Freya Fanart Novels & Stories

She retaliated violently. “Who did you say you are?” Arthur's mother intervened in their argument. Freya bowed to her. "I am Freya, a maiden orphan from this pack," she said. Luna scowled at herself. "Maiden orphan? Who are your parents?” Freya took a deep swallow. "Her conscience is weighing in on her. She must be afraid that I am that child." She faked a smile. "I know nothing about my parents. I grew up with my deceased aunt.”

“Now, I’ve got the scent of a filthy omega on me. What will you do to atone for this, huh?” I raised my head to see Freya, a beta-she wolf who has made it her mission to make my life a living hell in the Pack. For some reason best known to her, she saw me as a sort of competition. Looking at me, I didn’t see how I could compete with such a girl. Her red curly hair made her look like a character out of a Disney movie. She was tall and slender and had the sweetest voice. I, however, was her stark opposite. I was short and fleshy, my hair was short and tangled most of the time due to lack of care, and my voice wasn’t lady-like either.

Arthur snapped out of his trance and replied then returned to his game. Freya, on the other hand, became a statue at one of her photoshoots. “Nice, just stay still and a couple more shoots and we are done.” the photographer said as she took some pictures of Freya sporting a summer fashion clothing for a new line of fashion clothing of Prada. “And… we are done.” the photographer said but Freya still remained like a statue and did not dare to move. She was completely still.

I sat down on the floor just outside her cell and said softly, “Hi, I'm Freya. What are you up to?” She cautiously turned to face me, and her beauty took my breath away. She had ash-blonde hair, and the brightest blue/green eyes. She was so pretty, it looked like her face had been sculpted to perfection. A button nose, high cheekbones, and a set of lips that would put the Kardashians to shame. She didn't reply, but she did hold up her pad to show me what she was doing. She had drawn a picture of me, surrounded by flames and lightning bolts. The picture was amazing and ridiculously detailed, I needed to see it closer. “Do you mind if I come in and look at it?” I asked her with confidence.

So of course, I did what most abandoned or orphaned children did, and made up my own story. I had been just about everyone over the years, I had been Charlotte, the betas daughter travelling to see the world. Bethany the abused daughter of an unforgiving man, looking for shelter and compassion. Martha, the baker’s daughter. Judy, the traveller’s wife. Michelle, the starving artist. Opal, the musician. Tracey the writer. Louise the ‘dancer’ and Grace the stylist. But in fact, I was Freya, the abandoned rogue. It didn’t have quite the same air of adventure, did it? then I guess that reality never does.

Freya retorted and walked into the bathroom. Sarah shrugged and changed into a new set of clothes. Minutes later, Freya walked out of the bathroom, a black towel wrapped around her. “You have a nice tattoo.” Sarah commented, seeing the ink of a moon and cross next to each other, on Freya's collarbone. “It's not a tattoo. It's a birthmark.” Freya corrected, going through the clothes in her side of the wardrobe, confused. After more than ten minutes of searching for something to wear, she settled for a skirt which stopped at her ankle and a crop top.

The light flickered and waned, dancing as its casted shadows along Ember’s high cheekbones and plump lips. “Angelica’s situation is…unique. She and her sister are both exceptionally skilled with illusions, and since they’re so young, it makes them easy to manipulate. Freya cherishes three things: power, beauty, and youth. She uses her power to grant herself beauty and youth, but it’s just a cheap imitation of the real thing. Now when she finds the real thing, like Angelica and her sister, she likes to hold onto it.” She explained with a scowl. “Is that why Angelica looks like a living baby-doll?” I said, watching the child in question.

“I do not shape the law of the stars, Alpha. I only read them. If you would protect her, then you must prepare for what is coming.” I steadied myself, though my heart hammered against my ribs. “Tell us everything. Tell us about her… about why she’s tied to me.” The elder leaned back, the shadows of the hall deepening across his face. His voice lowered, ancient and grave. “Freya was once a priestess of the Moon Goddess. She turned against her when power tempted her, hungered for dominion beyond the veil of death. When she was cast down, her body was caged in a vessel of iron and bone, hidden where even gods would not tread. Her spirit was left to wander, feeding only on fragments of fear, whi

*FREYA* Three others circle around me, growling at me. I try to scream but no sound comes out. Then the air changes. He steps out of the shadows. And everything else fades. To my utter bewilderment, he is —naked. His long dark curls touch the sharp angle of his jawline. His lashes sweep across his high cheekbones as he blinks. A tattoo of a wolf baring it's fangs at the moon sits proudly on his shoulder blade.

A touch of mascara Elena insisted on (“Let them see your eyes, Freya. They need to see you’re not afraid anymore.” I look… delicate. Feminine in a way I haven’t allowed myself to be since I was fifteen. My cheekbones are sharper than I remember, my mouth softer. I look like someone who could belong to three deadly alphas and still burn the world down if she had to. There’s a knock. Zane leans in the doorway, eyes going dark the second he sees me. “Jesus, Freya,” he breathes. I flush. “Too much?”