0002 - Death or Salvation

Vera

I didn't know how long I'd been running.

 My lungs burned like someone had poured acid down my throat. My legs screamed with every step, thighs chafing raw where they rubbed together. The dress I'd sewn myself was in shreds, caught on branches and thorns. Blood dripped from cuts on my arms and face.

 But I couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop.

 Behind me, I heard them—the rogues. They'd picked up my trail an hour ago, maybe less. Time had stopped making sense. Everything was just pain and terror and the overwhelming need to keep moving.

 "I smell her!" A male voice, rough and eager. "She's close!"

 My wolf was still too damaged to shift. The rejection had crippled her, left her curled up in a ball somewhere deep inside me where she couldn't help. I was running on human legs, human speed, and I knew it wasn't enough.

 The forest opened up suddenly, and I stumbled into a clearing. Moonlight flooded down, bright enough to see by. For a second, I thought maybe this was good—maybe I could find a direction, a landmark, something.

 Then I saw them step out of the trees.

 Five rogues. All male. All bigger than me, stronger than me, faster than me.

 I spun around, ready to run back the way I came, but three more emerged from that direction. Eight total. They formed a circle around me, grinning like they'd won the lottery.

 "Well, well, well." The largest one stepped forward, his eyes glowing amber in the dark. He was huge, muscles bulging under a torn shirt, scars crisscrossing his arms. "What do we have here? A little lost wolf?"

 "Not so little." Another one laughed, and the others joined in. "Look at the size of her. We could have fun with this one for days."

 My stomach turned. I knew what rogues did to she-wolves they caught alone. I'd heard the stories, seen the survivors—the ones who were lucky enough to become survivors.

 "Please." I hated how my voice shook. "Please, just let me go. I have nothing. I'm nobody."

 "Oh, you're somebody." The leader circled me slowly, like a predator sizing up prey. "You're fresh meat. And you know what? I bet you taste delicious."

 He lunged.

 I threw myself sideways, but I wasn't fast enough. His hand caught my arm, yanked me back. I screamed and clawed at his face, my nails drawing blood across his cheek.

 "Bitch!" He backhanded me so hard I saw stars. I hit the ground, tasted blood in my mouth. "Hold her down!"

 Hands grabbed me—too many hands. They pinned my arms, my legs. I thrashed and kicked and screamed until my throat was raw, but there were too many of them.

 "Someone shut her up," the leader growled, unbuckling his belt.

 This was it. This was how I died. Or worse—how I survived.

 A she-wolf who looked like me, who'd been rejected by her mate, who was packless and alone—nobody would come looking. Nobody would care. I would disappear into these woods and become just another cautionary tale mothers told their daughters.

 The leader dropped to his knees beside me, reaching for my torn dress.

 Then his head exploded.

 I don't mean that figuratively. One second he was there, grinning down at me with his disgusting breath washing over my face. The next, his head literally burst apart like someone had detonated a bomb inside his skull. Blood and brain matter sprayed everywhere, hot and wet across my face and chest.

 I screamed, but the sound was drowned out by roaring—deep, inhuman roaring that shook the trees and sent birds fleeing into the night sky.

 The hands holding me released instantly. The rogues scattered, trying to run, but they didn't get far.

 Something moved through the clearing so fast I couldn't track it. One rogue's chest caved in with a sickening crunch. Another's spine snapped audibly as he was bent backward at an impossible angle. A third tried to shift, but his wolf form lasted all of two seconds before something ripped him literally in half.

 The massacre lasted less than a minute. Eight rogues, all dead, all destroyed so completely they were barely recognizable as having been alive.

 And standing in the center of the carnage was him.

 He wasn't in wolf form. He was human-shaped, but calling him human felt wrong. He stood at least six and a half feet tall, broad-shouldered and powerfully built in a way that made Daemon look like a child. He wore all black—expensive black, the kind that cost more than my entire pack house. His dark hair was slightly long, pushed back from a face that could have been carved from marble. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, full lips set in a hard line.

 But his eyes. God, his eyes.

 They glowed molten gold, brighter than any wolf's eyes I'd ever seen. Not amber. Not yellow. Pure gold, like someone had melted down coins and poured them into his skull. And they were looking directly at me.

 I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. Blood—the rogues' blood—dripped from his hands, but he didn't seem to notice or care.

 "What," his voice was deep, rougher than gravel, "is a she-wolf doing alone in my territory?"

 My territory. The words registered through my shock. This wasn't neutral ground. I'd run straight into someone's claimed land.

 "I—" My voice came out as a croak. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I was just running and—"

 "From what?" He moved closer, and I scrambled backward instinctively. Fresh blood smeared under my hands where the leader's head had been. "Don't run from me. I just saved your life."

