Useless Mate

Blood on the Snow

The ink on the Mediterranean shipping treaty was barely dry when the first reports of blood reached the Zurich estate.

Two weeks had passed since Dalonius had been dismissed from the conference room. True to her word, Lazelle had solidified her hold on the North with terrifying efficiency. She didn’t look back, and she didn't check the southern intelligence feeds for his name. She buried herself in governance, rewriting pack laws and tearing down the corrupt foundations Evelyn had spent a decade building.

But a cornered animal never dies quietly.

"Alpha," the shadow guard’s voice shattered the midnight silence of her study. He didn't knock. He burst through the doors, his tactical gear already slick with fresh, steaming crimson. "The perimeter has been breached. Eastern mercenaries—rogues hired by Evelyn's remaining offshore funds."

Lazelle stood up slowly, her hand dropping automatically to the heavy silver-plated dagger resting on her desk. Her molten gold eyes flared to life in the dim room. "How many?"

"Too many. They aren’t here to negotiate, Princess. They brought silver-laced gas. They’re purging the lower floors."

Lazelle didn't show a flicker of fear. The relentless training in the Alps took over. She vaulted over her desk, her boots hitting the hardwood with lethal precision. "We split them. Secure the elders in the panic room. I’ll clear the eastern stairwell."

"Lazelle, no—"

"That’s an order," she commanded, her voice dropping into the absolute vibration of a reigning monarch.

She sprinted out into the vaulted corridors. The air was already thick with the acrid, burning scent of silver gas—a toxin designed to paralyze a Lycan’s wolf and burn their lungs from the inside out. Lazelle pulled her collar over her mouth, her sharp senses tracking the heavy, uncoordinated thuds of rogue boots echoing from the grand staircase.

Three mercenaries rounded the corner, their faces hidden behind gas masks, their submachine guns raised.

Lazelle didn't give them the chance to aim. She slid low across the marble floor, her blade slicing through the tendons of the first rogue's knees before he could scream. As he fell, she seized his weapon, spinning on her heel to drive the butt of the rifle straight into the second man's jaw, shattering the glass of his mask.

The third mercenary lunged, his claws extended, aiming straight for her exposed throat.

A deafening, primal roar tore through the corridor, shattering the glass windows lining the hall.

A massive, midnight-black wolf—easily the size of a small vehicle—crashed through the intersecting hallway. The creature’s jaws clamped down on the mercenary's shoulder, throwing him against the stone wall with enough raw, bone-crushing force to drop him instantly.

Lazelle stopped, her heart hammering a frantic, sudden rhythm against her ribs as the familiar, overwhelming wave of espresso and dark rain flooded her senses.

The black wolf turned slowly to face her. Its obsidian eyes were wild, blown-out, and completely consumed by the primal madness of the fated-mate bond. It was bleeding from three separate silver-bullet wounds along its flank, the dark blood smoking against its fur, but it didn't seem to feel the pain. The animal took two heavy, trembling steps toward her, letting out a low, desperate whimper that sounded entirely broken.

Dalonius hadn't gone back to Naples. He had stayed in the valley, keeping a silent, obsessive watch over her borders. The moment his wolf sensed her in danger, the beast had ripped through his human restraint, sprinting into the gunfire just to reach her side.

"Dalonius," Lazelle whispered, her icy mask cracking for a single, fraction of a second as she looked at his bleeding flank.

The wolf stepped closer, pressing its massive, scarred muzzle directly against the palm of her hand, inhaling her scent like a dying man finally finding air. It didn't try to dominate her. It bowed its massive head entirely, placing its neck completely beneath her hands—the ultimate, submissive surrender of a Mafia Don giving his life to his Queen.

He’s dying for us, her inner wolf cried out, slamming against her ribs, desperate to lick his wounds. He came back.

Lazelle closed her eyes, her chest heaving as she fought the agonizing pull of the bond. She could feel his fading strength, feel the silver poison burning through his veins. He had thrown away his pride, his syndicate, and his life just to stand as her shield.

She opened her eyes, the ice returning to her gaze, but this time, it was mixed with a lethal, protective fire. She didn't push his muzzle away. She gripped the thick fur of his neck, her voice dropping into a fierce command.

"Stay behind me, Don Lacoste," Lazelle whispered, her molten gold eyes fixing on the remaining mercenaries flooding the end of the hallway. "You wanted to see what a Dellegdego Queen looks like? Watch."

She raised the rifle, her posture unyielding, standing perfectly between the bleeding black wolf and the dark.