Chapter 181

Chapter 181
Freya‘s pov.

The valley was too quiet. Even the air seemed to hold its breath, heavy with questions none of us wanted to answer. Arius had drifted away from the circle, standing with his back to us, shoulders like stone. Selene sat cross-legged a few paces off, eyes distant, lips pressed tight as if she were biting down on every thought that wanted to escape. And me—I felt caught in the middle, pulled in every direction, helpless.
“I never thought it would be this complicated,” I whispered, more to myself than to either of them.
Selene’s head tilted. Her expression sharpened. “I’ve decided,” she said, voice flat, resolute. “I’ll sacrifice my bond with the pack. I’ll live as an outcast. But at least I won’t be chained to your foul blood anymore. And I’ll have Nyra back.”
I laughed, though it came out raw and bitter. “Foul blood? Funny… I still remember how eagerly you drank it from my palms.”
For the first time, Selene’s lips curved, half-smile tugging the edge of her mouth. “Touché,” she murmured. Then her eyes narrowed, flicking toward Arius. “But tell me… are you wondering what he asked for?”
My breath caught. “Of course,” I admitted.
“My guess?” she went on smoothly. “It has to do with you. He’s weighing the cost now, deciding if you’re worth the price.”
The words sliced, and before I could stop myself I blurted, “I want to help him.”
Selene’s brow arched. “Help him? Could you love him?”
I froze, heart stumbling. Finally I shook my head. “I have my mates. Arius matters to me, but more as… as a friend. Our bond is complicated, yes, but not that.”
Selene gave a low, humorless laugh. “Complicated for you, maybe. For me, it’s obvious. He loves you. And you can’t return it.”
Silence thickened between us. Her gaze was sharp as a blade, mine trembling but steady.
“Interesting, isn’t it?” Selene mused after a moment. “Whether he’ll pay the price, and what that means for your precious Dorian and Tiberius. What if he chooses to sacrifice for you, Freya?”
My throat tightened. “He wouldn’t. He’s not that foolish.”
“Mm.” She leaned back, eyes glittering. “We’ll see.”
I couldn’t sit still. Arius’s silhouette gnawed at me, too rigid, too alone. I pushed to my feet and crossed the small distance, the grass damp under my boots.
“Arius,” I called softly. “Talk to me.”
His jaw worked. He didn’t turn. “Leave me, Freya.”
I frowned and stepped closer. “You don’t have to shoulder this alone. If the valley offered you something—if it showed you anything—you can tell me.”
“Freya.” His voice was steel now, a warning. “I said leave me.”
But I didn’t. I hovered at his side, searching his face. His eyes were storm-dark, a dozen thoughts clashing behind them. “I know you,” I whispered. “You’re angry because you don’t want me to see what you’re feeling. But I already do.”
That tore it. He spun on me, eyes burning. “Do you? Do you really? You keep pressing like you deserve every truth carved out of me, but some things are mine, Freya! Mine to hold, mine to fight with. Stop clawing at me for answers I’m not ready to give.”
His voice cracked with something I couldn’t name. Pain. Longing. Fury. Maybe all at once.
I flinched but stayed, heart pounding. “I just want to understand,” I whispered.
He dragged a hand through his hair, turning away again. “Then stop asking. Because if I speak it aloud, it’ll ruin everything.”
The words hung between us like a blade, and I could only stand there, breath shallow, torn between retreating and reaching out again.
His words struck like a slap. If I speak it aloud, it’ll ruin everything.
I should have turned back. I should have given him the space he demanded. But I couldn’t. Not with the heaviness in his shoulders, not with the way his voice betrayed the storm he was trying so desperately to contain.
Slowly, I stepped closer until the heat of him brushed my skin. “Ruin what?” I asked softly.
His jaw clenched. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe.
“Arius…” I whispered his name like a plea. “You can’t push me away forever. Not after everything. If there’s a choice you’re weighing, if the valley offered you something—don’t you dare carry that burden alone.”
He gave a bitter laugh, one without humor, sharp enough to cut. “You don’t understand, Freya. You never do. You think everything can be solved by sharing, by pressing until the truth spills out. But some truths destroy.”
“Then let them destroy me too,” I shot back. “Better than watching you drown in silence.”
At that, he finally turned. His eyes caught mine, and the look there froze me—raw, unguarded, aching. “You think you want to know. You don’t.”
I swallowed hard, refusing to look away. “Try me.”
The muscle in his cheek twitched. He dragged both hands over his face, groaned low, then let them drop. “The valley showed me… you.”
My breath caught. “Me?”
“Yes, you.” His voice was a growl, rough with something dangerously close to confession. “It showed me what it would be like if you were mine. Just mine. No Dorian, no Tiberius. Only you.”
The air went thin. My chest squeezed.
He looked away sharply, like the words had burned him. “And for a heartbeat, I wanted it. Gods help me, I wanted it more than anything. But that’s why I can’t tell you what it asked of me. Because if I said yes… if I took that offer…” He shook his head, voice breaking low. “It would tear your world apart. Tear you apart.”
I stood stunned, pulse thundering in my ears.
Arius laughed again, harsher this time. “So there’s your answer, Freya. That’s what I’m fighting with. That’s why I told you to leave me alone.”
He stepped back, putting distance between us, his face snapping shut like armor slamming into place.
My throat ached with words I couldn’t form. Finally, I managed a whisper: “Arius… I—”
“Don’t.” His hand came up, palm flat, stopping me. His eyes were a storm again, shielded and sharp.
“Don’t say anything. Not pity, not comfort, not promises you can’t keep. Just… don’t.”

I didn’t think—I just closed the space and kissed him. Arius stiffened in shock, then melted into me, his hands tightening as he deepened the kiss.
For a moment the valley, the burdens, the world disappeared. Until a sharp whistle sliced the air. I jerked back, breathless, and turned. Dorian, Tiberius, Dante, and the others stood there. Dorian’s face was crimson, fists clenched, a raging bull barely held in check. Tiberius wasn’t even present—his eyes glassy, his mind lost in the valley’s trap. My pulse thundered as I rushed to him, calling his name over and over, willing him back.
Calipsa’s voice rang urgent: “The valley grips him. We must draw him back.”
I forced myself to answer, though my gaze remained locked on Dorian’s fury even while I pleaded with Tiberius.
Then Selene’s mocking voice slid through the tension, her lips curled in that damned smirk: “How awkward. You weren’t meant to see that.” She looked positively delighted, sipping the chaos like sweet wine. Of course she did. She was Selene—no one should have expected different.