, frustrated by how much truth he carried.

“I don’t need your protection.”

“Perhaps not.”

He stepped closer.

Not threatening.

Not gentle.

Simply inevitable.

“But you need time.”

Time.

To understand.

To survive.

To control what was awakening inside her.

Freya hated that he was right because accepting help felt dangerously close to dependence.

And dependence had nearly destroyed her once already.

“You don’t even know me,” she said quietly.

Eros held her gaze.

“I know enough.”

His answer was not emotional.

It was calculated and somehow that honesty felt safer than false promises.

“You are powerful,” he said. “But power without control is a liability.”

Freya’s jaw tightened.

“So what? I’m supposed to trust you?”

“No.”

His answer came immediately.

“Trust is irrelevant.”

That caught her off guard.

“I am offering survival,” he said. “Nothing more.”

No lies.

No emotional manipulation.

No false comfort.

Only truth.

Cold.

Sharp.

Real.

“Come with me.”

His voice lowered slightly.

“Learn what you are before the world decides for you.”

Silence stretched between them.

The forest felt darker more dangerous and for the first time since leaving the pack Freya truly hesitated because this was no longer about simple survival.

It was about choosing what came next Remain alone and risk death Or step into the unknown with the most dangerous king alive.

Eros offered no hand.

No pressure.

Only choice.

“Decide.”

And beneath the cold moonlight, bruised, exhausted, and standing on the edge of everything.

Freya realized something profound.

Freedom was not simply leaving sometimes freedom was surviving long enough to become something more.