Bound by Fate, Torn by war(THE LUNA’S WAR)

Bella's body was still vibrating with rage, heartbreak, and something far more dangerous when Dante's mouth crashed against hers.

It wasn't a kiss.

It was a war.

A claim.

A battle for dominance between two wolves too stubborn to submit, too wild to break.

The moment his lips met hers, the world around them vanished.

The training grounds, the pack watching, the whispered gasps of shock—none of it mattered.

Because Dante was kissing her like he was trying to destroy her.

And Bella?

She kissed him back just as hard.

Her fingers fisted into his dark hair, pulling, demanding, needing to hurt him the way he had hurt her.

But Dante only growled in response, his grip tightening on her waist, dragging her flush against him until she could feel every inch of his strength, his power, his need.

It was too much.

Too hot, too wild, too dangerous.

And yet, neither of them stopped.

Because this wasn't just a kiss.

It was a battle for control.

And neither of them was willing to lose.

Dante's hand slid up her back, fingers tangling into her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, to take more, demand more.

Bella's nails raked down his back, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her body trembling from the raw intensity of it all.

She hated him.

She hated him—but fuck, she needed him.

The mate bond was burning her alive, and Dante was the only thing that could put out the fire.

But then—

A furious snarl shattered the moment.

Bella barely had time to react before Dante was ripped away from her.

Alpha Viktor Drakov.

Indiana Park's ruthless leader stood in the middle of White Moon's training grounds, his blood-red eyes burning with rage, his massive form exuding a deadly aura of power and darkness.

His lips curled into a cruel smirk.

"So this is the great Alpha Dante Rodrigo," Viktor sneered, his thick Russian accent dripping with malice. "Too busy shoving his tongue down his mate's throat to see what's coming?"

Dante's entire body tensed, his wolf snarling inside his head, demanding blood.

"You made a mistake coming here, Drakov," Dante growled, his blue eyes glowing dangerously, his hands curling into fists. "And you're about to regret it."

But Viktor only laughed.

"Oh, Alpha," he murmured. "I'm not the one who will be regretting anything."

And then—

Chaos erupted.

The sound of clashing wolves, roars of war, the sickening crack of bones breaking filled the air as Indiana warriors rushed from the shadows, launching a brutal ambush.

Bella barely had time to react before a rogue lunged at her, claws swiping for her throat.

She dodged, rolling to the side, shifting in a blink of an eye—Luna exploding from her skin, her beautiful white wolf standing in full power.

And then, the battle began.

Dante's Rage

Dante didn't think.

He reacted.

One second, he was staring into Viktor's deadly smirk, and the next, Zephyr took control.

His massive black wolf erupted from his skin, fangs bared, claws unsheathed, rage burning hotter than the sun itself.

And he lunged.

Viktor barely dodged the attack, shifting at the last second into his monstrous blood-red wolf, his lips pulling back in a vicious snarl.

The two Alphas clashed in the middle of the battlefield—fangs sinking into flesh, claws tearing through muscle, the sound of war echoing through the training grounds.

But Dante couldn't focus on the pain.

He had one mission.

Kill Viktor Drakov.

And protect Bella at all costs.

He could see her fighting through the chaos—her pure white wolf a streak of deadly elegance, her fangs sinking into the throat of an enemy, her golden eyes burning with fury.

She was magnificent.

She was his.

And if anyone touched her—

Dante snapped his attention back to Viktor, blood dripping from his jaws, his body thrumming with pure, murderous rage.

"You're going to die tonight, Drakov," Dante snarled through the mind-link.

Viktor's red eyes glowed with amusement.

"You should be more worried about your precious little mate, Alpha."

And then—

Bella screamed.

Dante's entire world shattered.

He turned just in time to see Nikolai Reznov—Viktor's Beta, the sadistic bastard who had tortured countless wolves—dragging Bella toward the shadows, a silver blade pressed against her throat.

"No."

The word barely left Dante's mind before he lost control.

Everything turned red.

His wolf took over.

And Dante Rodrigo became death itself.