Draco's POV:
The wind bites harder the closer I get to the kill. My breath hisses out as steam — the only magic I trust tonight. I adjust my grip on the silenced pistol. Jon's words echo again: Up close, make it personal.
I hear them laugh — broken Spanish, half-drunk threats. "You get the cut, yeah? Boss don't pay if you fuck up."
I smile in the dark. I'm the fuck up they didn't expect.
The lookout spins when he hears my boots scrape concrete. "¿Qué—?" he barks, shotgun lifting. I rush him. Elbow to his throat, knee to his gut. He drops the gun with a grunt, eyes wide. "Who—"
"Your nightmare," I hiss. I slam him against the wall, feel bone crack. He gurgles, drops.
Another guard sees me. "Hey!" Gun drawn, finger sloppy. Too late. I grab the dropped shotgun, squeeze the trigger — boom. The muzzle thunders in the alley. He's slammed back, chest torn.
The other two run. I shout after them, voice cold as Jon's: "Where do you think you're going?"
They fire over their shoulders. Bullets spark off brick. I crouch, roll, come up behind crates. "Fucking amateurs," I mutter. I dash left, catch the first by the collar. He swings a blade — I grab his wrist, twist. He shrieks, knife clatters. I bury a fist in his gut, then his jaw. His friend charges with a pipe, howling.
"Draco fucking Malfoy," I spit through gritted teeth. I tackle him. We hit concrete hard. He scrambles, grabs my jacket, tries to stab. I catch his hand, force it back — the blade sinks into his own thigh. He screams. I twist it deeper. "Sleep tight."
I push up, breath ragged. My heartbeat drums in my skull. Rain pelts down harder now, washing blood off my sleeves.
In my earpiece, Jon's voice crackles: "How's my wolf doing?"
"Painting the city red," I growl. "I need extraction."
"Clean the mess. Bring the van."
I grin, wipe my mouth with my sleeve. "On it, boss."
Tonight, I'm not the heir. I'm the blade in the dark.
Daphne's POV:
The banker's office is warm, golden, deceitful — like a gilded tomb. Daphne waits outside, pressed into the alley's shadows. Her heart drums steady. No Frost Monarch powers tonight — only steel, stealth, and gunpowder.
She checks her sidearm again. Silencer snug. She adjusts her black jeans and fitted jacket — nothing fancy. No armor, no magic shield. Just her training and cold resolve.
Through the alley door, she slips inside. One guard at the stairwell — big, stupid. She moves like a whisper. He barely turns — her blade slides under his ribs, right through the lung. He chokes on air. She lowers him down, boots silent.
Up the back stairs. Her earpiece crackles. Jon's calm voice: "Two outside the office. They know something's up."
"Let them," Daphne whispers back.
Outside the office: two men with automatics. She rolls a flashbang — a trick Jon forced her to master. Boom. White light, ringing ears. She lunges. First shot — chest. Second — head. Both thugs drop, carpet soaking crimson.
Inside, the banker's pouring whiskey — startled by the blast. He grabs his own pistol, fires blindly. Daphne dives behind a marble pillar. Bullets spark off stone. She breathes steady. Slides left. Rolls right.
She pops up — three quick rounds through the desk. Glass shatters. Wood splinters. The banker crawls out, bleeding from his shoulder. He gasps, pointing his pistol. She walks forward. One kick — gun out of his hand.
"You can't," he wheezes. "Girl like you—"
She plants her boot on his throat. "I am the cold."
Her silenced pistol kisses his forehead — pop. Red mist.
Another thug bursts in — too late. He raises a shotgun. Daphne dives left, a slug tearing the carpet where she stood. She fires from the floor — hits his knee. He screams. She stands, walks closer. The second shot silences him forever.
Blood on her boots. Breath fogs in the golden office. Her fingers shake. She grits her teeth. Family.
Jon's voice crackles: "Report, my Frost Queen?"
She wipes her cheek with her sleeve, stepping over corpses. "Banker's cold. Cleaning house. Coming home dear."
The Chicago night freezes around her as she vanishes into it — the Monarch rising.
