The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 678

Chapter 678: His Word Was Enough

Tiberon’s eyes went the temperature of a glacier. Every sound on the training field died at once. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed.

Gavriel did not flinch. "This is a false parley. I have seen this happen before."

"You have seen this ’happen before’," Hyran repeated, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes," Gavriel replied. "I saw things in the coma that I cannot explain to you in the time we have. That is a false parley to lure you out of Drakenfell for ambush. They will be attacking Drakenfell as well." His voice dropped to something quiet and absolute. "I will put my rank and my family name behind every word I just said. I am not wrong, Alpha."

Tiberon studied him.

The studying lasted three seconds, during which the King of Drakenfell looked into the eyes of the Gamma he had raised beside his son, the boy whose training he had overseen, whose rank he had signed, whose potential he had measured against a standard only Dexmon had ever met.

The boy the ancestors had called his second son.

Gavriel held the look. His green eyes were bright, burning with a conviction that had no evidence he could present and every ounce of truth his soul could carry.

He was asking Tiberon to trust him, his third-in-command, and override his own instincts built over thirty years with no evidence, just his word and his eyes and the desperate, bone-deep certainty of a man trying to save a father.

"My Gamma is someone whose judgment I trust," Tiberon stated, loud enough that every person on the field could hear. "I will decline the parley. Wartime footing. Effective immediately. Seal Drakenfell. Nothing in, nothing out. We prepare."

Gavriel’s shoulders dropped by an inch.

The order hit the field and the field obeyed. Bodies moved in every direction at once, wolves to the gates, handlers to the roosts, cadets to the armory, the entire training ground converting from peacetime to wartime in the time it took Tiberon to take his next breath.

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TWENTY MINUTES LATER - DRAKEN FORCES MOBILIZATION

WHUMP.

Velkaris landed on a side field and Dexmon jumped off his back in the same motion. His eyes locked on Tiberon immediately. The voice that came out of him was still very much the Dragon King’s voice.

"There is a fleet approaching from the south. Fifty dragons at minimum. It is possible there are more. Every single one of them has been corrupted."

Tiberon’s gaze moved to Gavriel Sterling, lingering for a moment before moving back to Dexmon.

"Distance?"

"Twenty minutes at combat speed." The Dragon King’s gold eyes tracked something invisible to every other person on the field, reading the sky the way Tiberon read a battlefield, in layers, each layer producing intelligence the naked eye could not access. "They’re holding formation. Disciplined. Whoever commands them has done this before."

"Fifty against our full complement."

"Your complement is one hundred and seventy-three combat-ready dragons, twelve of which are currently grounded for molt or injury." The Dragon King paused. "The mathematics favor you. The mathematics also assume you are not spread across three defensive perimeters and a coastal patrol that was redeployed last week."

Tiberon looked at him.

The Dragon King looked back with his son’s face and another man’s patience.

"I pay attention, King Drakenfell."

✦✦✦

FORTY MINUTES LATER

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