Two cold baths hadn't done a goddamn thing.
Dexmon had obligations, a crown to protect, alliances to maintain, and she didn't fit into any of it. That's what he kept telling himself. About seventeen times in the last hour.
But his mind kept wandering back to the fact a girl stepped in front of a sword meant for him like her own survival wasn't a priority.
Who the fuck does that?
Then her panic punched him in the chest, and every lie he'd told himself in the last hundred and eighty minutes collapsed on contact.
"What the hell..."
Aegon howled in his mind, knowing exactly who it belonged to.
In hindsight, locking her in a room might have been a tactical error.
Aegon: Oh, a tactical error? You think?
Then something else happened that made him stop mid-step. Her panic tightened into resolve.
Adorable. Unexpected. Potentially problematic.
He entered the healing wing a minute later, and caught her scent immediately.
"Fuck me."
It was stronger than he remembered. His wolf practically rolled over like a dog getting belly rubs.
Aegon: Her scent. HER SCENT. Breathe deeper. Fill the lungs. Use the whole chest.
Dexmon: One more word about breathing and I'm taking a third bath.
Aegon: You take a third bath and I'm shifting in the tub.
The sentry snapped to attention and bowed. Dexmon blew past him and shoved the door open.
Empty bed. Blood on the sheets. I.V. on the floor.
She is no one.
The words came back in his own voice with the precision of a knife he'd thrown himself.
She had woken alone, wounded, locked in a stranger's castle, and done the only thing that made sense to her. She ran. No one had given her a reason to stay. He'd made sure of that.
Aegon: THE BED IS EMPTY.
Dexmon: I can see that. It's fine. She probably made it to the corridor and collapsed.
He'd fix this. Track. Find. Retrieve. Alpha mechanics.
Her scent led him through the corridors, stopping at a tapestry. He yanked it aside and pulled the hidden lever. A narrow door stood ajar.
He stared at it.
Aegon: These tunnels are royal evacuation routes, known only to the bloodline.
Dexmon: Relax. She got lucky and found a door. She's probably lost.
Aegon: LET ME OUT.
Dexmon ignored Aegon and followed her trail through the labyrinth. The path she chose threaded through collapsed passages and dead-end forks.
Twenty-five minutes later he was standing at the treeline recalculating.
Aegon: You said corridor. She's in the FOREST, Dexmon.
Dexmon: Same thing. Two minutes max. Wounded omega versus apex Alpha.
✦✦✦
The ground came up to meet her like an old friend, the impact sending fire through her side. For a moment, forehead pressed to the cold ground, she let herself want to stop.
"Not today."
Two words. The same two words she had whispered to herself every day when she was chained in silver.
She pushed herself to stand, and put one boot in front of the other. Every step was a negotiation with a body that had already quit. But somewhere ahead, Elara was alone, and that was the only thing that mattered.
A leaf cracked nearby and her eyes immediately darted towards the sound. A scent came next that she recognized. Pine and rain. The same scent from the room she'd woken in. Her chest warmed without permission.
"You're the wolf from earlier. Thank you for helping me."
A voice came from the darkness, steady and unhurried. "You were wounded, cornered, and acting like the most dangerous thing in the clearing. From where I stood, you looked like a wet kitten declaring war."
Serena sniffed the air, catching something familiar. She sorted through the scents until Elara's emerged. Her pace quickened.
"You thanked me," he continued. "Unnecessary. Polite, though."
Serena didn't respond. A conversation with a stranger in the trees was the last thing she had time for.
"You know, most people don't keep running after the stabbing part. Bold choice." His voice grew closer but he didn't show himself. "I was curious how far you'd make it. Turns out, farther than expected."
"Your concern is noted. Unnecessary. Polite, though."
His laughter echoed behind her. "Here's the problem, you're not actually going anywhere. You can try. By all means. Prove me wrong."
"That's a lot of confidence for someone hiding in the dark." She picked up her pace, hoping he would take the hint.