Jon's POV:
It started with a whisper — a rumor at the docks. Someone had paid top dollar for mercs to hunt us down. I sat with Draco and Daphne under a flickering bulb, city shadows twitching outside the cracked glass. The room smelled of gun oil and smoke.
"They think they can hunt us?" Draco laughed, flicking ash to the concrete. "Let's see how they scream when we hunt back."
"We'll make an example," Daphne murmured, stroking the edge of her blade until it gleamed like ice.
I checked the mag of my Glock. "They wanted a nightmare. We'll be worse."
We left bait: crates of fake guns, rumors whispered in dark alleys, a fake arms meet. When six black SUVs rolled up past midnight, our trap was hungry.
On the roof, rifle steady, I counted heads through the scope. "Draco — east wing. Daphne — stairs. Make it hurt."
Draco's chuckle crackled in my ear. "They'll beg."
The mercs came in silent and cocky, guns out. They didn't see the wolves in the dark.
Draco's blade kissed the first throat before the man could speak. A muffled scream. Draco caught the falling body, shoved it aside, slipped behind another — gun to temple, squeeze, brains on concrete.
Daphne melted from shadow. Her pistol whispered once, twice — headshots, perfect. She dropped behind a crate, stabbed upward — a throat gurgle. She vanished again.
I slid down, boots hitting gravel. One merc near the back van. He smoked, bored. My knife slipped in his ribs, twisted. He never made a sound.
Gunfire erupted. Draco threw a flashbang down a hall. The explosion rattled windows. He darted through the blind mercs like a wraith — elbow shattered teeth, boot slammed into a knee backward. A quick shot to the temple.
I stalked through oil drums, pistol barking. A merc turned — saw my grin — caught a round in the eye.
Daphne hummed in my comm: "East stairwell. Heavy team."
"On it." Draco's boots thudded overhead. He vaulted a railing, landed in the middle of four men. Nano-armor sparked as a bullet ricocheted. He gutted the closest, spun, cracked a neck, drew his sidearm — double tap, double tap.
I met two more by the fuel tanks. One swung a pipe. I dodged, stepped inside — elbow to the jaw, knife in the belly. The other raised his SMG. Too slow. I fired — two to the chest, one to the throat.
Outside, headlights flared — two mercs ran for the SUVs. Daphne appeared, cold as night. Her blade flashed once, twice — blood sprayed the van. She walked on, silent as snowfall.
Draco jogged up, panting, blood on his boots. "Clear?"
Gunfire snapped behind us — a last sniper. I dove, rolled behind a stack of tires. His scope glinted. I breathed, aimed, squeezed. The crack echoed — his skull popped red.
They thought wolves would run. They forgot wolves hunt.
When the last merc whimpered, we tagged him like bait. He crawled to his master — a fat kingpin in a glass tower lined with bodyguards who went down screaming. Their radios crackled with panic before we cut the lines.
Draco slammed through the door first, grin sharp as a blade. "Evening, gentlemen. Surprise hunt's over."
I hauled the kingpin down by his tie. "You signed our death warrant. Now read yours."
He stammered, "I can pay — I can fix this —"
Daphne kicked his knee out, safe cracked open, files of politicians and dons exposed. "No fixing. No deals."
He sputtered, "Sloan— Sloan paid me—"
Draco smirked, "Good. We'll thank him next."
We dragged him to the window — showed him the city lights he'd owned. Then we threw him through it.
Time skip,
They gathered in a smoke-choked hall — mafia dons, cartel lieutenants, corrupt judges, senators, fixers, and shadows who never had names. The room pulsed with dread.
A mob boss slammed his whiskey glass down. "We need to talk about the wolves."
A cartel enforcer scoffed. "Talk? We need tanks. Did you see what they did to Moretti? Heads on spikes, his men strung up like meat."
A judge, pale and sweating: "You're fools if you think money stops them. You can't bribe nightmares."
A fixer leaned in, voice like frost: "They didn't just kill him. They burned his name out of the books. His accounts, his safe houses — gone. They don't kill you. They erase you."
A senator raked his hands through his hair. "Do we know who they are? Where they sleep?"
