The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 2

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.

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

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

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