He watched her lock onto a fading scent and understood what she had been running toward. "When you fall, I'm stepping in. That's not a negotiation."
Aegon: I can barely sense her wolf. She has no idea we are her mate.
Dexmon: Stop calling her that.
The echo of her pain rode his nerves like a warning. He had already let this go on longer than he should have. Just as he was about to say something else, she came up on a stream. Ice crusted the edges.
Surely she wouldn't—
She would.
Without pause, she waded across until she had to swim.
Dexmon exhaled. "Unbelievable."
She hauled herself up on the opposite bank, legs shaking. Then a cough tore from her chest. Blood followed.
That was enough.
Behind her, a black wolf cleared the stream in a single leap. He shifted mid-air, boots hitting the ground as he closed the distance.
"Stop."
She did not stop. Of course she didn't.
"That scent you are following. Are you looking for someone?"
Her head turned just enough to register a blurred shape beside her. A strange wolf was stalking her in the dark, which was a red flag the size of a continent.
"I saved your life," he said flatly. "If I wanted you dead, you would already be."
"I saved yours. So we are even," she countered, turning away from him.
He watched her sway. "I am going to assume that scent belongs to someone you care about and that you are trying to reach them."
"Yes. She is like a sister to me. I told her to run when we were attacked."
"I will get her. I give you my word."
She made it one more step before gravity won the argument. Her knees gave and Dexmon caught her so fast he wasn't sure his brain had been involved.
"Don't take me back." Her voice was so quiet the trees almost swallowed it. "Not there."
Fear flooded into his chest like it was his own, but it wasn't. Dexmon looked down at her trying to sort through it.
Was she afraid of Drakenfell? Or was she afraid of somewhere else? No. Not on his watch. He didn't like it either way.
The fight left her all at once. Eyes closed. Body slack. Gone.
"Fuck. Hang on."
Dexmon adjusted his grip, and her head settled into the crook of his neck. Mistake number one. When her forehead touched his skin, lightning cracked through every nerve.
"Shit," he breathed. "Really helpful, thanks."
✦✦✦
Across the castle, a light flickered on in the east tower.
Agnes Viremont did not sleep well. She slept even worse when Dexmon was not where he was supposed to be.
'Where he was supposed to be' was a phrase Agnes defined loosely as 'within her line of sight.'
She sat at her vanity, studying her reflection with the focus of a general reviewing a battlefield, and pulled the bell cord for her servant. Twice. The second pull was for emphasis.
Her reflection stared back at her unimpressed. They hate when you do that.
"Good. That's why I do it."
An omega servant appeared moments later. Agnes didn't look away from her reflection when she spoke.
"Status."
"Confirmed, Your Highness. He carried a woman into the healing wing. No name, title, or attractive score."
"Dismissed."
Word traveled fast in Drakenfell. Agnes had already heard three versions. Two said the girl was dying. One said she was beautiful.
An omega. Carried by Dexmon. To the healing wing.
She'd once twisted her ankle on the grand staircase directly in Dexmon's line of sight and he had walked past her. Stepped over her, actually. And this nobody gets the bridal carry?
Her reflection raised an eyebrow she hadn't moved. You sprained your ankle on purpose.
"That is beside the point and also unproven."
Agnes wasn't stupid. This was Dexmon Drakenfell after all. He was a playboy and everyone in Skardos knew it. Women threw themselves at him and that was the rule. But a girl he rescued and carried a girl. That was something Agnes had never competed with.
Have you considered that you might be the villain in this story?
"I am the betrothed. That makes me the protagonist. Read the contract."
The mirror said nothing else. It had learned when to stop.
Agnes glared. "Don't look at me like that. Every love story needs someone willing to fight for it. You're welcome."
You're right. We'll be fine. Agnes Viremont is—
There was a second knock at the door. Agnes closed her eyes.
"What."
"Your Highness, the Prince has left the castle again."
When she opened her eyes, her reflection opened them right back.
Agnes smiled first.