The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 457

Chapter 457: White Wolves Don’t Exist. (Surprise, Bitch.)

"Fine," she said. "But then we are having tea. Non-negotiable."

His eyes agreed. The agreement was immediate, genuine, and carrying the specific sincerity of a dragon who understood that cooperation produced baths and massages and resistance produced lectures, and the bath-to-lecture ratio favored cooperation.

She walked toward the arena. Petra fell into step beside her, Avalon on her hip, both women navigating the flow of personnel with the composed authority of a queen and her attendant cutting through a crowd that parted for them because the crowd had learned that failing to part produced commentary.

They reached the edge of the training field. A cluster of Draken Forces soldiers were gathered along the perimeter, craning their necks, jostling for sightlines.

"What are they gawking at?" Bellatrix snapped at the nearest soldier, a young man whose posture went rigid so fast his spine nearly overcorrected.

"The princess training on shifts, Your Grace." He swallowed. "Her wolf is what everyone wants to see."

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. The eye roll was comprehensive, full-rotation, the specific ocular event she reserved for information she found beneath her intelligence and above her patience.

She had read about Serena’s wolf in the Knotty Omega. White wolf. Glowing. Stunning. The publication had dedicated three paragraphs to the description with the breathless enthusiasm of a gossip column that had stumbled onto actual news and was milking it for every subscription it could produce.

She put those odds at zero. White wolves were mythology. Fantasy. The kind of thing children whispered about and scholars debated and nobody had ever actually confirmed, because confirming it would require a white wolf to exist, and white wolves did not exist, because the universe was many things but it was rarely that dramatic.

Serena’s wolf was probably grey. Maybe brown. Possibly, if the Moon Goddess was feeling generous and Bellatrix was feeling charitable in her assessment, pink or gold. A rarity, like her own purple. Something unusual enough to generate gossip and ordinary enough to fade from conversation within a month.

The absolute last thing that girl needed was another distinction. Another title, another rarity, another reason for every wolf on the continent to look at Serena Frostborne and see something exceptional. The girl already had two Alpha mates, a dragon, magic, a coronation, and a jawline that made Bellatrix’s own mirrors feel competitive. If the wolf was white on top of all of that, the universe had favorites and the favoritism was obscene.

Her eyes moved past the crowd and found the arena floor.

Tiberon was there.

Her gaze sharpened. Tiberon was on the training floor, positioned against the far wall, arms clasped behind his back, watching the center of the arena with the focused attention of a man supervising a session.

Serena was in the center. Training suit. Hair pulled back.

No Dexmon. Tiberon was working with Serena one-on-one.

Her eyes narrowed.

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