Blood in the Shadows

The docks reeked of salt and smoke.

Aiden crouched behind a rusting container, chest heaving. His men had scattered under the ambush, howls echoing as they drew rogues away in a dozen different directions. Now it was just him. Alone.

The night pressed heavily, broken only by the groan of steel and the lap of black water against pylons. Aiden’s ears rang with the echo of his father’s voice. Wolves don’t follow an heir who can’t control himself.

He clenched his jaw. Control meant nothing if you were dead.

A shadow shifted at the far end of the alley between containers. Aiden stilled. The air changed colder, heavier. His wolf bristled.

They came out of the dark one by one. Six of them, eyes glinting amber, fangs flashing. Rogues, yes—but something else made Aiden’s stomach drop. Each wore a leather jacket, ragged and faded, but stitched with the same silver insignia.

The Veyron crest.

His pulse stumbled. His mind seized on the image: Dante’s smirk, golden eyes gleaming, his father’s warning. Unity. And then the wolves in front of him, carrying Dante’s name.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Aiden muttered, voice tight.

The wolves fanned out, circling. The leader, a broad-shouldered brute with a scar running across his throat, sneered. “The Blackthorn pup. Out here without his guards. Makes this too easy.”

Aiden forced his shoulders square, ignoring the sting of his ribs, the itch of his healing shoulder. “You picked the wrong Alpha to corner.”

They laughed. And lunged.

The first came high, claws slashing. Aiden ducked, his fist connecting with the wolf’s jaw. The second caught his side, claws tearing through flesh. Pain ripped through him, hot and sharp. He snarled, driving his elbow into the wolf’s ribs.

The leader struck from behind, dragging claws across his back. Aiden gasped, stumbling forward. His wolf surged, begging to tear free, to shift, to unleash—but shifting in the open meant cameras, headlines, chaos.

Another blow knocked him to his knees. His blood stained the concrete, hot and fast.

He wasn’t going to win this.

The rogue leader bared his teeth, moving in for the final strike.

And then the alley exploded.

The leader was yanked back and slammed into steel hard enough to rattle the dock. Another rogue spun only to be kicked sideways into a crate, wood splintering.

A blur of motion. Brutal. Precise. Golden eyes alight like fire.

Dante.

Aiden’s chest seized. Anger and relief clashed so hard he almost choked.

“Miss me?” Dante growled, sinking a fist into a rogue’s throat.

“You” Aiden staggered upright, fury boiling. “You sent them!”

“Shut up and fight.”

There was no time to argue. Another wolf lunged. Aiden swung, his fist cracking bone. A second leapt from the side, but Dante caught him mid-air, driving him into the pavement.

Back-to-back, they moved. No words, no plan—just instinct. Aiden ducked as Dante struck, Dante shifted as Aiden countered. Their rhythm was infuriatingly seamless, as if their wolves had trained together all their lives.

The dock filled with snarls and the sick thud of fists against flesh. Aiden fought with rage, Dante with precision. Together, they carved through the rogues until the last dropped, groaning on the ground.

Silence.

Aiden leaned against a container, hand pressed to his ribs. His chest heaved, every breath searing. Across from him, Dante straightened, shirt torn, lip split, golden eyes blazing with something sharp.

“They wore your crest.” Aiden’s voice was hoarse but lethal. “Your men. Your betrayal.”

Dante’s smirk slipped, jaw tightening. “You think I’m stupid enough to send assassins in my own colors?”

“They came for me because of you.”

“Or because someone wanted you to believe that.” Dante stepped closer, his voice low, dangerous. “Use your head, Blackthorn. If I wanted you dead, you’d be in the river already.”

The words cut deep.

Aiden’s hands shook, rage tangled with doubt. “Then why fight them at all?”

For the first time, Dante’s eyes softened, unguarded. “Because you don’t deserve to die like this.”

Aiden froze. His wolf lurched inside him, startled, restless.

Then Dante’s smirk slid back into place, though thinner than before. “And because if anyone kills you, Aiden, it’ll be me.”

The air cracked between them, sharp, electric. Aiden’s wolf snarled, torn between lunging at Dante’s throat and pressing closer. His breath came shallow, too loud in his ears.

He turned away first.

The safe house was silent when they limped inside. Dust thick on the floorboards, broken blinds rattling against cracked windows.

Aiden collapsed onto the couch, clutching his ribs. Dante leaned against the table, casual despite the blood streaking his jaw.

“You’re welcome,” Dante said eventually.

Aiden glared. “Don’t think saving me twice makes us allies.”

Dante tilted his head, golden eyes glinting. “No. But it makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

Aiden’s pulse jumped, heat prickling under his skin. He hated that Dante was right. Hated that the thought wormed into his head at all.

Their eyes locked too long, heat simmering in the quiet. For once, Dante’s smirk faded, his gaze unreadable.

Aiden looked away. Again.

Across the city, shadows whispered in an upscale apartment overlooking the skyline.

Julian Blackthorn swirled golden liquor in his glass, the scent sharp and sweet. His reflection flickered in the window—smile smooth, eyes cold.

“Already,” he said softly, “they’re circling each other like moths to flame.”

Leo Veyron sprawled on a couch, foot tapping, eyes restless with bitterness. “They should’ve killed each other by now.”

Julian chuckled, sipping. “Patience. The tighter they’re pulled together, the harder the snap when we cut the string.”

Leo’s lip curled. “Dante always walks away clean. Always the golden boy. The heir. The Alpha everyone sees.” His voice cracked with venom. “While I’m nothing. I want to watch him choke.”

Julian set his glass down with a click. “And Aiden—he’s too blind to see his cousin standing right behind him, ready to take everything.”

Their gazes met, sharp and hungry.

“So we bleed them both,” Julian said.

Leo’s grin was vicious. “Until they’re nothing but ashes.”

They clinked glasses, sealing the pact.

Below, New York roared on—bright lights, blind eyes—while betrayal coiled in its shadows, patient and poisonous.