Episode 4
1140 Words
# Chapter Four
The Mark That Burns
White light.
Then nothing.
Dante came to on his knees, ears ringing, blood dripping from his nose.
The safehouse was a ruin of twisted metal and smoke.
Berserker bodies lay shredded by their own collars.
The air reeked of scorched fur and molten silver.
He coughed.
Tasted copper.
His wolf surged, frantic.
Where are they?
A low, broken sound pulled him around.
Seraphina was pinned beneath a slab of fallen steel, one arm trapped, white-gold hair soaked crimson.
Dominic knelt over her, his shirt burned away, skin blistered across his back where the shrapnel had caught him.
He was trying to lift the beam with shaking arms.
Dante staggered over.
Grabbed the other side.
Together they heaved.
Steel screamed.
The slab rolled free.
Seraphina gasped, cradling her crushed forearm.
The bone poked through the skin in a clean white shard.
Dominic’s face went feral.
He tore his belt free, cinched it above the break as a tourniquet.
She hissed but didn’t scream.
Footsteps echoed in the smoke.
Too calm.
Too many.
Lucian and Valente Senior walked through the wreckage like kings surveying a battlefield.
No guards left.
They didn’t need them.
Dante stepped in front of the other two, gun raised.
Click.
Empty.
He dropped it.
Claws lengthened instead.
Lucian’s smile never wavered.
“Still fighting, son?”
He lifted a small black device.
A shock collar, sleek and new.
“Your mother wore one just like it the night she ran.”
His thumb hovered over the trigger.
“One press and every wolf within a mile drops paralyzed.”
He tilted his head.
“Drop your claws, Dante. Or I will start with Dominic.”
Dominic snarled, ready to lunge.
Dante grabbed his arm.
Held him back.
Dominic’s eyes were wild, gold bleeding into crimson with pain and madness.
Valente Senior spoke for the first time.
“Enough games.”
He tossed a syringe at Seraphina’s feet.
Clear liquid glinted inside.
“Inject the Moretti boy. Full dose. Or I finish breaking your arm and start on his spine.”
Seraphina stared at the syringe.
Then at Dante.
Her eyes were glassy with agony, but the bond between them burned clear and bright.
Dominic’s voice cracked.
“Don’t you f*****g dare.”
She picked it up.
Thumbed the cap off.
The needle gleamed.
Dante met her gaze.
“Do it,” he said quietly.
“Whatever it is, I’ll live.”
She crawled forward on her knees.
Every movement cost her.
Blood trailed behind her like a bridal train.
When she reached him she rose up, pressed the needle into the hollow of his throat.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Then they kissed him.
The kiss was soft at first (an apology).
Then it turned hungry.
Her tongue slid against his, tasting blood and smoke and him.
He groaned into her mouth.
Hands came up to fist in her ruined shirt, dragging her closer.
Behind them, Dominic made a wounded sound.
But he didn’t stop them.
He watched, chest heaving, fists clenched so tight blood dripped from his palms.
Seraphina broke the kiss only to sink her fangs into Dante’s lower lip (hard).
He tasted his own blood as she pulled back just enough to meet his eyes.
Her good hand slid down his chest, lower, cupped the rigid length straining against his pants.
He jerked, breath hissing.
“Trust me,” she breathed against his mouth.
Then louder, for the monsters watching: “Hold him.”
Dominic moved instantly.
Strong arms locked around Dante from behind, pinning his wrists.
Dominic’s mouth found the bite mark on Dante’s shoulder, licked it once (possessive, reverent).
Dante shuddered between them.
Seraphina sank lower.
Tore his belt open with her teeth.
Buttons scattered.
She freed him into the cold air and took him in her mouth without hesitation.
Dante’s head slammed back against Dominic’s shoulder.
A broken growl tore out of him.
Dominic’s grip tightened, one hand sliding up to wrap around Dante’s throat, thumb pressing over the pulse.
Seraphina’s tongue swirled, ruthless and perfect.
The bond flared so bright he saw stars.
Lucian’s voice cut through the haze.
“Enough foreplay. Inject him.”
Seraphina pulled off with a wet sound.
Rose up on her knees again.
The syringe flashed.
She pressed it not to Dante’s neck (to her own).
And plunged the full dose into her thigh.
The effect was instant.
Her eyes rolled back.
Body arched like a bow.
A scream ripped out of her (raw, animal, beautiful).
Power flooded the room, thick and electric.
Valente Senior staggered.
Lucian’s hand froze on the collar trigger.
Seraphina’s broken arm knit itself before their eyes (bone sliding home, skin sealing).
She rose slowly, glowing.
Crimson eyes now ringed with molten gold.
The triad mark (ancient, forbidden) blazed to life on her collarbone: three intersecting crescents, one black, one gold, one crimson.
She smiled, slow and terrible.
“The Moon didn’t give you one mate, Dante Moretti.”
Her voice echoed with three tones braided together.
“She gave you two.”
She looked at Dominic, then back to Dante.
“And she just activated the third.”
The shock collar in Lucian’s hand sparked and he died.
Every light in the ruin exploded in a shower of sparks.
Darkness fell again.
When it lifted seconds later, Seraphina stood between them untouched, fully shifted into a wolf the color of moonlight and blood.
Dominic’s eyes had gone pure gold.
Dante felt his own power answer, black fur rippling over skin that no longer quite fit.
The triad bond snapped into place (perfect, devastating, unstoppable).
Lucian took one step back.
Real fear flickered across his face for the first time in fifty years.
Valente Senior whispered a single word.
“Impossible.”
Seraphina shifted back to a woman, naked and glorious and unafraid.
She walked forward until she stood nose-to-nose with her father.
“Get on your knees,” she said softly.
“Both of you.”
Power rolled off her in waves.
The two oldest Alphas in New York dropped like puppets with cut strings.
Then the ceiling above them groaned.
A low, rhythmic thudding started (helicopter blades).
Searchlights speared through the smoke.
A new voice boomed down, amplified and foreign.
“Seraphina Valente. Dante Moretti. Dominic Valente.”
Russian accent, thick with triumph.
“By order of the European Lycan Council, you are hereby seized for crimes against the species.”
A pause.
“Resist, and we open fire with silver-core rounds.”
Seraphina looked up, hair whipping in the rotor wash.
Dante and Dominic moved to her sides without thought (three bodies, one heartbeat).
She smiled at the sky, fangs bright.
“Let them come.”
The first canister of knock-out gas crashed through the roof.
And everything went black again.
- Writer
