Trapped in You by Morrison Lee: Shadows of Our Love 410
Third Person’s POV
Finished
Everett’s pupils contracted violently, his breath hitching as disbelief crashed through him like a physical blow.
“What?” he demanded hoarsely. “Say that again. What was her name?’
Smith hesitated for half a heartbeat, then answered carefully, sensing the shift in the Alpha’s
aura.
“Freya. Freya Thorne. She was originally a specialist in aerial drone warfare with the Iron Fang Recon Unit. After she retired from active service, she and her former mate founded SkyVex Armaments. I worked with her before-her expertise in autonomous flight systems is unmatched, especially when it comes to—”
The rest of Smith’s words dissolved into meaningless noise.
Everett no longer heard him.
In his mind, Freya’s face surfaced with brutal clarity-calm eyes, steady spine, that quiet resilience that reminded him far too much of someone else. Someone long buried beneath blood and regret.
If… if that necklace truly belonged to Freya’s mother-
Then by age alone, by the timeline he had reconstructed and revised a thousand times over-
Freya’s mother could only be one person.
The sister he had searched for across packs, across borders, across decades of war.
His lost littermate.
And if that were true…
Then Parker’s resemblance was no coincidence.
Why that child’s presence had unsettled him so deeply. Why the bond felt instinctive, primal, unmistakable.
Because Parker was blood.
Not merely pack.
Blood of his blood.
“My sister…” Everett whispered.
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For the first time in decades, hope-raw and savage-surged through his chest. His wolf howled, clawing at his ribcage.
Had fate finally taken pity on him?
Had the Moon finally answered his prayers?
But the hope froze mid-breath.
Everett’s expression shattered.
Because memory came roaring back, sharp as silver.
He had ordered an investigation on Freya once. Years ago. Standard intelligence sweep, nothing more-or so he had told himself.
And in that file-
He had read the name.
Her mother.
Myra.
Status: Killed in action.
Location: Overseas peacekeeping operation.
Time: Three years prior.
Myra…
His knees weakened.
“Myra…” he murmured again, tasting the name like poison.
Once, long ago, he had called his sister that in jest.
But her true name-her cubhood name-
Was Naya.
And suddenly everything aligned with horrifying precision.
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The surname carved into the necklace.
The old sigil etched in fading silver.
The first mark of the Stormveil bloodline.
The symbol of the Thorne matriarchs.
The name “Myra” had been her registered identity after entering the Iron Fang Recon Unit. A name she took to sever ties, to survive.
And he had missed it.
He had looked directly at the truth-
And failed to see it.
The necklace bore the mark of her birth name.
The way she had always signed her letters to him.
A single glyph.
A promise.
Everett staggered.
So… she was gone?
His sister-his Naya-had died without him ever finding her?
So that day, when his grip slipped and her hand vanished into smoke and chaos—
That had been the last time.
The final time.
A sharp, violent pain ripped through his chest.
‘-kh!”
A mouthful of darkened blood spilled from Everett’s lips, splattering against the marble floor.
The Alpha of the Williams Family-once unshakable, once feared across the Capital-swayed as his knees buckled.
Hands rushed to steady him.
“Everett!”
“Someone call for a healer-now!”
“Get medical staff in here!”
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Voices overlapped, panicked and distant.
Everett’s vision blurred, the edges darkening. Smoke alarms wailed somewhere beyond the hall, mingling with the distant thunder of emergency response teams.
Through the chaos, his gaze locked onto the grand exit of the banquet hall.
Firefighters in reinforced gear surged past, wolves and humans alike moving in grim coordination.
Freya.
Parker.
Children of Naya.
The Moon had let him find them-
Only after she was gone.
What kind of cruel mercy was that?
His jaw trembled.
He had seen them.
Judged them.
Failed them.
And now-
“Issue an order,” Everett rasped, every word dragged from his lungs like broken glass.
“Mobilize everything the Williams Family has.”
Someone leaned closer, straining to hear.
“Protect Parker… and Freya. No matter the cost. They must not be harmed.”
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Those were his final conscious words.
As darkness claimed him, Everett’s mind filled with the image of a girl running through moonlit fields, laughing as she turned back to tug at his hand.
I’m sorry, Naya.
I’m so sorry.
The smoke thickened.
Freya coughed, her lungs burning as ash clung to her throat like claws.
She hoisted Jenny’s unconscious body over her shoulder with a grunt, then reached back to grip Silas’s arm.
“Can you walk?” she demanded.
Silas’s face was ashen, blood seeping through the torn fabric at his back. His wolf struggled beneath his skin, suppressed by blood loss and silver residue.
“If I say no,” he said faintly, meeting her eyes, “what then?”
“Then I drag you,” Freya replied flatly.
Silas gave a breathless, humorless laugh.
“You really think you can carry two people out of a burning hall like this?”
“Yes,”
There was no hesitation. No bravado. Just certainty.
Even with one leg compromised-bone fractured, every step agony-she would not leave them.
Not him.
“Enough talking,” Freya snapped. “Put your weight on me. Now.”
When Silas hesitated, she moved without warning, slinging her arm beneath his and hauling him upright.
Pain lanced up her leg. Her vision swam.
She bit it back.
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Move.
Survive.
The ceiling groaned above them, embers raining down like dying stars.
Silas leaned heavily against her, his blood slick against her palm.
“This is on me,” he murmured. “The security perimeter wasn’t tight enough. I underestimated them.”
“I don’t care,” Freya said sharply. “The only ones to blame are the ones who caused this.”
She dragged him forward, step by brutal step.
“Don’t talk,” she added. “You’ll inhale more smoke.”
But Silas’s voice dropped, raw and unguarded.
“If we don’t make it out…” he whispered.
“If we die here—”
Her steps faltered.
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-will you regret saving me?”
Freya stopped.
Just for a breath.
Then she moved again, pulling him with renewed force.
“No,” she said quietly.
She meant it.
Because when the explosion had torn through the hall-
When debris had rained down and death had brushed past her-
The face that flashed through her mind-
Was his.
And in that moment, buried beneath fear and instinct-
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Was regret.
Not for choosing him.
But for not choosing him sooner.
For not daring to try again.
And if the Moon was merciful-
They would live.
If not-
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At least she would not face death wondering what if.
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Cedella
Cedella is a passionate storyteller known for her bold romantic and spicy novels that keep readers hooked from the very first chapter. With a flair for crafting emotionally intense plots and unforgettable characters, she blends love, desire, and drama into every story she writes. Cedella’s storytelling style is immersive and addictive—perfect for fans of heated romances and heart-pounding twists.