Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 249

Chapter 249: Lunaris Can Fight Me For Custody

Damage control was the Beta default setting. Daily. Unavoidable. Damon was very, very good at it.

He’d seen Nicholas Shadowfell cheat death, win wars, crush negotiations, and pull the occasional ballsy move that made every other Alpha look like they were wearing water-wings in the kiddie pool while Nicholas was free-diving with sharks.

Nothing fazed Damon Tavian.

Nicholas marking his fated mate in front of eighteen people?

Damon saw that coming from a mile away. Their matebond had been blocked, she looked like she’d been through a battle, Nicholas had royally shit the bed, and now she was trying to leave.

Guinevere marking Nicholas back?

Damon had called that shot two days ago. Blair had been looking for something on Nick’s neck, noted the absence of the mark Maddox already sported, and Damon solved the riddle in real time.

Nicholas mating with Guinevere right there on the spot?

That managed to catch Damon off guard. Nicholas Shadowfell was clearly not in the driver’s seat. Him losing control to his wolf was the kind of once-in-a-lifetime shit most people never got to witness.

Marking? Expected. Counter-mark? Called that shit. Wall sex in front of eighteen witnesses? That one was on the house.

The rookie Beta, still with both hands on his blade, looked like he’d just been struck by lightning and was waiting for the follow-up bolt to finish the job.

Damon guided him from the room while the rest of Nicholas’s men moved the Lunaris wolves the way shepherds move sheep.

The rookies went.

None of them put up a fight. All six of them shuffling down the corridor with the blank, thousand-yard stare of soldiers who had seen too much.

Reed: I want a raise.

Damon: I want amnesia.

Reed: I want a raise AND amnesia.

Damon: I want to go back in time to before he said "privately in my chambers" and tackle him before the sentence finished.

Reed: How far back would you go?

Damon: To birth. His. Mine. I’m flexible.

Damon stopped at a door on the Shadowfell floor. Opened it.

Inside was a bar. Armchairs. A hearth. No bed. A room built for meetings.

"Who wants a whiskey?" Damon asked.

Door kid’s hand shot up before the sentence finished. He looked like he needed three whiskeys and a hug and was willing to accept them in any order.

"That’s one."

"Me," the youngest said.

"Two."

"All of us," Gavyn said. "Pour for all of us."

"That’s six. Let’s go."

Damon poured.

Eighteen glasses. One for each of them.

Gavyn took his whiskey and drank the entire thing. Set the glass down. Damon refilled it without a word.

That’s when Gavyn glanced around the room, taking in the man-cave aesthetic and comfortable chairs meant for important conversations such as talking shit on other packs and plotting world domination.

Damon watched the lightbulb flicker on.

"There’s a meeting room assigned to every pack," he explained.

"We were in her bedroom," Gavyn said.

"You were in her bedroom," Damon confirmed.

"Sitting in her armchairs."

"Sitting in her armchairs. Congratulations."

Door kid was already on his third glass. Damon refilled it without judgment.

Reed: Are we fostering or adopting?

Damon: Adopting.

Reed: Dibs on door kid.

Damon: I get the Beta. You get door kid. We split the rest on weekends.

Reed: Beta boy tried to kill our Alpha. That’s the cone of shame and no treats for a week if Nick asks.

Damon: Nick just fucked his mate against a wall in front of eighteen witnesses. He doesn’t get an opinion on anything for at least a week.

Reed: Same second. Same face. Same "oh SHIT" expression.

Damon: Yup.

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