The Enemy’s Hand
667 Words
The first rogue slammed Aiden against the brick wall, claws raking across his shoulder. Pain flared hot, but he shoved back, his fist crunching into the wolf’s ribs. Another rogue lunged from the side, knocking the air from his lungs.
There were too many.
His wolf clawed at him from within, begging to be unleashed, but shifting in the middle of the city meant discovery. Cameras. Panic. Exposure.
Aiden braced himself for the end, and a blur of motion crashed into the fray.
Dante.
The rival heir tore into the rogues without hesitation, moving like wildfire, golden eyes lit with fury. He drove one to the ground with a brutal kick, then spun to smash another’s head against the wall.
Shock froze Aiden for a heartbeat. Then instinct dragged him back into the fight.
Back-to-back, they moved. No words. No plan. Just fists and claws barely restrained by human skin. Aiden ducked as Dante struck. Dante shifted as Aiden countered. Their bodies worked in a rhythm neither wanted to admit existed.
Minutes later, the last rogue hit the pavement with a thud, groaning.
Silence fell, broken only by their ragged breaths.
Aiden staggered to the wall, clutching his bleeding shoulder. His chest burned, his knuckles split, but he refused to collapse. Dante turned toward him, blood smeared across his lip, shirt torn, still infuriatingly steady.
“You’re welcome,” Dante said, voice hoarse but edged with amusement.
“I didn’t need you.”
Dante raised a brow. “You were about to be roadkill. Admit it without me, you’d be dead.”
“I’d rather die than owe you anything.”
Dante stepped closer, smirk faint but sharp. “Careful. You almost sound like you mean that.”
Before Aiden could retort, more footsteps echoed at the end of the alley. Shadows shifted. More rogues.
Dante cursed under his breath. “We’re too exposed. Come on.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
“Fine. Stay and die.” Dante grabbed his arm anyway, dragging him toward a side street. Aiden wanted to shake him off, but his legs faltered, blood dripping freely from his shoulder. Against his will, he let Dante lead.
They slipped into an abandoned warehouse, metal doors groaning shut behind them. The air was thick with dust and old oil. Broken windows let in slants of moonlight.
Dante guided him to the wall and crouched. “You’re bleeding too much.”
“I’ll live.”
“Not if you keep being stubborn.” Dante tore a strip from his ruined shirt and pressed it against the wound. Aiden hissed in pain, jerking back.
“Don’t touch me.”
Dante’s golden eyes narrowed. “Then bleed out. Your choice.”
Their gazes clashed, hot and unrelenting. For a moment, the fight, the blood, the warehouse, all of it disappeared. There was only the heat of Dante’s hand against his skin, the press of fingers that were too careful, too steady, too intimate.
“This doesn’t change anything,” Aiden muttered, his voice tight.
“Of course not,” Dante said softly, almost mocking. “You still hate me. And I…” His eyes flicked briefly to Aiden’s lips before he looked away. “…still enjoy watching you squirm.”
Aiden’s chest tightened. He wanted to shove him off, to spit venom, to end this unbearable closeness. Instead, he sat in silence, feeling every press of Dante’s fingers on his skin.
When Dante finally pulled back, his smirk was gone. His face was unreadable.
“Rest,” he said, settling against the opposite wall. “I’ll keep watch.”
Exhaustion dragged at Aiden’s bones. His wolf paced restlessly beneath his skin, confused, agitated, as if it too didn’t know whether to bare its teeth at Dante or lean closer.
As the darkness of the warehouse closed in, one thought stuck in his mind, burning more than the wound.
He owed Dante his life.
And that terrified him more than the rogues ever could.
- Writer
