0003 - The King's Claim

Vera

 The gates opened automatically as we approached, heavy iron sliding apart with barely a whisper. Guards snapped to attention on either side, their weapons lowered but ready. They didn't look at me. Their eyes stayed fixed on Dante, and every single one of them had the same expression—absolute obedience mixed with raw fear.

 "Boss." One guard nodded as we passed. His voice shook slightly.

 Dante didn't acknowledge him. He just kept walking, pulling me through the compound like I weighed nothing. Which, considering my size, was impossible. Unless you were a Lycan who'd just ripped eight wolves apart with your bare hands.

 The main building loomed ahead, all glass and steel and modern architecture that screamed money. Serious money. The kind of money my pack could never dream of. Lights blazed from every window, and even from outside I could hear voices, movement, life happening within.

 "How many people live here?" I asked.

 "Seventy-three." Dante pushed open the front door. "Family, soldiers, staff. Everyone who works for me directly."

 Seventy-three people under one roof. My entire pack had been maybe a hundred and twenty, and we'd spread across multiple buildings.

 The interior hit me like a physical force. Everything was expensive—marble floors, crystal chandeliers, artwork on the walls that probably cost more than my life. People moved through the space with purpose, all of them dressed in black, all of them armed. They stopped when they saw Dante, immediately stepping aside and bowing their heads.

 Not one of them looked at me. Not directly. But I felt their stares, felt them taking in my appearance—the destroyed dress, the blood covering me, my fat body on full display. Shame burned through my chest.

 "Dante!" A woman's voice cut through the silence. She came down the main staircase, tall and elegant in a black pantsuit, dark hair pulled back in a severe bun. Her eyes were the same gold as Dante's. Family. "Where the hell have you been? We've been trying to reach you for—" She stopped when she saw me. Her nostrils flared slightly. "Who is this?"

 "Vera." Dante's grip on my hand tightened. "She needs medical attention. Get Elena."

 "Dante, we need to talk about the—"

 "Now, Sofia." His voice dropped into something dark and dangerous. "Get Elena now."

 Sofia's jaw clenched, but she nodded and pulled out her phone. She spoke rapidly in Italian, then turned back to us. "She's coming. But Dante, the Volkov bratva called again. They want an answer about—"

 "Later." He started walking again, pulling me toward the staircase. "Everything else can wait."

 We climbed three flights of stairs. My legs screamed in protest, but I didn't complain. Around us, the building pulsed with barely contained violence—men cleaning weapons in open rooms, others counting stacks of cash, voices arguing in different languages. This wasn't just a home. It was a headquarters. A war room.

 Dante led me down a hallway lined with doors until we reached one at the very end. He pushed it open and gestured me inside.

 I stepped into luxury I'd never imagined existed.

 The room was huge, bigger than the entire omega quarters back home. A massive bed dominated one wall, covered in silk sheets that probably cost thousands. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the forest we'd just walked through. There was a sitting area with a couch that looked like it had never been used, a desk with a computer, and two other doors that I assumed led to a bathroom and closet.

 "This is..." I couldn't find words. "I can't stay here. This is too much."

 "You can and you will." Dante released my hand finally and moved to close the curtains. "The bathroom is through there. There should be clothes in the closet that will fit."

 "I don't understand." I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly aware of how I looked in this pristine space. Blood and dirt and torn fabric. "Why are you helping me? You don't even know me."

 He turned to face me, those gold eyes burning into mine. "You were on my land, being attacked by rogues. That makes it my business."

 "That's not a reason to give me a room like this. To—" I gestured helplessly at the opulence surrounding us. "I should be in a guest room or servant quarters or something. Not here."

 "This is my wing of the house." The words hung in the air between us. "This room is directly across from mine. You'll be safe here."

 Before I could process that, a knock sounded at the door. Dante opened it to reveal a middle-aged woman carrying a medical bag. She was short and plump with kind eyes and gray hair braided down her back.

 "Elena." Dante stepped aside to let her in. "She's been attacked. Check her over. Everything."

 Elena's eyes widened when she saw me, but not with disgust. With concern. "Oh, you poor thing. Come, sit down. Let me look at you."

 I perched on the edge of the pristine couch, terrified I'd stain it. Elena knelt in front of me and started examining my injuries with gentle hands. Behind her, Dante stood with his arms crossed, watching.

 "These cuts need cleaning," Elena murmured, pulling supplies from her bag. "The bruises will heal on their own, but I'll give you something for the pain. Did they—" She paused delicately. "Did they hurt you anywhere else?"

 "No." My voice came out hoarse. "He stopped them before they could."

 Elena glanced back at Dante with something like approval, then focused on cleaning the cuts on my arms. The antiseptic stung, but I bit my lip and stayed quiet.

 "You're malnourished," Elena said, frowning. "When's the last time you ate properly?"

 I couldn't remember. In the weeks leading up to the ceremony, I'd been living on salads and water, desperately trying to lose weight for Daemon. "I don't know."

 "I'll have food sent up." Dante pulled out his phone and typed something quickly. "Anything else?"

