The following morning, Fenrir rose early and chose to familiarize himself with the manor. He was struck by the magnificence and the strategic positioning of the manor. It was constructed on a hilltop, offering a sweeping view of the surrounding lands, a feature that would be beneficial during a conflict.
As he strolled through the hallways, he could sense the unease in the atmosphere. The pack members were still acclimating to his presence, and he could detect their curiosity and wariness. He understood that he needed to earn their trust to fulfill his promise to Aiden.
He decided to begin with the training grounds. As a warlord, he recognized the significance of a well-trained and disciplined pack. He was pleasantly surprised to find the pack members already gathered and ready for him. He could see the resolve in their eyes, which filled him with optimism.
He devoted the morning to training them, pushing them beyond their limits. He was a stern yet just instructor, and he could see the pack members reacting positively to his techniques. During breakfast, the young Luna inadvertently brushed her hand against Fenrir's thigh, who was seated between her and Liam, and softly apologized. The sideways glance she gave him clearly indicated that it wasn't accidental, and that she quite relished the contact.
Liam, oblivious to the interaction, turned and engaged Fenrir in conversation.
"I hope you found some amusement in the gathering," Liam casually commented. "The unmated she-wolves will be vying for your attention. Has anyone caught your eye yet?" Liam grinned and gestured towards the scratches on his cheeks. Fenrir shook his head with a laugh. "I appreciate spirit as much as beauty," he responded.
Later that morning, Alpha Liam requested Fenrir to take charge of training the men in his personal service. Fenrir spent the morning instructing the defenders in hand-to-hand combat, while Liam observed with interest. As Fenrir watched the defenders practicing in the yard, he noted that their combat skills needed significant improvement. He decided that the next day, they would practice without the padded jackets, as exposed skin would enhance their agility.
Fenrir strolled through the corridors of the manor, his gaze appreciating the modern architecture that surrounded him. A movement caught his attention, a tall silhouette pacing on the rooftop patio. It was her, the enigmatic woman from the spirit lake. Driven by curiosity, he trailed her, watching as she unlocked a secluded rooftop door and vanished behind the privacy wall. For a werewolf of his stature, scaling the wall was a trivial feat.
Perched briefly atop, he surveyed the lush greenery below, pondering where she might settle. Then, with agile grace, he descended onto the manicured lawn and lounged on a sleek bench by the water feature. Atop the wall, he surveyed the garden; a chessboard of hedges and flowers, calculating her next move. Then, he descended, his landing silent on the soft grass, and settled onto a bench sculpted from cool marble beside a minimalist fountain.
Freya was clad in a dark brown dress that made her seem unremarkable, her hair plaited in a functional braid, paused mid-step as she spotted Fenrir. His casual sprawl was a stark contrast to the order of her sanctuary. "You!" she snapped, her voice a mix of disbelief and irritation. "Did you charm your way past security? This is private property you must leave at once."
Fenrir's grin unfurled slowly, a deliberate display of confidence. "I bypassed the usual routes," he said, his voice a smooth caress as he motioned towards the wall. "Scaling it was child's play, wildcat," he confessed. The endearment ignited a blaze within Freya, yet she restrained her sharp tongue, her patience fraying at the edges.
"Are you what, 19? 20?" Fenrir teased, a playful glint in his silver gaze. "Why would someone so vibrant choose to shroud themselves in such drab attire?"
His stare was unabashedly intense. "You're far too radiant. Too spirited to be masked in such mundane garb," he remarked, the subtle shadows under her eyes not escaping his notice. Her reply was a soft murmur, resilient yet fragile. "I grieve for my mate," she revealed, allowing a sliver of her vulnerability to show.
A sincere warmth replaced Fenrir's usual bravado. "Forgive me, wildcat," he murmured, the pet's name slipping out with a tenderness that surprised even him.
The moniker reignited her ire. "Stop calling me that," she insisted, her self-control wavering. His chuckle was a deep vibration, resonating through the crisp air. "Then grace me with your name," he proposed, his gaze holding hers captive.
"Freya," she relented, her middle name serving as her shield.
"Freya," he echoed, treating the name with a reverence that felt like a caress. "I am Fenrir, of the Silvermane lineage."
A mix of recognition and caution filled her eyes. "The warlord?" she inquired, skepticism threading her voice.
He nodded, a predator's acknowledgment. "The very one."
Her stance softened, but her words were laced with scorn. "Then the tales of your savagery are greatly exaggerated," she said, her voice carrying a note of defiance.
Fenrir's expression was unreadable. "You forget the most crucial rule of combat," she continued, her voice now ice. "Never underestimate your opponent."
His laughter boomed, a sound that enveloped the garden and reverberated against the walls. "Our interactions promise to be… intriguing," he predicted, a spark of anticipation in his eyes. Freya's anxiety surged, her thoughts racing with the potential consequences of his presence. "This is preposterous! The notion of 'us' is inconceivable. Depart at once, lest you provoke a scandal!"
His smile was predatory, his eyes gleaming with playful intent. "I've never cared for convention. And you, Freya, are no shrinking violet," he taunted, his voice a deep thrum. "We are akin in spirit." Her fury erupted. "How dare you presume to know me? You are ignorant of my identity, my experiences!" Regret shadowed Fenrir's features. He had overstepped, his customary respect momentarily lost amidst their fiery exchange.
The thought of her wild, unbridled, and fiercely independent nature stirred a longing within him. Sensing the stirrings of discovery nearby, he reached out, his fingertips grazing her lips with a touch laden with promise and challenge. "I must depart, my dear, but our paths will cross again," he assured her before scaling the wall with ease, leaving her amidst a tempest of emotions, leaving her in a whirlwind of confusion and a heart pounding with a mix of fury and fascination.