0004 - The Vow

Vera's Pov 

I woke up to sunlight streaming through windows I didn't recognize.

For a second, I thought I was back in the omega quarters, that last night had been some kind of fever dream. Then I saw the silk sheets, the massive room, and reality crashed back down.

Dante. The Lycan. The mate bond.

I sat up too fast, my head spinning. My body ached everywhere. The cuts on my arms were bandaged neatly, and someone had left pain medication on the nightstand.

I'd fallen asleep in my torn, bloody dress. But when I looked down, I was wearing clean pajamas. Someone had changed me while I slept.

Panic flared in my chest. Who had touched me?

I found a note on the pillow, written in harsh, angular handwriting:

*Elena changed your clothes. No one else touched you. The closet has more. Eat breakfast. - D*

Short. Direct. Commanding.

I looked around properly for the first time. The room was stunning—art on the walls, a bookshelf filled with leather-bound volumes, thick carpets underfoot.

The bathroom made me freeze. Marble everywhere, a shower big enough for four people, a bathtub that could fit three. Towels on heated racks, expensive bottles lining the shelves.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror and winced. My face was still swollen, bruises darkening my cheek. I looked exactly like what I was—a rejected, broken she-wolf who'd been attacked in the woods.

Why would someone like Dante want this as a mate?

He wouldn't. Once he really looked at me, he'd reject me just like Daemon had. It was only a matter of time.

I should reject him first. Save myself the pain.

The thought made my wolf snarl in protest. Feeling the new bond had brought her back to life. She wanted Dante with a fierce, primal need that terrified me.

I went to the closet and found rows of clothes, all in my actual size. Jeans, shirts, dresses, workout clothes. Tags still attached to most of them, expensive brands I'd never been able to afford.

He'd done this overnight.

My hands shook as I pulled out jeans and a black sweater. They fit perfectly. I found new underwear still in packages, socks, shoes lined up on racks.

This wasn't hospitality. This was something else.

No. I couldn't let myself soften toward him. That's how it started with Daemon—believing someone could want me. And look how that ended.

I dressed quickly and left the room. I needed to find Dante and end this before it began.

Voices drifted from somewhere below. Male voices, angry and overlapping. I followed the sound down the stairs until I found myself on a landing overlooking a basement level.

"I'll ask you one more time." Dante's voice was cold, dead. "Who sent you?"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Another male voice, high with terror. "Please, I swear I don't—"

The sound of something breaking—bone, maybe. A scream followed.

I should have left. But something drew me forward, down the stairs, toward an open door at the end of a concrete hallway.

I stopped in the doorway and forgot how to breathe.

The room was windowless, with a drain in the center. Blood pooled around it. A man hung from chains, his face destroyed, unrecognizable. One arm bent at an impossible angle.

And standing in front of him, sleeves rolled up and hands covered in blood, was Dante.

He looked different. Colder. Harder. His gold eyes burned with something dark and hungry.

"You came onto my territory," Dante said conversationally. "You tried to plant listening devices in three of my warehouses. That means someone hired you. I want to know who."

"I can't tell you!" The man sobbed. "They'll kill my family!"

"I'll kill your family." Dante grabbed the man's broken arm and twisted. The scream was inhuman. "I'll kill everyone you've ever spoken to. I'll burn down your entire bloodline unless you give me a name."

He meant it. This wasn't a bluff.

Three other men stood along the walls, watching with blank expressions. This was routine.

"The Volkovs!" The hanging man finally screamed. "The Volkov bratva hired me! Please, that's all I know!"

Dante smiled, and it was the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen. "See? That wasn't so hard."

He pulled a knife from his pocket. The hanging man started begging.

Dante slit his throat in one smooth motion.

Blood sprayed across the concrete, across Dante's shirt. The man's body jerked and twitched.

I must have made a sound because Dante's head snapped toward the door. His eyes locked on mine, and for a second I saw something flicker there—concern, maybe, or regret.

Then it was gone.

"Vera." He dropped the knife and walked toward me, leaving bloody footprints. "You shouldn't be down here."

I backed away, but my legs hit the stairs. He kept coming, stopping a few feet away.

"Are you going to scream?" he asked quietly.

Was I? "No," I whispered.

"Good." He turned to the men. "Clean this up. Contact the Volkovs. Let them know I'm displeased."

The men nodded. Dante gestured for me to go upstairs, and I did on shaking legs. He followed, close enough that I could smell the copper of blood mixing with his natural scent—pine and smoke and something darker.

We walked in silence to a smaller room with a private bathroom. Dante went straight to the sink and started washing his hands, the water running red.

