Fangless: The Alpha's Vampire Mate-Chapter 342: Bound by the Blood Moon

Zane had been standing in for Thorin, leading the pack in the Alpha’s absence. When Warren Zacharia arrived at Wintertooth, Zane had been away on a routine patrol with a few other wolves, sweeping the perimeter for threats.

Coming home to find a Zacharia among his own had shaken him to his core.

At first, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him—maybe it was age catching up with him, or the exhaustion of patrol blurring his vision. But the longer he stared, the more undeniable it became. This was no illusion.

Panic surged through him.

His instincts had kicked in fast—Zane was ready to fight, to take down the last of the Zacharia bloodline if he had to. But before he could make a move, Charna stepped in, blocking his path and quickly laying out the situation. Her words, calm and concise, brought him back from the edge.

Everyone knew how the Zacharias had tormented Thorin—how they meddled in his affairs, made his life harder at every turn, and constantly stuck their noses where they didn’t belong.

It was no secret that Nina had been the mastermind behind most of it, but the rest of the siblings stood by in silence. Their inaction was an offense in itself.

Zane, who had been more than a friend to Thorin—more like the father he’d lost too young—understood better than anyone what the name Zacharia meant to him.

So when Warren showed up unannounced, it was only natural that Zane’s guard went up. It didn’t matter how unlikely it seemed—there was still a lingering fear that Warren might be here to settle a score, to avenge the fall of his family by targeting the only blood relative he had left: Thorin, the defiant nephew who had walked away.

But once Zane heard the full story, his fear shifted. He no longer worried about Warren attacking Wintertooth. Instead, his concern turned toward Thorin, who had ventured off to find Riona, walking straight into danger.

It didn’t take Zane long to make up his mind.

Now, he stood shoulder to shoulder with the werewolves of Wintertooth and the last remnants of the Zacharia pack, gathered before the towering gates of the royal palace in the Kingdom of Eira, ready for whatever came next.

"Are we too late?" Trudy muttered, standing close beside him.

Zane turned to her, searching for the right words, when Morgan suddenly stepped forward and gave the gate a shove. It creaked open without resistance.

Everyone stared at her, confused. She just shrugged. "What? It’s unlocked."

Morgan strode into the courtyard, scanning her surroundings like she was house-hunting, not storming into vampire territory. When she realized no one was following, she paused and glanced over her shoulder.

"What? You planning to stand there for days?" she called out, hands on her hips.

Under normal circumstances, her attitude would’ve been rude—unacceptable, even. In vampire land, it could be seen as an act of provocation. The kind that might spark an all-out war between werewolves and vampires.

But Morgan wasn’t done.

She raised her arms toward the palace, exasperated. "There’s no one here. We could wait until the next full moon and still find no one opening these gates for us. I thought we were on a mission to save the world, but suddenly we’ve got time to practice good manners?"

She had a point. This was no ordinary situation. Courtly decorum wasn’t the priority anymore.

Zane gave a silent nod, signaling the rest of the pack to move in. They followed him into the courtyard and began to spread out with practiced ease.

The Wintertooth wolves didn’t need orders. Their coordination was second nature. In quiet pairs and small groups, they fanned out across the grounds, each one instinctively knowing where to go and who to report to when they were done.

The Zacharia pack, in contrast, moved only when commanded. Years of serving under the old family order had drilled it into them—no action without instruction, no room for personal judgment.

But Warren was no Nina. He wasn’t domineering, and he wasn’t a tactician. Giving orders didn’t come naturally to him. Leadership, as his sister had practiced it, had never been his strength.

Still, after observing how the Wintertooth wolves operated—fluid, instinctive, and efficient—he made a decision. One that felt safe, if not entirely confident.

"Help them in any way you can," he told his pack.

***

One of the wolves found a servant hiding and brought her to Zane. She trembled as she stood before him, eyes wide with fear. When he questioned her about the palace and the city, she answered everything she could—voice shaking, hands clasped tightly in front of her.

She confessed that she and the other servants had gone into hiding the moment they sensed the presence of werewolves.

Vampires had always seen themselves as the superior race, especially compared to werewolves. But these servants weren’t warriors. They knew they wouldn’t survive a clash if the wolves had come to conquer.

"You’re wrong," Zane said gently, trying to ease her fear. "We’re not here to invade your kingdom."

He could see how frightened she was—how hard she’d fought when they first found her. He felt bad for her.

"We came to help. My Alpha arrived here with Riona."

The servant blinked, confused. The name meant nothing to her.

Zane tried again. "The king’s nephew. The Blood Moon child."

He watched her closely, hoping one of the names would strike a chord—and it did.

The servant’s eyes widened at the mention of the Blood Moon child. She’d heard whispers, rumors that passed from one mouth to another in the halls. Now, she shared what little she knew, including the recent arrival of the Nightshade Coven elders.

Her sudden openness felt like a stroke of luck—for the Wintertooth wolves, for Thorin and Riona... maybe even for the world.

Still, Zane couldn’t help but think: had their intentions been darker, had they come to raze the kingdom instead of save it, the Kingdom of Eira would’ve been doomed by a servant with a tongue too loose.

"They departed a while ago," she finished, her final piece of information also the most important.

"Then we move now," Zane said, without hesitation. Now that they had a trail to follow, there was no time to waste.

Just as the group turned to leave the palace, a voice called out behind them. "Where are you going?"

They stopped and looked up.

At the top of the grand staircase stood a tall figure, one hand gripping the railing for support. Zane lifted his gaze, eyes narrowing at the voice’s source.

The servant immediately dropped into a bow. "Your Majesty! You’re awake!"

King Valentin.

But he was not the same monarch Zane remembered. The once-imposing vampire king now looked gaunt, thinner than any ruler should appear. His voice, too, had lost its weight—hoarse and worn, like it hadn’t been used in weeks.

Yet in his eyes, there was still fire. That cold, commanding glare hadn’t dulled. Neither had the iron will behind it.

"Are you heading to Asvaldur?" the king asked.

Zane nodded, quietly assessing the weakened man before him.

"If you’re aiding Riona," King Valentin said, his voice low but firm, "then I’m coming with you."

A beat passed before another voice spoke from the shadows.

"And I," said Margrave Boris, stepping forward.