A cold laugh. "Would you knock? They'd answer with your spine."
An underboss whispered: "They're worse than Baba Yaga. They hunt the Boogeyman."
The old don tapped his cane. "Try to hunt them? Your family screams next. They sent his wife's wedding ring back — in his mouth."
The silence turned brittle. A young gun said, "So what do we do?"
"Pray," spat the fixer. "Pray they don't smell your fear."
In that den of monsters, no one wanted to be prey. But the wolves were hungry. And they were listening.
Jon's POV: R-18
A few nights after the city learned to fear the wolves, I found Daphne where she always went to think — on the rooftop of our hideout, wrapped in a blanket against the cold wind. She didn't flinch when I stepped behind her, just leaned back until her head rested against my chest.
"You scare them now," she murmured. "You scare me, too."
"Good. Maybe they'll stay away from you," I whispered against her hair.
She turned, eyes glinting in the moonlight. "I'm not afraid of you, Jon. I'm afraid for you. For what this does to us."
I brushed my thumb over her cheek. "I'd burn the world to ash before I'd let it touch you."
She laughed softly, a sound full of love and longing. "Then stay warm with me tonight. Truly warm." Her eyes locked on mine, heavy with the question she didn't need to speak. "No more waiting. No more running."
I felt my heart hammer. "You're sure?"
She leaned up, lips brushing mine. "I'm yours, Jon Bond. All of me."
She leaned in to kiss my jaw and my neck. Without further hesitation, I gently pulled her hands off of me and pinned them above her head.
I leaned over her and just admired her beauty, flushed and slightly sweaty from all the kiss and heat. I thought she would never look more beautiful than this moment.
I dragged my hands from her shoulders after he placed a kiss on her lips and brought them lower down her body as I slowly undressed her.
I brushed a featherlight touch to her pert breasts and then down her ribs and stomach, and hips.
She let me explore her body as she shivered from my touches.
I pulled her legs apart enough for me to have room to settle between her and drew one of them around my waist.
As I lowered myself over her, she moved her arms and wrapped them around my shoulders.
"You'll tell me if anything hurts?" I asked her softly, and she nodded with a smile.
She knew it would never be painful with me, not when I treated her like a goddess.
Without averting my gaze from hers, I slowly pushed into her. She gasped at the fullness and the tight pinch she felt as I fully seated myself in her.
I breathed in hoarsely as I fought the urge to push in and out of her until she was ready for me to do so.
Wordlessly, she wrapped both of her legs around me and let me know she was ready.
It was unlike anything she'd ever felt before. There was no pain and no fear as she thought. She was blissful and happily surrounded by the unique smell and feel of me as I groaned and lavished her skin with my mouth.
I could hear her moaning and panting my name, but it sounded like it was coming from somewhere else. She only felt me and my body and didn't register the noises I was coaxing out of her.
I felt her wantonly kissing my neck and whispering over and over that she loved me, as I said the same to her while continuing to thrust deliciously into her.
When her walls began to tighten around me, I brought my hand back to her clit and made her scream my name so loudly I was glad we were so far from any listening ears.
I rode her through her waves of pleasure and finally let go. I spilled in her, as she was unwilling to let me leave her embrace, and then collapsed on top of her, sweaty and sated and utterly euphoric.
She was glowing when I finally opened my eyes and looked up from her chest, where my head lay tiredly. She stroked her fingers through my tangled curls and leaned down to kiss my face tenderly.
Eventually, I felt guilty about my weight on her smaller body and shifted so she was tucked right into my side. She draped a lazy leg over my waist and pulled my lips to hers slowly.
"Thank you," she whispered against my lips. "That was amazing," she murmured almost drunkenly as her tongue worked its way lazily into my mouth. I only groaned hungrily and trailed languorous hands along the curves of her body.
"You are so perfect, so beautiful, my love," I grinned against her lips. I couldn't believe this day. I was clinging to her perfect body that I had so thoroughly ravished already, and felt there was nothing else my heart could take tonight as I pulled the blanket over us and snuggled into her warm embrace.
"Goodnight, my fiancé," I heard her whisper happily as she settled her head on my chest and let sleep take her.