The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 125

Chapter 125: Certified Freak, Seven Languages Deep

Dex was pacing, every step keeping Aegon at bay. His jaw hadn’t unclenched since the library.

Serena would have rather not woken anyone up. She would have rather gone back to bed, pulled the covers over her head, and pretended the last two hours hadn’t happened.

Instead, she was sitting in a leather armchair in Alaric’s study at four in the morning.

Fantastic.

Gav was sprawled in the chair beside her, his shirt still torn and stiff with blood.

His wound was healed, but the shirt was a lost cause, and he was making absolutely no effort to hide the damage.

In fact, he’d been offered a clean shirt twice. He’d declined both times.

"So," Alaric said, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, "Sterling can partially perceive it as a heat distortion. Drakenfell cannot perceive it at all but witnessed physical objects moving without visible cause." He paused. "The entity is hostile, intelligent, and capable of manipulating solid matter. Have I missed anything?"

"The part where it stabbed me," Gav said.

"You’re fine."

"I had a fire poker through my stomach, Alaric."

"And now you don’t." Alaric turned to Serena. "You need to be drinking calming tonics. Every night."

Serena opened her mouth.

He raised his hand. "I’m not finished."

"I understand there’s more at play here than nightmares. Obviously. The matebond break hasn’t healed for you. You severed something at a soul level and in your case, the deepest kind."

"I know," Serena said.

"Then act like it," Alaric snapped.

"And let me be clear," he added. "Using your magic and fighting in battle does not mean you’re healed. It means adrenaline is a hell of a drug and your body hasn’t sent you the bill yet."

Serena swallowed and took a steadying breath. "Understood."

Alaric rubbed his temples. "What were you trying to accomplish tonight?"

"I wanted to find a solution," Serena answered with a sigh. "Hence the library."

"Wandering into the restricted section of a library at three in the morning, alone, to confront something you can barely contain, is stupid. A death wish wearing boots."

"Unlaced boots," Gav added helpfully.

Serena cut him a look. He raised his hands in surrender but didn’t look sorry.

"Sterling, if your next contribution isn’t medically relevant, I’m going to sedate you," Alaric clipped.

He drew a breath, the kind a man takes when he’s trying to find patience. As if he was teaching aether fabrication to chimpanzees.

When he spoke again, his words were slow.

"The tonics will buy you stability and time. Time lets us figure out what else is going on and how to stop it. That is the order of operations. Not the other way around."

Dex stopped pacing. "So fix it."

"I just outlined how."

"No. You outlined how to manage it. I said fix it." Dex’s voice was quiet in the way that meant dangerous. "Something is in her head, Alaric. Tonics aren’t a fix. They’re a bandage on a severed artery."

Alaric held his gaze. "Which is why I called someone."

A knock sounded at the door.

Alaric crossed the room and opened it. The man standing on the other side was tall, lean, and old in the way that mages aged, which was to say his face could have belonged to someone forty or over one hundred. He wore robes of deep charcoal, and his eyes were mismatched, one a deep green, the other gold.

"Maelor, thank you for coming at this hour."

"You said it was urgent." His voice was low. "You are not a man who uses that word frivolously."

Alaric stepped aside. "Everyone, this is Maelor Vantheos, Master Mage of Nightspire."

Maelor’s gaze swept the room, landing on Serena.

He spoke in High Morbian, directed at Alaric, clearly assuming no one else in the room would understand.

"So this is the one who impressed Thornfell. And the one Nightspire wants. For a daughter-in-law or mistress. No one is certain."

Heat crept up Serena’s neck at his words.

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