The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate-Chapter 3: Wet Kitten Declaring War

Dexmon had not been able to stop thinking about her. Three meetings and two cold baths later, and he could still smell her.

His mind kept going back to the clearing. To the blood on his hands and the weight of her in his arms.

He shook his head. No. He 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.

Then panic twisted in his chest without warning. Not his. He stopped, mid-step due to the sheer intensity of it.

"What the hell..."

Aegon howled in his mind, knowing exactly who it belonged to.

She woke up and was afraid. In hindsight, locking her in a room might have been a tactical error.

Then something else happened that made him pause. Her panic tightened into resolve.

Adorable. Unexpected. Potentially problematic.

He entered the healing wing a minute later, and caught her scent immediately.

Fuck.

It was stronger than he remembered. His wolf practically rolled over like a dog getting belly rubs. Traitor.

When he reached the guarded chamber, the sentry snapped to attention and bowed. Dexmon didn’t acknowledge him and pushed the door open.

The bed was empty.

For one stupid, suspended moment, his mind supplied the wrong answer.

Safe. She’s awake and healed.

Then the truth slammed in.

She is no one.

The words came back in his own voice with the precision of a knife he’d thrown himself.

This was on him. She had woken alone, wounded, locked in a stranger’s castle, and done the only thing that made sense to her. She ran. Because no one had given her a reason to stay. He’d made sure of that.

He closed his eyes and mindlinked immediately.

Dexmon: The girl. Where is she?

Alaric: In the chambers assigned to her. I checked on her an hour ago. Her silver poisoning is more severe than I thought. She shouldn’t be conscious for days.

Dexmon: I am standing in those chambers. She is not here.

Footsteps thundered from the hall. Alaric burst through the door, slightly breathless. He took in the empty bed and blood-spotted sheets.

"Come with me," Dexmon said flatly, already moving out of the room.

It wasn’t a request.

Dexmon followed her scent through the corridors, stopping at a tapestry. He yanked it aside and pulled the hidden lever. A narrow door stood ajar.

"Was she an omega servant?" Alaric asked, frowning as they stepped inside. "Even my most senior healers don’t know about these tunnels."

Dexmon’s brows furrowed, not answering.

These tunnels were royal evacuation routes, known only to the bloodline. Either she’d been briefed, unlikely for an omega, or she’d navigated them on instinct.

Neither option made sense.

He followed her trail deeper, through the labyrinth. Most tunnels were collapsed passages and dead ends.

Yet the path she’d chosen cut through them cleanly. The most direct route.

They emerged at last into open air. Her scent was still there, mixed with blood.

"Be ready to open a portal on my signal," he called behind him, shifting to wolf mid-step.

The hunt had begun.

✦✦✦

Serena slipped, crashing on her stomach. A whimper tore from her throat before she could stop it.

For a moment, she stayed there, forehead pressed to the cold ground. The urge to rest was overwhelming.

Just for a moment. Just to close her eyes.

No.

She forced herself upright, and her legs moved. 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 math that mattered.

A leaf cracked nearby and she stiffened. Her eyes snapped towards the sound, breath hitching.

Something was moving towards her.

She caught the scent and recognition hit.

Had he followed her?

"You’re the wolf from earlier," she said, voice level. "Thank you for helping me."

There was no response.

She let out a short, humorless laugh and shook her head. "Right then. Good talk. I’m losing my mind."

A voice came from the darkness, steady and unhurried.

"You’re not losing your mind. I was there earlier. You were wounded, cornered, and acting like the most dangerous thing in the clearing."

"From where I stood," he added, amused, "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." He moved closer but still didn’t show himself. "I was curious how far you’d make it. Turns out, farther than expected."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "Your concern is noted. Unnecessary. Polite, though."

She heard him laugh behind her.

"Here’s the problem," he said. "You’re not actually going anywhere."

"You can try," he added lightly. "By all means. Prove me wrong."

Serena laughed under her breath. "That’s a lot of confidence for someone hiding in the dark."

"When you fall. I’m stepping in. That’s not a negotiation."

He watched her lock onto a fading scent and understood what she had been running toward.

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, Serena 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. Below freezing and she just walked in. Unbelievable.

She hauled herself up on the opposite bank, legs shaking. 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.

Her head turned just enough to register a blurred shape beside her. Time was running out. The longer she waited, the colder Elara’s trail became.

"That scent you are following." His voice cut through her thoughts. "Are you looking for someone?"

Uncertainty flickered across her face.

"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.

She was keeping score. While bleeding. While hypothermic. While walking away from the crown prince of Drakenfell like he was a stranger offering directions she didn’t need.

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."

She drew a steadying breath and swallowed. "Yes. She is like a sister to me. I told her to run when we were attacked."

"I will get her," he said, tone firm. "I give you my word."

She tried to take another step, but her knees buckled. Dexmon caught her easily, scooping her up into his arms.

"Don’t take me back," she whispered. "Not there."

His heart cracked at her words, harder than it should have.

Her fear washed into him through their matebond. It was so intense it gave him pause. Was she afraid of Drakenfell? Or was she afraid of somewhere else?

No. Not on his watch. He didn’t like it either way.

Before he could respond, her body went slack, eyes closing.

He held her tighter as if the pressure of his arms could undo whatever had been done to her before he ever knew she existed. It couldn’t. He knew that. But his body refused to accept it.

Dexmon: Alaric. I need a portal opened now.

Alaric: Location?

Dexmon glanced once at the surrounding trees, already committing the terrain to memory.

Dexmon: Northern forest, west of the river bend. She has collapsed. Blood loss and hypothermia.

Alaric: On my way.

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 muttered. That combined with her scent was maddening. 𝚏𝐫𝚎𝗲𝕨𝐞𝐛𝕟𝚘𝐯𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝗺

His wolf howled in victory. Of course he did.

A portal tore open moments later and Alaric moved straight to Serena.

His hands glowed gold assessing her. "She’s either stupid, stubborn, or has a death wish. My money’s on all three."

"Take her back. She was separated from her friend, and I told her I’d handle it."

He transferred Serena into Alaric’s arms. Every muscle in his body fought it, like he was handing over a vital organ. His wolf snarled, unhappy that she was being touched and carried away by another man.

At least, that’s what he told himself. It was his wolf reacting.

Irrational? Absolutely. He was about to chase a half-dead omega’s friend through a forest because he made a promise to a girl he couldn’t name. Peak decision-making.

He watched Alaric carry her through the portal until it snapped shut.

Dexmon launched into a run, black fur replacing skin, following the trail.

He had given his word.

And he intended to keep it.

✦✦✦

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."

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.