The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 250

Chapter 250: Dick-Whipped By Calligraphy

"She, ah." The taller guard cleared his throat. "She asked for room service."

"At this hour?"

"She asked for a cheese board, a bottle of wine, a silk robe in ’champagne, exclusively,’ new pillows because the existing ones were, and I am quoting directly, ’an insult to anyone with a cervical spine,’ and a notary."

Gav blinked. "A notary."

"A notary, sir. She was very specific. She said she needed one for ’documents of a binding nature’ and that if Drakenfell’s legal system was as backwards as its pillow selection, she would draft the terms herself."

The shorter guard added, "She also asked us to rate her outfit. From one to ten. I gave her a seven. She hasn’t spoken to me since."

Gav stared at both of them.

"What did you give her?" he asked the taller one.

"Nine. I panicked."

Gav pushed the door open.

Guinevere Ashford was sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing a silk robe that was decidedly cream and therefore close enough to champagne that she had apparently accepted it under protest. In her lap sat a leather folio. Color-coded tabs. At least eight pages visible. Her dark hair was down, and her hazel eyes found Gav the moment he entered with the sharpness of a woman who had been expecting him for the last hour and had used the time to prepare.

"You’re late," she said.

"I didn’t know I had an appointment."

"You didn’t. You had a window. It closed twenty minutes ago. I’m extending it as a courtesy because I can feel through the matebond that you’ve been crying in a hallway, and I find that both pathetic and endearing in equal measure."

Gav stopped walking. His jaw tightened.

She held up one hand, palm out. "Before you say anything confrontational, I want to establish some parameters."

"Parameters."

"Yes. Sit down. This will go faster if you’re comfortable, and I’ve already organized the agenda."

"There’s an agenda."

"Page two." She turned the folio around and held it up. The page was titled INITIAL TERMS OF ENGAGEMENT in calligraphy so precise it looked typeset. Below it, in bullet points, were sub-sections labeled MUTUAL OBLIGATIONS, PUBLIC CONDUCT, and EMOTIONAL BOUNDARIES.

Gav looked at the folio. Then at her. Then at the folio again.

"When did you write this?"

"Forty-five minutes ago."

He sat, because the alternative was standing while a woman he’d known for less than twelve hours presented a contract at him, and at least sitting gave him the illusion of control.

Guinevere set the folio between them, opened to page one, and began.

"I’m going to save us both a significant amount of time by telling you what I already know, and then you can tell me what I’ve gotten wrong, which will be very little." The look she gave him was condescending and amused in equal measure.

"You are in love with Serena Frostborne. Deeply, painfully, the kind that rewrites your entire personality. I can feel it through the matebond like a second heartbeat, and it is, frankly, obnoxious."

"You are mistaken." Gav’s face didn’t change when he said it.

Guinevere ignored him. "You also love Dexmon Drakenfell. Your best friend. The man whose mate you kissed in a temple while ancestors watched. You are carrying guilt about that the way pack mules carry bricks, which is to say badly and with visible strain."

"Are you done?"

"I’m on point two of seven."

"There are seven?"

"There were nine. I cut two for time." She turned a page. "Point three. You need a mate. A visible, public, confirmed mate who gives Dexmon a reason to trust you again and gives Serena a reason to stop feeling guilty about whatever she feels for you."

She paused. Let that land.

"Point four. I need protection. I assaulted the Crown Princess of Drakenfell in front of witnesses, destroyed property, and drew royal blood. Finnick will have me on trial before the week is out. Drakenfell is considering exile. I have burned every bridge I own and several I was borrowing."

"Your bridges weren’t borrowed. You stole them."

"Semantics." She waved a hand. "Point five. We are fated mates. Rejecting the matebond will cause you physical pain and possibly psychological damage."

Gav stared at her.

She held his gaze without flinching. "I’m the best option you have, Gavriel Sterling. You need a mate. I need an ally. We are already bonded by fate, which means the hard part is done. Everything else is logistics."

The silence stretched.

"You drew blood on our crown princess," he said. His voice was quiet. Controlled. The kind of controlled that preceded storms. "You stole her mother’s necklace. You threw a teacup at her collarbone. You chased Dexmon naked through Shadowclaw trying to bite him with a binder full of wedding invitations for a man you’d never spoken to."

"The binder was aspirational."

"The binder was psychotic."

"Vision boarding is a legitimate practice, Gavriel. My execution was aggressive, I’ll grant you that. The vision was sound."

He leaned forward. "Let me be very clear about something. You are my fated mate. I didn’t choose that. The Moon Goddess has a sense of humor that I do not appreciate."

"Noted."

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