Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 237

Chapter 237: Bachelor Pad Guy Is Her WHAT

Bitch. Witch. Liar. Con job. That was Guinevere’s highlight reel until a king called her mate. This man who had just put every wolf in the chamber on their knees.

She looked at him. Recognition punched her in the chest like a bucket of ice water. He was one of the men living in the goddamn brown room bachelor pad she’d woken up in. What the actual fuck was her life.

Nicholas Shadowfell met her eyes and held them with the kind of intensity that felt less like a look and more like an invisible hand pressing down on her.

Her wolf surged.

The rise was immediate, fierce, and completely irrational. It pushed against her ribs with an urgency that bordered on desperation.

She blinked it down.

It came back.

Her wolf didn’t say mate. It was confused and pulling towards something with the blind conviction of a compass needle that couldn’t find north but refused to stop spinning.

Fated matebonds didn’t always surface for women until their mid-twenties. She knew this. She’d read about it. Some women felt the pull immediately. Others went years before the recognition hit. There was a very real chance her wolf was reacting to something it couldn’t identify yet, a signal too early to decode, a frequency her body was receiving but her mind couldn’t translate.

Or Nicholas Shadowfell was confused.

That was equally possible. No, she had never heard of a wolf misidentifying his mate, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t possible. Especially under stress. Right?

Sure, Guinevere.

She had technically already slept near, woken up next to, and run from this man. If this was a fated matebond, the universe had a sick fucking sense of humor and owed them both a formal goddamn apology.

His face was doing something complicated she couldn’t read. The muscles around his eyes were tight but his mouth was neutral and his jaw was locked in a position that could have been anger or restraint or something else entirely that she didn’t have a dictionary for. Every micro-expression contradicted the last one, and the result was a face at war with itself in a language she didn’t speak.

She thought about Kael.

The sparks. The gold. The matebond mark on her neck. The way his touch lit her skin like a circuit completing. Everything between them pointed in one direction and that direction was clear.

Maybe Kael was her chosen mate. The one her father had arranged. The man she’d been sold to, marked by, and mated with on a bed full of pillows she’d mocked. Maybe the matebond with Kael was real and Nicholas’s wolf was reacting to something else. Proximity. Stress. A misfire.

She looked away first.

Deliberate. Controlled. Eyes moving to the table, then to her chair, then to anywhere that wasn’t the man standing six feet away staring at her like she was the answer to a question he’d been asking for years.

Her hand drifted to her throat without thinking. Fingertips found the cut. Wet. She pulled her hand back and looked at the blood on her fingers with the detached calm of a woman who had run out of adrenaline three crises ago.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify