The rain over Rome was no longer a drizzle; it was a torrential downpour that turned the ancient streets into slick, black veins of stone.
Lexa stood by the open hatch of the armored transport, her tactical gear hugging her frame, a contrast to the silk suits she usually wore. In her hand, she held a tablet displaying the thermal heat signatures of the docks.
Beside her, Killian stood like a monolith of shadow and muscle. He wasn't wearing a suit anymore. He was in a tactical vest, his bare arms corded with tension, the black leather collar still tight around his throat. To the soldiers surrounding them, he looked like a prisoner of war. To Lexa, he looked like a storm waiting for a reason to break.
"The shipment contains the silver-nitrate stabilizers for the Blackwood territory," Lexa said, her voice barely audible over the roar of the rain. "If 'The Reborn' take that cargo, your pack won't have the defenses to stop a rogue invasion. My men will provide cover from the crates. You?"
She looked up at him, her eyes cold but searching. "You are the primary weapon. If you see your cousin's men, don't hesitate. They stopped being your family the moment they touched my trucks."
Killian's amber eyes glowed in the dark interior of the van. "You gave me a collar to keep me quiet, Lexa. Now you want me to scream?"
"I want you to hunt," she replied. She reached out, her fingers brushing the silver buckle of his collar. With a sharp click, she didn't remove it, but she triggered a remote release that loosened the strap, giving his neck the room it needed to expand during a partial shift. "Just remember who holds the remote."
The transport screeched to a halt at the edge of Pier 14. The doors hissed open, and Lexa's strike team poured out like a flood of shadows, their silenced weapons spitting blue sparks of muzzle flash into the night.
Killian didn't use a gun. He didn't need one.
He vaulted from the van, his boots hitting the wet pavement with a heavy thud. As he ran, his body began to change. It wasn't the full, bone-shattering transformation of the full moon, but a "war-shift." His fingernails elongated into jagged black talons; his jaw widened, revealing teeth that could crush industrial steel. His coat of fur didn't fully emerge, but his skin grew thick and grey, absorbing the shadows.
A group of "The Reborn" rebel wolves who had turned their backs on the Pack's laws emerged from behind a shipping container. They smelled of rot and betrayal.
"The Alpha!" one of them shouted, raising a rifle. "He's a slave to the humans! Look at the neck"
The rebel never finished the sentence. Killian moved with a speed that defied physics. He was a blur of grey and gold, a hurricane of violence. He didn't just attack; he dismantled. With a single sweep of his claws, he tore the rifle in half. With the back of his hand, he sent the wolf flying thirty feet into a stack of steel drums.
From her vantage point behind a reinforced crate, Lexa watched him. She had seen Killian fight before, but it had always been with the grace of a King. This was different. This was the raw, unbridled fury of a man who had been caged for five years and finally found the key.
Every time a rebel got too close to Lexa's position, Killian was there. He wasn't just fighting for the cargo; he was circling her, a literal wall of meat and fur that no bullet could penetrate.
"Boss! We have a problem!" Vincenzo's voice crackled in her ear. "They've got a thermal detonator on the silver crates! If they blow it, the nitrate will contaminate the harbor!"
Lexa looked toward the center of the pier. A tall, scarred wolf, Killian's cousin, Julian stood over the crates, a detonator in his hand. He was laughing, his eyes crazed with the "Rogue Sickness" that came from living without a Pack bond.
"Killian!" Lexa screamed over the wind.
Killian turned. He saw Julian. He saw the detonator.
"You chose a human over your own blood!" Julian roared, his thumb hovering over the red button. "Now watch her empire burn!"
Killian didn't roar back. He narrowed his eyes, the gold within them turning to a deep, molten red. He lunged, but he wasn't aiming for Julian. He aimed for the crane hook dangling above the crates.
With a leap that shouldn't have been possible for a man of his size, Killian caught the hook and used his momentum to swing, kicking Julian square in the chest. The force of the impact sounded like a car crash. Julian hit the ground, the detonator skittering across the wet concrete.
Lexa didn't wait. She broke cover, sprinting through the crossfire. She dove for the detonator, her fingers closing around the cold plastic just as Julian reached for it.
"I don't think so," Lexa hissed. She pulled a compact pistol from her thigh holster and fired two rounds into Julian's shoulder, pinning him to the ground.
Killian landed beside her, his chest heaving, his claws still dripping with the dark ichor of his enemies. He stood over her, his shadow shielding her from the rain, his growl vibrating in the very air she breathed.
For a long moment, they stayed like that, the Shadow Queen on her knees with a detonator in her hand, and the Alpha Wolf standing over her, a blood-stained guardian.
Killian's gaze dropped to the detonator, then to Lexa. He was still in his war-shift, his face a terrifying mask of a predator. But as he looked at her, the gold in his eyes softened. He reached out a clawed hand, gently tucking a wet strand of hair behind her ear.
"You're safe," he rasped, the sound more wolf than man.
Lexa looked at him, her heart hammering against her ribs. She saw the blood on his hands, the collar around his neck, and the raw, terrifying devotion in his eyes. She realized then that the "Tactical Romance" she had planned was a lie. This wasn't a game of chess. This was a blood-bond, reforged in the fires of a war they were both losing.
"I had it under control," she whispered, her voice trembling despite her best efforts.
"I know," Killian replied, his hand lingering on her cheek. "But as long as I'm your beast, Lexa... no one touches the Queen."
Vincenzo and the strike team moved in, securing the perimeter and the wounded rebels. The threat was over, but as Lexa looked at the silver nitrate crates, the very things that would save Killian's pack she realized that the real danger wasn't the Rogues outside.
It was the feeling stirring in her chest for the man who was currently kneeling in the mud just to be at her eye level.