FREYA’s POV

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The forested-like encampment of Damian’s pack was wild and untamed, much like the creatures who called it home. The sharp scent of pine mixed with the earthy musk of wolves filled the air, a constant reminder that I was trapped in a world I never wanted to be part of.

And it was all Damian’s fault.

Every time I saw him—his calculated smirks, his towering figure shrouded in effortless arrogance—I felt the weight of my stolen humanity. Damian had turned me into something I couldn’t understand, a creature caught between three worlds: human, lycan, and wolf. I’d felt the transformation in my veins, my senses sharper, my strength unnatural. But I didn’t want any of it.

I wanted to be only human.

So, I fought.

It started as a way to vent my anger, but it quickly became something else.

The pack underestimated me at first. They thought I was weak, just a girl flailing against her fate. But I had Damian’s blood coursing through me, and with it came power. Every fight ended the same: with my opponent on the ground and me standing over them, fists clenched, heart pounding.

I didn’t care about the bruises or the snarled warnings to stop. I wanted them to hate me more. I wanted the hurtful remarks to be spoken to my face. I wanted Damian to see that I wouldn’t become like him.

“Freya,” one of the guards growled as I squared off with him near the edge of the clearing. He was taller than me, his wolf form rippling beneath his skin. “You need to learn your place.”

“I know my place,” I spat back. “And it’s not here.”

He lunged, claws outstretched, but I was faster. I ducked under his swing, landing a solid punch to his ribs that sent him staggering. My strength still surprised me, even after all this time, but I didn’t hesitate. I followed up with a kick that knocked him flat.

The others watched from the shadows, murmuring amongst themselves. They didn’t step in. They never did.

Damian watched too.

He was always there, somewhere on the fringes, leaning against a tree or sitting on a low branch. His eyes followed my every move, but he never interfered. Not when I fought, not when I yelled at him, not even when I deliberately sabotaged his attempts to keep the pack united.

It infuriated me.

One night, after yet another fight, I stormed into the center of the camp, blood still drying on my knuckles. Damian was there, of course, lounging near the fire as though nothing in the world could bother him.

“What’s your problem?” I demanded, my voice echoing through the quiet.

He glanced up at me, his expression maddeningly calm. “Good evening to you too, Freya.”

“Don’t ‘good evening’ me,” I snapped. “You’ve seen what I’m doing. Why won’t you stop me? Fight me? Do something!”

Damian stood slowly, his full height towering over me. “What do you want me to do, Freya? Punish you? Kill you? That’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?” I hissed, stepping closer. “You’ve already ruined my life. What’s a little more blood on your hands?”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink. “I didn’t ruin your life. I saved it.”

“I didn't ask to be saved. I took my life myself. Remember?” I said with sarcasm evident in my voice

“I saved your life Freya”

I laughed bitterly. “Saved it? By turning me into a monster?”

“You’re not a monster,” he said softly, his voice steady.

“Then what am I?” I demanded. “Because I sure as hell don’t feel human anymore!”

Damian’s gaze softened, and for a moment, I thought I saw something like regret flicker across his face. But then it was gone, replaced by the unshakable confidence he always wore like armor.

“You’re extraordinary,” he said simply.

“I didn’t ask to be,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

“No,” he agreed. “But now that you are, you have a choice. You can spend the rest of your life hating me and fighting everyone around you, fighting what and who you are or learn to control it. But you would do it by my side.”

I shook my head, tears stinging my eyes. “I don’t want to control it. I want it gone.”

Damian sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “That’s not how this works, Freya. You’re stuck with it, whether you like it or not. The sooner you accept that, the better.”

I avoided him for days after that, throwing myself into training and fighting with the pack. They stopped underestimating me, but that didn’t mean they accepted me. Most of them still glared at me when they thought I wasn’t looking, muttering about how I didn’t belong.

They were right.

But Damian didn’t give up.

He found small ways to make his presence known—a plate of food left outside my door, a coat draped over my shoulders when I fell asleep by the fire, quiet conversations when I wasn’t expecting them.

At first, I thought it was manipulation. I thought he wanted me to trust him so he could mold me into his perfect little soldier. But the more I watched him, the more I realized he wasn’t trying to control me.

He was trying to understand me.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, I found him sitting by the river that ran through the camp. He didn’t acknowledge me as I approached, didn’t even turn his head.

“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” I said, sitting down beside him.

Damian smirked. “Takes one to know one.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t argue. The water rushed past us, its steady rhythm oddly calming.

“Why do you care?” I asked after a long silence. “Why not just let me go?”

He glanced at me then, his dark eyes searching mine. “Because I see you, Freya. The real you. And I know you’re not as broken as you think you are.”

His words caught me off guard, and I looked away, my chest tightening. “Maybe I don’t want to be fixed.”

“Maybe you don’t have to be,” he said.

We sat there in silence, the tension between us shifting into something softer, something I couldn’t quite name.

For the first time, I didn’t feel like running. Or I was getting exhausted?