"You run a criminal empire," I said.

"Yes." He pulled off his ruined shirt, revealing a torso covered in scars and tattoos. "Does that frighten you?"

"Yes."

"But you're still here."

"I don't know where else to go."

He dried his hands and faced me. "I told you that you were safe here. I meant it. No one will hurt you while you're under my protection."

"You just killed a man."

"I killed a spy who tried to compromise my operation and put my family at risk." He said it like it was obvious. "That's my job, Vera. I protect what's mine."

"I'm not yours."

His eyes flashed. "The bond says differently."

"I reject it." I forced the words out even though my wolf howled in agony. "I reject the mate bond. I don't want this. I don't want—"

"No." The single word was absolute.

"What do you mean no? I have the right to—"

"I said no." He moved closer, and I backed against the wall. He didn't touch me, but he was so close I could feel the heat radiating off his skin. "I've been alone for eight years, Vera. Eight years of watching other Lycans find their mates while I had nothing. And now the Moon Goddess finally gives me one, and you think I'm going to let you reject me?"

"You can't force me to—"

"I'm not forcing anything." His voice dropped lower. "You can hate me if you want. You can be afraid of me. But you will not reject this bond. I won't accept it."

"That's not how it works!"

"I don't care how it works." Gold eyes burned into mine. "You're mine. The bond made it official, but I knew it the second I saw you in those woods. You belong to me now."

"I don't belong to anyone!" Tears streamed down my face. "I'm not property!"

"You're my mate." He finally touched me, his hand cupping my face with surprising gentleness. "And I protect what's mine. Those rogues yesterday? They're dead. Your former pack? Your former mate? Everyone who hurt you?" His smile was cold and sharp. "They're going to pay."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about revenge. I'm talking about making everyone who ever made you feel worthless understand exactly what they threw away. I'm talking about burning down anyone who dared to touch what belongs to me."

"Stop calling me that!"

"Why? It's the truth." He pulled back to look at me. "You can fight this all you want. You can be terrified of me. But at the end of the day, you're still my mate. And I take care of what's mine."

"By killing people?"

"If necessary." No hesitation. "I'm not a good man, Vera. I've never pretended to be. I run a criminal empire. I've killed more people than you can imagine. But I'm loyal to my people, and you're my people now. Whether you want to be or not."

My wolf was singing. The bond pulsed between us, hot and insistent. But my mind screamed warnings.

"Come on." Dante stepped back. "You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"That wasn't a request."

He led me to a dining room that could seat thirty. A table was set for two with enough food for ten—eggs, bacon, pancakes, fruit, pastries, juice, coffee.

"Sit." Dante pulled out a chair.

I sat because I didn't know what else to do. He took the seat across from me. Someone had brought him a clean shirt, though he hadn't put it on yet.

"Eat," he ordered.

"I told you, I'm not—"

"And I told you that while you're here, you follow my rules. Rule number one is you eat. All of it."

"I can't eat all that!"

"Yes, you can." His eyes pinned me in place. "You're underweight. Malnourished. You've been starving yourself for someone who didn't deserve you. That ends now."

"You don't get to tell me what to do with my body!"

"I do when you're slowly killing yourself." He leaned forward. "I saw it yesterday. You could barely run. Could barely stay on your feet. How long had you been dieting? Months? A year?"

I looked away. "Six months."

"Six months of starving yourself for a mate who rejected you anyway. Did it work? Did he want you more after you lost weight?"

"No," I whispered.

"That's because he was a fool. And you're done punishing yourself for his inadequacies." Dante stood and came around the table, filling a plate and setting it in front of me. "Eat. Now."

The command in his voice made my wolf submit automatically. I picked up the fork with shaking hands and took a bite. Then another. Before I knew it, I was eating steadily, my body crying out for the nutrition it had been denied.

Dante watched me the entire time. When I finally pushed the half-empty plate away, too full to continue, he nodded in approval.

"Better. Tomorrow you'll eat more."

"Why do you even care?" The question burst out. "Look at me! I'm fat, I'm broken, I'm—"

"Beautiful." The word stopped me cold. "You're beautiful, and strong, and mine. And anyone who made you think otherwise is going to regret it."

"You're insane."

"Probably." He smiled, sharp and dangerous and somehow breathtaking. "But I'm your insane mate. Get used to it."

As he walked away, I heard him murmur something under his breath in Italian. I didn't speak the language, but the tone was clear—a vow, dark and binding.

Later, I'd learn what he said: "I'm going to destroy them all. Every single one who hurt her will beg for death before I'm done."

And Dante Russo always kept his promises.