The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 440

Chapter 440: Ran From Dick To Save A Dress

SHADOWCLAW — ALPHA QUARTERS

The door closed. Serena opened her mouth, fully locked and loaded with the argument she had been polishing since the moment she realized the scale of the ’small celebration.’ Key phrases included ’four hundred wolves,’ ’casual my ass,’ and ’premeditated.’

Fin’s mouth found hers before the first word made it out.

The kiss was immediate and hungry, carrying every ounce of pent-up energy from three hours of watching his mate charm his kingdom in his colors. His patience had been rationed across four hundred handshakes, elder conversations, and a speech that made his chest ache with pride. The rationing was over. The patience was spent.

She tried to stay mad. The mad was justified. Exhibit A: the "casual" sapphire gown. Exhibit B: the surprise crowning announcement. Exhibit C: the speech she had been given enough time to blink twice before delivering. Exhibit D: the grin that said he would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

His lips found her jaw. The anger stumbled.

His mouth moved to her neck. The anger took a knee.

His teeth grazed her mark, and the anger packed its bags and left without notice.

"I’m mad at you, Finnick," she managed.

"I know." Kiss on her collarbone. "You’re gorgeous when you’re mad." Kiss beneath her ear. "You’ve been composing a lecture for the last hour. I could feel it through the matebond." Kiss on her throat. "The lecture had bullet points. I felt those too."

"It had three bullet points."

"I’m sure they were excellent." His hands found her waist. "You can deliver them after."

"After what?"

His answer was physical. He walked her backwards, mouth never leaving her skin, until the backs of his legs hit the bed. He sat, pulling her down with him.

She landed on top of him. His hands were already moving, fingers finding the lacing at her back, working the ties with a speed that suggested the lacing was an obstacle and the obstacle had been identified and the identification had produced urgency.

The lacing held.

Fin’s fingers fumbled on the second knot. The fumbling was foreign to hands that negotiated treaties and wielded blades and had never once encountered a knot they could not solve, and the knot was winning, and the winning was producing a sound from Fin’s throat that was equal parts frustration and disbelief.

"Who tied this?" he muttered against her mouth.

"I did."

"You tied it like you were securing a military tent."

"I tied it like a woman who wanted her dress to stay on."

His hands abandoned the knots. She felt the shift in his grip, the transition from untying to tearing, the specific tensing of forearms that preceded the destruction of fabric, and the tensing activated a reflex that had been building since the moment she put this dress on.

Oh hell no.

Serena moved.

She was across his chambers before his hands closed. Alpha speed.

One second on the bed, the next second against the far wall, fifteen feet of distance between them, the sapphire dress still intact.

Fin’s arms closed around air. His hands, which had been gripping the waist of a woman who was no longer there, completed the gripping motion on nothing.

He looked at his hands. Looked at the bed. Looked across the room.

Serena was standing against the wall with both hands behind her back, already working the lacing herself with unwavering focus. She was going to remove this dress safely if it was the last thing she did.

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