Useless Mate

Saving Him

Lazelle’s fingers convulsed in his hair. The warmth of his skin, even leaking heat as he shivered against the cold marble, was a violent contrast to the icy shield she had spent six months building.

"Don't speak," she commanded, her voice cracking, though she tried to choke down the emotion. "Save your strength, Dalonius."

"If I don't... say it now..." He coughed, a thin trail of dark, silver-flecked blood running down his chin. His grip on her cheek weakened, his fingers slipping down to her collarbone, leaving a smear of red against her tailored suit. "I'm sorry. For Naples. For looking... right through you. My wolf... knew. I was just too blind to see."

"I told you to shut up," she hissed, her molten eyes flashing. But her hands were pressed hard against his chest, trying to stem the flow of blood from a deep tear near his ribs. "You don't get to die here and leave me with this half-broken bond. I didn't survive my family's betrayal just to watch you bleed out on my floor."

Heavy, rhythmic footsteps shattered the silence. The shadow guard emerged from the smoke, flanking two of the Northern Syndicate’s elite medical wolves. They carried a black case stamped with the biohazard symbol for silver-extraction.

"Princess, move back," the shadow guard rumbled, his golden eyes scanning the hallway for any remaining threats before he knelt beside the fallen Don.

"No," Lazelle said, her voice dropping into a register that made even the medical wolves hesitate. "I’m staying. Inject the serum. Now."

The Extraction

The lead medic didn't argue. He popped the latches of the case, pulling a heavy pneumatic syringe filled with a glowing, amber-colored fluid—the raw neutralizing agent for silver toxicity.

"This is going to shock his system, Alpha," the medic warned, positioning the thick needle over Dalonius's collarbone. "His heart is already weak. The shift back to human form with this much silver in his blood... it might stop his heart."

"Do it," Lazelle whispered, her hand sliding down to grip Dalonius’s trembling hand.

The medic slammed the syringe home.

Dalonius’s entire body arched off the marble. A choked, guttural scream tore from his throat as the amber fluid flooded his veins, fighting the silver at a cellular level. The black, poisoned veins under his skin violently pulsed, turning a furious, boiling red before slowly beginning to fade. His grip on Lazelle’s hand was bone-crushing, a desperate anchor in a sea of agony.

And then, he went completely limp. His eyes rolled back, and his head lolled to the side.

"His pulse is dropping!" the medic hissed, reaching for a defibrillator.

No.

Lazelle didn't wait for the machine. Guided by a primal instinct older than the treaties of the North, she leaned over his body. She pressed her palm flat over his heart, channeling her own royal Alpha aura—the sheer, thunderous life force of her bloodline—directly into him through the fated bond.

"Wake up," she roared in her mind, sending a shockwave of golden energy through their shared connection. Wake up, Dalonius. You don't get the easy way out.

A gasp rattled through Dalonius’s chest. His eyes flew open, the dark pupils violently contracting as his heart slammed back into a steady, albeit exhausted, rhythm.

He stared up at her, breathing heavily, completely spent.

"Secure him," Lazelle ordered the medics, slowly pulling her hand back. The ice was already crawling back over her features, a protective wall sliding into place before anyone could see how terrified she had just been. "Bring him to the secure wing. Keep a heavy guard on his door. When he is stable enough to speak, let me know."

A Fragile Peace

Three hours later, the castle was quiet once more. The mercenary bodies had been cleared, the silver gas scrubbed from the vents, and the high elders safely returned to their quarters under double security.

Lazelle stood in the doorway of the private medical suite.

Dalonius lay in the center of the bed, a heavy white sheet draped over his chest. The black veins were gone, replaced by the pale, clean skin of a healing Lycan. He was sleeping, his face relaxed for the first time in what looked like months.

The shadow guard stepped up beside her, his arms crossed. "The scouts found Evelyn’s trail. She was the one who funded this hit. She used the last of her black-market accounts to hire those mercenaries."

"Where is she?" Lazelle asked, her voice dangerously quiet.

"Heading for the French border. My enforcers are already hunting. She won't make it to the coast."

"Good." Lazelle kept her eyes on Dalonius. "And the Don?"

"His lieutenants in Naples are already calling," the shadow guard said. "They want to fly him back. They say the Italian syndicate is in chaos without him."

Lazelle slowly walked into the room, stopping at the foot of the bed. She looked at the man who had traded his pride, his crown, and his life just to stand between her and a bullet. He was still a liability. The fated bond was still a weakness.

But as she looked at him, she knew she couldn't just let him go back to Naples. Not yet.

"Tell his lieutenants that the Don is recovering under my protection," Lazelle said smoothly, her eyes hardening with a new, ruthless resolve. "If they want him back, they can come to Zurich and sign the unified treaty. The North and the South are going to merge. And we are going to do it on my terms."