The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate-Chapter 4: Sexual Harassment (Complimentary). Then Agnes.

Chapter 4: Sexual Harassment (Complimentary). Then Agnes.

Serena’s eyes opened to blur and warmth and the outline of a face she knew.

Elara launched off the chair and starfished her. "I left you. I know you told me to, and I know you’ll tell me it was the right call, and I don’t care. I’m still furious about it."

Pain flared through Serena’s ribs, but she did not make a sound. She wrapped one arm around Elara.

"I’m proud of you for listening to me. That might be a first."

Elara gave a wet laugh and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

A man crossed the room, placing two jars of opaque white liquid on her bedside table. "Drink both of these. Don’t ask what’s in them. You won’t like the answer."

Under normal circumstances, Serena would not have touched it. But her mouth felt like sand, and her throat burned with thirst.

She emptied the first and immediately reached for the second.

"I am Alaric Kestrel. Head Healer of Drakenfell." He pulled a heavy chair towards the bed, the wood scraping against the stone floor, then dropped into it with a weary exhale, crossing one booted ankle over his knee.

"You are Serena Silverveil. Restrained in silver for one year. And lucky to be alive. Recovery will be slow for your wolf."

Serena frowned. "My wolf?"

She had accepted long ago that whatever wolf she was born with had been burned out of her.

"When the wolf dies, the person dies with it. You are alive, which means so is your wolf."

Serena didn’t react, filing that information for another day when she was less dead.

"You look as dangerous as a startled lamb. Why would someone chain you in silver?"

She didn’t usually share information easily, but something in his expression told her he already knew the answer.

"I tried to escape. Twice."

Alaric’s eyes darkened. "Viremont?"

"Yes."

When he left, Elara helped Serena wash, careful around every injury. "You look like hell."

"Still better-looking than you."

"Bold words for someone who spent the last year as haunted decor."

She tossed Serena a black training suit, zippered up the back with the Drakenfell insignia at the shoulder. A black floor-length cloak was folded beneath it.

Serena pulled it on and zipped up the back. It was comfortable, but slightly too loose.

She flashed a smile at Elara. "Now we match."

"Shut up. And yes. We do."

Alaric appeared in the doorway. "Fine. You might as well see where you are. Just don’t pass out."

Serena fell into step beside Elara, following him through the corridor. "Aren’t you busy?"

"Extraordinarily," he answered flatly. "Prince Dexmon personally retrieved you twice, and left clear instructions that you were not to be left unattended until you were properly oriented."

At the words Prince Dexmon, Serena’s foot caught on the edge of a runner.

She pitched forward before she could stop herself.

✦✦✦

Eyes followed Serena unapologetically.

People froze mid-step. Conversations cut off halfway. A warrior dropped a piece of his armor.

She kept her gaze forward, pretending not to notice.

When a passing healer walked into a column, Alaric cleared his throat.

"For the record, he was staring because we hadn’t expected you to be walking today."

Elara nodded. "Don’t worry. She gets stares quite often. When she’s not chained up that is."

Serena shot her a look.

"She is quiet," Alaric commented.

Elara snorted, "Yes, but don’t let that fool you. She’s sharper than a blade."

Serena huffed. "Gods, I am right here."

"You will make enemies quickly." Alaric glanced at Serena. His tone was matter-of-fact, his attention assessing rather than admiring. "Both of you will. Whichever god thought to pair you as friends showed a remarkable lack of mercy."

Elara grinned. "What? You’ve never seen a redheaded vixen and a white-haired menace in the wild?"

Serena shook her head, rolling her eyes, but a reluctant smile tugged at her lips.

Then a voice carried from the far end of the hall.

"The rumors said she was stunning. For once, the rumors were not exaggerating."

Serena turned to see a tall, muscular, and dangerously handsome man closing the distance between them with the confidence of a man who has never once been told ’no’ by a woman or a mirror. His eyes openly assessed her from head to toe without shame or apology.

"Forgive the staring. It’s hard not to when someone walks into a room like thunder wrapped in silk."

Alaric stopped walking.

"For the love of the moon goddess," he muttered.

The man grinned. "Gavriel Sterling, Gamma of Drakenfell."

Serena blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the bluntness. Then instinct took over. She dipped her head and shoulders respectfully, and Elara mirrored the motion beside her without hesitation.

Gavriel laughed once, low and appreciative.

"Polite too," he said. "Men tend to forget themselves around that."

Serena met his gaze, unflinching. "Thank you, Gamma Sterling, for the flattery."

Gavriel’s expression turned wicked. "I am not flattering you. I am interested."

Alaric pinched the bridge of his nose. "I am going to start sedating people."

"Please start with him."

Gavriel laughed. "Careful. Say things like that and I might decide I like you even more."

Dexmon rounded the corner and stalled, his brain momentarily short-circuiting. No one saw, except for Gavriel, who was entirely too distracted to care. He recovered quickly, because Dexmon Drakenfell was a man. Not a little boy seeing a girl for the first time. Mostly.

"Well," he said lightly. "I leave you alone for five minutes and you start trying to recruit chaos in the hallway. Bold strategy, Gav."

"Dex. Buddy. Pal. In my defense, the chaos introduced herself. I was just being polite."

"You have never been polite in your life."

Gavriel clutched his chest. "That hurts. I’m a picture of decorum. Tell him, Serena."

Dexmon let out a breath that was almost a laugh. Then he looked at Serena and the laugh didn’t finish.

He had not at all been prepared to see her standing there, composed and untouched by his authority.

"Prince Dexmon Drakenfell," he said smoothly, as if he hadn’t just lost half a step over her. "Though we have already met in the forest."

Serena’s lips twitched at that and she dipped her head. Elara copied a heartbeat later, chin lowered.

Noticing the blatant stares, Dexmon turned slightly, angling himself just enough to place Serena at his side without touching her. But the message was clear.

The hall resumed its quiet movement, the stares suddenly far more cautious than curious.

"You’ll have to excuse us," Dexmon said.

"Dexmon," a woman’s voice called from down the hall.

Serena’s blood went cold. Her heart thudded and her body flooded with adrenaline. An automatic reflex, developed over four years.

Beside her, Elara inhaled sharply, hands trembling.

Serena gave her hand a brief squeeze. A we’ve survived worse squeeze.

Agnes Viremont stood at the far end of the hall. Dark curly hair. A gown worth more than most people earned in a lifetime.

Alaric shifted slightly, positioning himself between them and Agnes’s line of sight.

Serena stopped breathing. Neither she nor Elara looked up.

For one terrible moment, she was back in chains. Back kneeling on stone floors while this woman walked past without breaking stride. This woman who viewed Serena like she was scum.

Agnes’s eyes passed over her, then settled on Dexmon.

"I was not expecting you until tonight," Dexmon said evenly.

"Clearly."

The single word carried enough ice to cool the corridor.

Agnes turned and walked away without waiting for a response. As if her dismissal was a punishment.

Dexmon turned to follow her, Gavriel behind him.

Serena exhaled slowly, keeping her composure.

Agnes hadn’t recognized her.

Yet.

They were almost out of the corridor when Gavriel turned around and called back down the hall.

"I’ll be back for you, Serena."