The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 583

Chapter 583: The Fellowship Of The Shiny Things

Riven Nightspire had seen wars. He’d seen betrayals. He’d seen political collapses that rewrote maps. He had never seen two Alpha wolves track a bouncing light with the synchronized intensity of house cats watching a laser pointer.

But before that his eyes were glued on Serena because she was glowing green. It was weaving into the gold that Dexmon was giving her, reaching places that the gold couldn’t reach on its own.

Then his gaze shifted to the source. Gavriel Sterling.

The Gamma of Drakenfell. The man whose magical signature Maelor had been annotating in a journal that was threatening to become a manuscript. Sitting in a chair at the foot of the bed, glowing emerald from head to boots, pouring Fae magic into the Crown Prince’s mate. His magic was a self-appointed, self-dispatched, self-righteous son of a bitch that took orders from nobody and produced results anyway.

Nightspire’s mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

He exchanged a look with Maelor, his expression saying: I assumed you were being dramatic. He is actually green. He is VERY green. But why is SHE glowing green.

Maelor’s expression said very clearly, I have no desire to be the one holding THAT grenade when it detonates. But I believe you know exactly what you’re looking at.

Nightspire had just watched a Gamma pour Fae magic into his daughter and his daughter’s body had responded to it with the immediate, instinctive recognition of something that shared a frequency. The frequency-sharing had implications that Nightspire’s brain was processing at a speed that exceeded his willingness to accept the results.

Then Maelor reached into his robes and produced the gold keychain charm.

The charm caught the sconce light. Maelor held it between two fingers and gave it one slow, deliberate wiggle.

Both Dexmon and Gavriel’s eyes snapped to it.

Both. Simultaneously. The synchronization was flawless. Involuntary and flawless. Two men whose combined kill count could populate a cemetery, tracking a trinket with the collective focus of puppies at a pet store.

Dexmon’s head tilted by three degrees. Gavriel’s head tilted by four. Neither of them noticed they were doing it. Neither of them noticed the other was doing it. Blissful ignorance. Beautiful, unsalvageable, career-ending blissful ignorance, preserved in the memories of every mage in the room forever.

The tilting was happening beneath the level of conscious awareness, operating on a frequency that lived somewhere between wolf instinct and whatever the hell Maelor’s charm was doing to the light in the room.

Aeron, who had entered the room behind Nightspire and Maelor and had been waiting for exactly this moment with the patient focus of a cat waiting at a mouse hole, vibrating with a competitive energy that had been building since Maelor got the first head-tilt.

SNAP.

He snapped and a gold orb materialized above his palm. Warm. Humming. Pulsing with a light that was objectively shinier than the keychain and producing a sound that had no business being that pleasant. Acoustic manipulation at its finest. Technically cheating. Aeron was fine with that.

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