Page 6

Of Wolf and Man

XANDER

T he última X floated in the star-pierced dark, cloaked, silent, and bristling, a predator waiting for passing prey.

Its lethal hull resembled a rapacious predator, matte black with slashes of deep violet parallel to its angular spine.

It was a ferocious beast carved in savagery and design mastery.

Larger than most gunships, it was both fast and roomy, designed for a seasoned crew yet streamlined enough to be run by a pilot and co-pilot alone.

Three potent thrusters formed a tri-fin array at the rear, paired with a hyperdrive allowing swift, silent jumps across sectors.

A series of streamlined protrusions, often mistaken for aggressive ornamentation, were, in fact, high-efficiency solar collectors that gave it an edge over the fighters it outpaced and outgunned in dozens of skirmishes.

Armed to the teeth, the vessel boasted dual heavy laser cannons beneath its forward wings.

As well as hull-embedded ion blasters, a missile rack capable of launching focused concussion strikes, and turbo lasers that punched it well above its weight class.

A compact hangar on the starboard flank could house two small flyers, ready for recon, pursuit, or escape. It wasn’t just a warship; it was a warning, and when Commander Xander Roman piloted it, the expanse listened.

The cockpit of the stealthed Viper Corvette glowed dim violet.

Xander sat motionless inside, his muscled frame sinking deep into the chair.

Gloved hands rested on the armrests, and the distant bloom of explosions lit up his amethyst eyes.

His reflection on the polished console showed a man in coiled waiting, a seeker before the hunt.

He sensed the attackers on approach, scenting them with his robust spectral nanoids.

He also detected their fury. This was pure revenge, and he was ready for it.

Without hesitating, he rose, leaped, and glimmered through the plexiglass to the vacuum of space outside just as movement cracked the black.

Three figures emerged like nightmares birthed from plasma, each sleek and brutal, streaking through space with unnatural speed.

They were aetheric wolves, but not like him.

Their fur rippled in erratic shades of tarnished silver and blood-matted black, their eyes glowing with red, their teeth too long and too serrated for any natural beast.

They didn’t hesitate.

They dove.

Xander shifted mid-drift.

His entire frame shimmered, body elongating, limbs rippling outward with luminous heat. Violet gold flame burst across his skin like a thousand sun-bloomed threads weaving a beast of fury and vengeance.

His transformation once more tore through the silence with majesty and menace.

The attacking wolves slammed into him, talons clashing, snarls silenced by the vacuum. Yet still their savagery was evident. They were trying to kill him.

But he wasn’t like them.

He was bigger. He was stronger. He was angrier.

He caught the first attacker mid-lunge and hurled him into the side of a broken hull fragment, impaling the creature on a twisted strut of metal from the exploded Lombardi’s gunship.

The creature dissolved in a blink, like it had never existed.

The second tried to flank, sweeping with claws that glowed with venom code.

The gilded violet alpha wolf, for he was the dominant fighter, twisted, spectral jaws snapping around its throat, crushing through resistance with such ferocity that his attacker burst apart in radiant fragments, limbs disintegrating before her eyes.

The last beast circled him, more cautious, its energy flickering with synthetic patches and Lombardi corruption, but even that failed.

Xander surged forward in a light pulse, grabbed the final assailant mid-dash, and ripped it open.

Violet-gold fury tore down its ribcage. Innards evaporated. The carcass tumbled in slow, unreal somersaults before vanishing entirely.

Gone.

All of them.

He was alone again, a spectral beast. Floating in the ruin-lit dark, bloodied and not even panting, still glowing like a wrathful god.

Shaking off the remnants of the battle from his spectral fur, he glimmered back into human form and retreated into his ship with a satisfied grunt.

A while later, showered and clean, he sat back in his pilot’s seat in a matte-black jumpsuit unzipped to mid-chest.

Revealing rippling deltoids dusted with gold and mauve ink, ancient language, sigils of war, and serpent coils wrapped around his clavicle like a collar.

His dark beard was neat, his sable and orchid locks falling over a broad forehead.

He pushed them back, unveiling violet-flamed eyes that raked the view outside, his neural node parsing data and intel.

He concentrated his vision on the far left quadrant.

To where The Odalon, buckled and broken, bled light in the vacuum of space.

Even now, husks and fragments of its hull floated from its wreck.

Her rear thrusters flaring every so often, the last flickering vestiges of a leviathan’s death.

Then he turned his gaze and zoomed his cerebral sight on the stricken vessel’s ark ship that hovered closer to his position.