 "She needs rest." Elena finished bandaging my arms and moved to check my face, tilting my chin up. "The swelling will go down in a few days. Ice will help." She looked directly at me. "You're very lucky he found you when he did."

 "I know."

 Elena packed up her supplies and stood. "I'll come check on you tomorrow. If you need anything before then, just call." She handed me a card with a phone number on it. "Day or night."

 After she left, silence filled the room. Dante was still watching me, and I couldn't read his expression. His face was hard, carved from stone, but his eyes—those burning gold eyes—held something I didn't understand.

 "Thank you," I said quietly. "For everything. For saving me. For this." I gestured at the room. "I don't deserve—"

 "Stop." The command was sharp. "Don't tell me what you don't deserve."

 "But I—"

 "Whoever rejected you was a fool." He said it like fact, like there was no room for argument. "You will stay here until you're healed. Until you're safe. And no one—no one—will hurt you while you're under my protection. Understand?"

 I nodded, throat tight. I didn't understand anything. Didn't understand why this dangerous Lycan crime lord cared about some fat, rejected she-wolf he'd found in the woods. But I was too tired to question it anymore.

 Another knock at the door. This time it was a young man carrying a tray loaded with food—pasta, bread, fruit, cheese, things that smelled so good my stomach cramped with hunger.

 "Put it on the desk," Dante ordered. The man obeyed and left quickly.

 Dante picked up the tray and brought it to me, setting it on the coffee table in front of the couch. "Eat."

 "I'm not—"

 "That wasn't a request." He crouched down in front of me, bringing us eye-level. "You're in my house now. My rules. Rule number one—you eat. All of it."

 "I can't eat all that. I'm on a diet. I need to lose—"

 "No." The word was hard as iron. "You're not on a diet. Look at yourself. You're running on empty. Eat."

 Something in his voice made my wolf stir again. She pushed at my consciousness, urging me to listen to him. To trust him.

 I reached for the fork with shaking hands and took a bite of pasta. It was delicious, better than anything I'd tasted in months. Before I knew it, I was eating faster, shoveling food into my mouth like I was starving.

 Because I was starving. I'd been starving myself for six months trying to be what Daemon wanted, and it hadn't mattered. He'd rejected me anyway.

 Tears dripped onto my plate, mixing with the pasta sauce.

 "Hey." Dante's hand covered mine, stopping the fork midway to my mouth. "What's wrong?"

 "Nothing. Everything. I don't know." The words tumbled out. "I tried so hard. I did everything he wanted. I starved myself, I worked out until I collapsed, I studied Luna duties until I couldn't see straight. And he still—he still—"

 My voice broke. Dante's hand squeezed mine, and that's when it happened.

 The bond snapped into place like lightning striking the same spot twice.

 It slammed through my chest, hot and fierce and undeniable. Every nerve ending fired at once. My wolf surged forward, fully present for the first time since the rejection, howling in recognition and joy.

 Mate. Mate. MATE.

 I gasped, dropping the fork. It clattered against the plate. Dante's eyes widened, and I knew—I knew he felt it too. The bond blazing between us like fire, golden and pure and strong enough to hurt.

 "No." I yanked my hand away, scrambling backward on the couch. "No, no, no. This can't be happening."

 "Vera—"

 "I can't do this again!" My voice rose to a scream. "I can't be rejected again. I can't—" I was hyperventilating now, panic crushing my chest. "Please don't—please—"

 Dante held up both hands, backing away slowly. His face had gone carefully blank, but his eyes still burned with that recognition. He felt it. The mate bond. The second chance the Moon Goddess supposedly gave to rejected wolves.

 But I couldn't do it. Couldn't survive another rejection. This male was a king, a Lycan, powerful and dangerous and perfect. And I was—I was nothing. Fat and broken and worthless. He'd realize it soon enough, just like Daemon had. And when he rejected me—

 "Breathe," Dante said quietly. "Just breathe. I'm not going to hurt you."

 "You will." Tears streamed down my face. "Everyone does."

 Something passed over his face—pain, maybe, or anger. But when he spoke, his voice was calm. "I need you to listen to me very carefully. You are safe here. Whatever you felt just now—" He stopped, jaw clenching. "We don't have to talk about it. Not tonight. Not until you're ready."

 "You felt it too." It wasn't a question.

 He held my gaze steadily. "Yes. I felt it too."

 "So now what? You throw me out? Tell me I'm not good enough to be your mate? That I'm too—"

 "You will sleep." He cut me off, his voice taking on that commanding edge again. "You will eat. You will heal. And tomorrow, we'll talk. But right now, you need rest."

 "I can't just—"

 "Yes, you can." He moved toward the door. "The room locks from the inside. No one can get in without your permission. Not even me. You're safe here, Vera. I swear it."

 He left before I could respond, the door clicking shut behind him.

 I sat there alone in that beautiful room, surrounded by luxury I'd never dreamed of, with a belly full of food for the first time in months. And my chest burned with a new mate bond to a Lycan crime lord who'd just promised I was safe.

 I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. So I did both.