 "I know. Thank you. I just—" I didn't know how to explain. How did you tell a stranger you'd been rejected, humiliated, banished? That you were worthless even to your own mate?

 He crouched down, bringing himself closer to my level, but he was still huge. Still terrifying despite having saved me. Up close, I could see details—the expensive watch on his wrist, the tattoos crawling up his neck, the white scar cutting through his left eyebrow.

 "You're hurt." It wasn't a question. His eyes tracked over my torn dress, my bleeding arms, my swollen face where the rogue had hit me.

 "I'm fine."

 "You're not." He reached out, and I flinched. His hand stopped midair. Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe. Like he wasn't used to people being afraid of him. "I won't hurt you."

 "You just killed eight wolves in under a minute."

 "They were rogues who were about to rape and murder you." He said it matter-of-factly, like commenting on the weather. "Would you have preferred I let them finish?"

 "No. No, I—" Tears burned my eyes again. I was so tired. So broken. "Thank you. Really. But I should go. I'll get out of your territory. I'm sorry for trespassing."

 "Where will you go?"

 The question hit me like a punch. Where would I go? I had no pack, no family that would take me in, no money, no resources. I was wearing a destroyed dress and nothing else. It was fall, getting colder every night. Even if I survived the elements, there were rogues everywhere in these woods.

 "I don't know," I whispered, and the truth of it crushed me. "I don't know."

 He studied me for a long moment, those gold eyes seeing too much. Then he stood and held out his hand.

 "Come with me."

 "What?"

 "Come. With. Me." He enunciated each word clearly. "I have medical supplies. Food. Shelter. You need all three."

 "I can't just—who are you?"

 "Does it matter? You have nowhere else to go."

 He was right. God help me, he was right. But something about him set off every alarm bell in my head. He wasn't just an Alpha. Alphas didn't move like that, didn't kill like that, didn't have eyes that burned like molten metal.

 "You're not a wolf," I said quietly.

 His lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "No. I'm not."

 "Then what are you?"

 "Lycan."

 The word hit me like ice water. Lycans were myths, legends, bedtime stories to scare pups into behaving. They were supposed to be extinct, wiped out centuries ago in the Great War. They were bigger, stronger, more vicious than any wolf. They were—

 "Monsters," I breathed.

 "Yes." He didn't deny it, didn't soften it. "And right now, this monster is offering you safety. Take it or leave it, but decide fast. The blood here will attract more rogues, and I'm not in the mood to kill another dozen tonight."

 I stared at his outstretched hand. Dried blood flaked off his knuckles. He'd killed eight wolves without breaking a sweat, without even shifting. He was dangerous in a way I couldn't fully comprehend.

 But behind me was certain death. Slow death from exposure, or fast death from rogues. Maybe torture first. Maybe worse.

 And when I looked into those burning gold eyes, I saw something I didn't expect. Not kindness, exactly. Not gentleness. But recognition. Like he saw something in me that mattered.

 My wolf stirred for the first time since the rejection. Just a tiny movement, a whisper of awareness. She pushed at my consciousness, urging me forward.

 Trust him, she seemed to say. Trust this one.

 I took his hand.

 His fingers closed around mine, warm and solid and strong enough to crush every bone without effort. He pulled me to my feet easily, steadying me when my legs threatened to give out.

 "Can you walk?"

 "I think so."

 "Good. It's not far." He started moving, still holding my hand, leading me out of the clearing full of corpses.

 "Wait," I said. "I don't even know your name."

 He glanced back at me over his shoulder, those gold eyes reflecting the moonlight.

 "Dante," he said. "My name is Dante Russo."

 Russo. The name meant nothing to me, but the way he said it—like it should mean something, like it carried weight—made my skin prickle.

 "I'm Vera."

 "I know." At my shocked look, he continued, "I could smell the rejection on you from half a mile away. Fresh. Recent. Whoever did it was a fool."

 The words shouldn't have mattered. Some stranger's opinion shouldn't have eased the ache in my chest. But they did. Just a little.

 We walked in silence through the dark forest. He moved like he owned every tree, every stone, every shadow. And maybe he did. His territory, he'd said.

 After about ten minutes, lights appeared through the trees. Not a house—a compound. Tall walls, security cameras, guards patrolling with weapons I couldn't identify from this distance.

 "What is this place?" I asked.

 Dante looked at me, and this time his smile was real. Sharp. Dangerous.

 "Welcome," he said, "to the Russo estate. Home of the largest Lycan crime family on the East Coast. And I'm not just any Lycan, Vera. I'm the king of the underworld."

 Oh god. What had I just agreed to?