The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate-Chapter 2: He’s Possessive. She’s Gone.

A portal tore open in the clearing.

Dexmon stepped through without slowing, the girl still in his arms, warm blood soaking through his shirt.

They emerged in the healing wing of Drakenfell, white marble replacing forest.

"Healing protocols—" a healer started to say.

Dexmon walked past without sparing them a glance.

"Your Highness," Alaric said, falling into step beside him.

"She took a blade to the side." Saying it aloud tasted like failure and Dexmon Drakenfell did not fail. He should have been the one to stop that blade, not her.

Alaric’s hands glowed gold, still walking with Dexmon. Her shirt was torn on her side, and he could see the stab wound clearly. His healing magic should have closed it rapidly, but her skin knit slowly.

His mouth thinned. "I don’t like that."

Serena arched suddenly with a broken, thin whimper.

Alaric cursed and pulled his hands back. "She can feel it. I need to take a closer look."

Dexmon’s grip tightened on her.

"Hand her over. We will get her stabilized." Alaric stepped in front of Dexmon, arms outstretched.

Dexmon looked at him.

Alaric reconsidered his life choices and moved aside.

Dexmon brushed past him into a private chamber reserved for royals and laid her gently on the bed. His hands lingered a fraction longer than necessary before he forced himself to step back.

Alaric rolled up his sleeves with the resigned air of a man about to work under a very large apex predator.

Golden light poured from his hands over her body. The wound still resisted his healing.

"Long-term silver exposure, blood loss, and severe dehydration." Alaric eyed Dexmon’s blood-soaked shirt. "Yours or hers?"

"Hers."

"Who is she?"

"I don’t know. She was fighting rogues when I found her."

Alaric hummed, unconvinced. He brushed her hair aside to examine her neck. The instant his fingers touched her skin, every muscle in Dexmon’s body locked. She was not his to touch.

He shook his head, forcing the instinct back. It was senseless considering he didn’t even know her name.

Aegon: Bite him.

Dexmon: No.

Aegon: A corrective bite. On the hand. Wolves do it all the time.

"Silver burns stacked," Alaric said quietly, examining her throat. "Someone took their time with her. Fortunately, they’re faint; they’ll fade."

He moved his hand, checking the rest of her neck. "She’s unmarked."

A dark heat flared in Dexmon’s chest, making his blood thrum. He already knew she was unmarked. It was irrelevant.

"She has a wolf. Silver poisoning proves it," Alaric added, oblivious to the lethal tension radiating from the Alpha behind him. "But there’s another signature beneath the surface. Similar to fae, yet not."

"What is it?"

"No idea. And I don’t like saying that."

"She is not to be logged," Dexmon clipped. "Not as a guest or patient."

"That removes her rights—"

"Until I decide what she is, she is no one."

Alaric glanced down at her, his brows knitting. "And if she wakes?"

"She will not be told where she is."

Dexmon had the urge to hold her. It’d been getting worse since he put her down and that was a problem. Because there was already a woman waiting for him in his chambers. A chosen mate whose future his mother had negotiated before he’d learned to hold a sword.

Aegon: Get in that bed with her.

Dexmon: There is no version of reality.

Aegon: You won’t even have to do anything. Just lie there. I promise nothing will happen. I’ll be calm.

Nothing about the energy behind those words suggested calm.

Aegon: I can hear you doubting me. That’s hurtful.

Dexmon tore his gaze away from her. If he stayed any longer, he would lose his resolve. He left without another word, ignoring his wolf’s snarls.

As the door closed, gold light flickered beneath the girl’s skin. Alaric froze, I.V. in hand. He blinked as if his eyes were deceiving him.

"That is going to be a problem."

✦✦✦

Serena bolted upright with a sharp gasp, pain immediately lancing through her side from the movement. Her body was drenched in sweat and her lungs burned, like she’d just run a marathon.

"Where the hell am I?" she rasped, scanning the room as her heart pounded in her ears.

Stone walls draped in rich fabric. Silk sheets beneath her. The luxury was hardly comforting. The last time she’d been in a place this nice, someone had tried to kill her.

Her fingers brushed her throat out of habit. No collar.

But that still didn’t mean she was safe. She’d die before anyone put her in a cage again.

She took a careful breath, and a name cut through the fog: Elara.

The thought struck like cold water, pushing aside her injuries. Elara was the closest thing to family she had left.

Shit.

She swung her legs off the bed, her boots hitting the floor with a dull thud. Ignoring her body’s protests, she crossed the room and slipped through the door.

The corridor was empty.

Unexpected déjà vu slammed into her so sharply, she faltered for half a step.

Just my mind playing tricks, she told herself, pushing the feeling down. She didn’t have time for ghosts.

Voices drifted from around the corner ahead.

"...can’t keep her here."

"She doesn’t belong in the keep. An unmarked, unknown woman from gods know where. Princess Agnes will have questions, and the Prince already made his decision."

Serena slowed, pressing herself into the shadow of an alcove.

"What decision?"

"To keep her hidden until she stops being a problem."

Serena gasped, much louder than she intended in a silent corridor. Fantastic.

"Who goes there?" a voice called out. Footsteps quickened, and two long shadows stretched across the stone floor towards her.

Fight-or-flight instinct took over. She took off at a full sprint, her legs knowing the way before her mind caught up, skidding to a halt in front of a heavy tapestry. She ducked behind it, fingers finding a hidden latch, and she dove inside.

Armored boots thundered past.

It was pitch black. Trusting her instincts to guide her, she turned and broke into a run through the darkness.

Elara was the most important person in the world to her and adrenaline was one hell of a painkiller. It wouldn’t last, and the crash would be spectacular, but that was a future-Serena problem.

Elara was alive. She had to be.

Serena clung to that certainty as she ran, because if she let go of it for even a second, she would fall.

Finally, cold air hit her face. She burst out of the tunnel and headed straight for the tree line.

Only when she was deep in the forest did the question surface: How had she known the way out?

The tunnels felt familiar, each turn instinctive, as if she had walked this path a hundred times before.

She hadn’t.

Had she?