The Venantia Eterna , the Eternal Vow.

Almost fifty kilometers long and plated in hematite-black ion skin, it moved with the slow, implacable grace of a creature that had long outgrown its predators.

Spires rose from its dorsal hull like a ruined crown, jagged and adorned with the glowing sigils of the old Terran mafiosi.

The vessel bore the Bianchi logo, a lion with two crossed daggers, inlaid in gold over its central dome.

Cities pulsed inside its walls, as did farms, ports, vaults, weapons silos, and red light sectors, a veritable floating empire.

The first generational dreadnought ever built by a mafia family after the Great Apocalypse.

A levitating fortress carved from the bones of Earth’s last orbital dry dock.

Along with the Syndicate flotilla, the Bianchis fled the stricken planet with their wealth, wives and children, capos, killers, and a reputation that still made rival clans whisper in the darkness of space.

Xander arched a brow as fighters screamed out of the rear bays of the mega dreadnought, hornets out of the hive of a celestial leviathan.

He honed in on the action as the swarm of angry wasps headed toward the glowing wreckage of The Odalon .

He tilted his head when his side hatch whooshed open.

A lean, muscled man ducked in, broad-shouldered and covered in swirling dark purple ink that traced his thick arms and neck like war paint.

His blackberry-hued hair fell to his shoulders, eyes a shade of gilded violet.

Santiago Alvarro, Xander’s XO, was pure muscle, all sinew, suave, smooth as the first bourbon, yet under fire, he was the wolf you wanted on your six.

They bumped fists.

‘Boss,’ Santi greeted, voice gravel-wrapped.

‘Brother,’ Xander murmured, gaze still locked on the chaos outside.

Santi handed him a steel cup. ‘ Kahawa . Still hot from the coils.’

Xander took it with a grunt of thanks, sipping once before watching Santi drop into the co-pilot’s chair and throw his boots up on the polished console.

‘Feet off.’

Santi grinned. ‘I leave no scuff. I’m stealth, baby.’

Xander sliced his flaming violet eyes at his companion.

Santi sighed and lowered his boots with a smug smirk, folding his arms behind his head.

‘Your dust-up with the Lombardi capos was epic. Sorry, not sorry, I missed it. I was taking a nap. I viewed the footage, though, and they don’t call us the star wolves for nothing.’

Xander’s jaw clenched.

When he finally spoke, his growl was quiet but coiled.

‘ Fokkers think they can come for an alpha, they get what they deserve. They’re down three wolves, but still, they’re getting reckless, attacking patrol boats.

Now, The Odalon, the Bianchi’s best frigate interceptor. Gone. Shit’s getting wild out there.’

‘Tis,’ Santi said, nodding toward the bloom of flames. ‘Snuck in when the security grid cycled for just seconds. It was a surgical strike, showy as fokk and a pure insult. Exactly as our contact last week foretold.’

Xander’s jaw ticked. ‘What else did your CI share?’

Signet’s extensive network of eyes and ears across the flotilla was designed to ensure the company was always one foot ahead of its clients and neighbors on this hazardous journey.

They even had a foothold in the Accord, a murky entity that provided a suite of shipping services to vessels calling at ports along the way to Pegasi or transiting the Wildlight Expanse.

Knowing where the plays were, how many bets were taken, and all the details of the underhanded deals made between the mafioso families was why Signet had survived this game so long.

‘He shared a Schiacciata alla Fiorentina , an orange-scented sponge cake from his mum, boxed up and all that shit.’

Xander glowered at his XO.

Santi grinned. ‘He also said our Lombardis friends have been getting tech and weapons from an unknown source.’

‘Not good. We need to find out who and where. Keep digging.’

‘On it, jefe .’

‘You need more schills, speak to Rigo.’

Santi stretched, cracking his knuckles. ‘Eugene’s weak ass leadership is creating a power vacuum.’

Xander didn’t answer at first. He sipped his kahawa , then set the cup down with a soft clink.

‘Tis. The mafia doesn’t respect a ghosting boss floating around in silk robes on a yacht,’ he said. ‘The Syndicate members don’t fear Eugene anymore. If they don’t dread him -.’

‘They’ll try to cut his head off and test the heirs,’ Santi finished.

Xander’s gaze narrowed. ‘Which gives us a chance to play this game. The Bianchis have long opposed us, fighting our contracts and refusing to work with us. They’re the most powerful family in this flotilla, and I need them on our side if we’re going to get to Pegasi in one piece.’