The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 459

Chapter 459: Defensive Drill With A Damn Exhibitionist

Thor walked onto the field like he was the hottest thing on it, his chest puffed, chin high, arms held out like his lats required their own dedicated airspace. They did not.

Serena’s jaw dropped for half a second before she caught it and put it back where it belonged.

Thor. Thor was the wolf. Thor Crushturn, the man who had narrated her dragon training like a pornographic sports broadcast, the man whose disciplinary file was thicker than most military textbooks, was going to be the wolf she fought in her first one-on-one combat drill.

The Moon Goddess was absolutely fucking with her.

On the sideline, Dex pinched the bridge of his nose so hard his knuckles went white. Fin closed his eyes and didn’t open them for three full seconds.

The problem with Thor was he was a competent soldier which somehow made up for the other shit he pulled.

Tiberon had picked Thor for a reason. What that reason was, Serena couldn’t be sure.

He stopped ten paces from center field. He rolled his neck. Cracked his knuckles. Surveyed the crowd with the satisfied expression of a man who believed every pair of eyes on this field was here for him.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and whoever else showed up to witness greatness." He spread his arms. "The Crushturn is IN."

He winked at the crowd. Nobody winked back. The silence did not diminish Thor’s confidence by even a fraction, because Thor’s confidence was not a democracy. It was a dictatorship.

"Frostborne. I have to be honest. I’ve been manifesting you pinning me down since I trained you on water dragons and today it is coming true. You. Me. Combat drills."

Serena blinked a few slow, disbelieving times. This man had never trained her on water dragons. His actual job was spotting her. What he actually did was snitch on her for using magic like a goddamn hall monitor with a hard-on for rules.

"I want everyone to know," Thor continued, projecting to the crowd, "that if the princess mounts me in wolf form, I am counting that. It counts. Check the regs. There is nothing in the Draken Forces code of conduct that says a royal mount does not count."

Two soldiers in the front row locked eyes like they’d just witnessed a war crime. A third mouthed ’royal mount’ and shook his head. The resigned head-shake of a man who had survived years next to Thor Crushturn and already knew that exact phrase would be force-fed to every meal for the next half-year with zero chance of parole.

"Also, Frostborne, your training suit looks incredible today and I mean that in the most inappropriate way possible. If I shift and my wolf tries to lick the princess, that’s him, not me. We’ve discussed boundaries."

Dexmon’s eyes flared gold. Full flash, molten, instant, the irises going from brown to wolf-gold in the time it took Thor’s sentence to reach his ears. Beside him, Fin’s eyes did the exact same thing at the exact same time, gold erupting in both irises simultaneously, two Alpha wolves surfacing at the same moment for the same reason.

Synchronized fury. A new achievement for two men who agreed on almost nothing.

"Crushturn," Tiberon clipped. His voice carried exactly zero amusement.

Thor heard the temperature.

"Yes, Your Majesty. Ready for duty. Professional. Focused. Fully clothed and intending to remain that way unless instructed otherwise."

Tiberon locked eyes with him for two seconds. The stare screamed pure cost-benefit analysis: is the operational value of this drill worth the absolute fucking headache of the man about to execute it?

The calculation landed on the drill. Barely.

"Basic. Level One. Defensive stance and spacing. Non-lethal simulation," Tiberon ordered. "You are the aggressor. She is the defender. You will attack at half speed. You will make contact at quarter force. She does not get injured."

"Wouldn’t dream of it, Your Majesty. I’m a protector. A guardian. A gentle giant with feline reflexes and the iron willpower of a man who has never once—"

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