Chapter 50

**Freya's pov.**

I stormed out of the Shaman’s hut, the door slamming behind me with a hollow thud that echoed in my chest. My boots skidded over wet leaves and roots, but I didn’t care. I needed air, space, anything but the choking feeling of being trapped by fate, duty, and gods-damned *mateships*.

“Freya!” I heard Tiberius calling after me.

Fuck that. I ran faster.

Branches whipped against my arms as I pushed through the forest, lungs burning, heart racing like it was trying to escape my body. I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t care. My vision blurred with hot, angry tears.

I stumbled to a stop and let my back slam against the nearest tree, sliding down until I hit the ground with a dull thud. My hands shook as I curled my knees to my chest. I was so *done*. Done with people looking at me like I was something to be protected or weaponized. Done with secrets. Done with fate.

“Fuck,” I muttered, wiping my face with the back of my hand.

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the rough bark behind me.

*Breathe.* Just fucking *breathe*. One breath in, one out. I had to pull myself together. If I didn’t, I’d fall apart completely—and I couldn’t afford that.

But of course, the universe couldn’t even let me fall apart in peace.

Footsteps approached—heavy, familiar.

“You know,” Tiberius’s voice rumbled, “running from reality is kind of childish.”

My eyes snapped open. “I’m *eighteen*, Tiberius,” I snapped, shooting to my feet. “What the fuck do you want from me? That all my decisions be calm, strategic, and perfectly rational? That I face the world with a clipboard and a battle plan?”

His jaw tensed. “You think you’re the only one who’s lost people? You think you’re the only one who’s had choices ripped away from them?”

I barked a bitter laugh. “Oh, so now we’re playing *trauma Olympics*?”

“I’m saying,” he growled, stepping closer, “that some of us didn’t get the luxury of easing into adulthood. Some of us had to grow up fast because we didn’t have a damn choice.”

I glared at him, fists clenched. “And you think yelling at me helps?”

“No. But honesty might.”

I froze, something catching in my chest. The air between us crackled. Not with magic—no, something worse. Truth.

“So, what then?” I whispered, voice hard. “You’re my second mate. You think that’s convenient for me? You think I wanted *two* fated bonds complicating the shitstorm my life already is?”

He didn’t flinch. “No. I know it’s not easy.”

“Then tell me, Tiberius,” I said, taking a step toward him. “What do you feel for me?”

He held my gaze, steady and unflinching.

“I think you already know.”

“No,” I said, my voice trembling. “I want to *hear* it.”

He exhaled, dropping his head for a moment, then looked back up at me with something raw in his eyes.

“You want the truth?” he said, his voice low, rough. “I curse the gods every damn day for tying me to you. Not because I don’t want you—fuck, that’s the problem. I *do*. I wouldn’t wish this bond on an enemy. To be mated to someone and know you have to *share* them... and then swear to protect them with your life?”

He took a shaky breath.

“And yet... I thank those same gods for giving me someone like you. Fierce, wild, and impossibly brave. Divine and untouchable. Beautiful in a way that makes it hard to breathe.”

He let out a dry laugh. “You think you’re the only one with chaos in your head? Freya, it’s a fucking hurricane in mine.”

Something in me cracked. The anger, the walls, the fear—they all gave way in a flood of feeling.

I moved before I could think. Closed the space between us in a heartbeat, gripped the collar of his shirt, and crushed my lips to his.

He groaned against my mouth, his hands locking around my waist as we kissed like it was the first and last time we'd ever get to. The forest spun away, the trees faded, and all I could feel was *him*. The roughness of his touch, the desperation in his kiss, the unspoken need between us finally set free.

We fell to the grass in a tangle of limbs, lips never parting. His fingers threaded into my hair, tilting my head to deepen the kiss, while mine roamed over the hard lines of his chest. I could feel his heartbeat pounding against me, matching mine in wild rhythm.

His mouth moved from my lips to my jaw, then to my throat, grazing heat over every inch of skin he touched. I arched into him, gasping, aching with want. It was fire and fury and comfort all at once.

I whispered his name, and he answered with another kiss—this one darker, deeper. Possessive.

We were half-wild, breathless, driven by the ache of everything unsaid. We kissed like we were trying to memorize each other, hands exploring, bodies pressed so tightly that the world disappeared entirely.

When we finally pulled apart, our foreheads touched, both of us panting, eyes closed. The moment stretched, sacred and fragile.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “That because of me, you—”

But he silenced me with another kiss—this one slow, deliberate, dominant.

When he pulled back again, he cupped my face, thumb brushing a tear from my cheek.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, voice firm but gentle. “Don’t regret anything. Not this. Not us. We’ll figure it all out. Together.”

His lips found mine once more, softer now. A promise.

And I believed him.

I nodded, resting my forehead to his.

Whatever storm was coming, we’d face it side by side.