The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate-Chapter 9: Ma’am, This Is a Ritual

The door slammed open, hitting the wall with a crack. Gavriel filled the frame, chest heaving.

"Get up. We need to go. Right now."

Serena and Elara both shot to their feet, fully vertical before the last word landed.

"What happened?"

Gavriel held the tension for two seconds longer than any decent person would.

"Nothing. Just checking your reflexes." He looked at Serena. "Ten out of ten."

Serena grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it at his head so hard it split open, showering him in feathers.

"What?" He spat out a feather, grinning with his arms raised in surrender.

Elara lowered herself onto the bed very slowly. "I’m going to kill him before we get initiated, Serena."

When the last feather landed, Gavriel then fully took in Serena. He froze. It was brief. A quarter-second glitch in an otherwise impeccable performance of casual indifference.

"You, uh..." he cleared his throat, then gave a crooked grin. "You look significantly less half-dead than yesterday. Borderline stunning, even. Disgusting."

Serena rolled her eyes. "And you look like someone tried to smuggle sarcasm through customs and failed."

Gavriel clutched his chest. "That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me."

Elara snorted. "You’ve known each other two days. Act like it."

"Fair. Shall we?" He offered his arm with the exact amount of sarcasm required to make it unclear whether he was being chivalrous or mocking. Both, probably.

They moved through the halls at a steady pace. Stares followed Serena, per usual. More than Gavriel expected. He shifted closer to her after the first corridor.

It didn’t help.

The gazes changed, sliding from who is that to is she with him. Gavriel’s mouth almost curved. Almost. He was a professional. Professionals don’t grin like idiots in hallways. That was a Dexmon move.

"I have a theory about you," he said to Serena, hands clasped behind his back like a man taking a stroll.

"Keep it."

"Too late. Here it is. You look like trouble but pretend like you don’t know it."

"I do not." Serena shot him a look that would have made a lesser man forget his own name.

Gavriel didn’t blink, absorbing it like sunlight. "Cute. Save that look for Hyran at the ceremony. That’s his love language."

"Are you two going to do this the entire walk?" Elara snapped.

"Probably," they answered in unison, then both looked mildly alarmed that they’d done that.

The ritual grounds came into view, tucked within an old stone courtyard behind the castle. At its center stood a weathered altar. Behind it, a large crystal basin glowed faintly, a dim fire as the only source of light.

Serena slowed as they approached. Déjà vu pulsed under her chest without reason or warning.

Dexmon’s breath hitched when he saw her.

Was it possible she was more beautiful than he remembered? Every time. Every single time he saw her, his brain did this. Like his memory was deliberately underselling her so reality could hit harder.

But then he felt something. An emotion pressed against the edge of his mind. Powerful. Not his.

He frowned. And then it clicked.

She was trying to remember something.

He’d felt it before, when she met Velkaris. He hadn’t been present then, caught in a meeting, and had assumed the sensation was his own.

Now he knew better.

And he wished, fiercely, that he could ask her why.

Bellatrix zeroed in on Serena from across the ritual ground. Serena met her eyes with a quiet curiosity—like someone studying a puzzle rather than engaging in war.

Beside her, Elara froze mid-step grabbing Serena’s arm.

Serena looked down at Elara’s hand. Then followed her line of sight.

Standing next to Dexmon, straight-backed and wide-eyed, was Hale Ironholt, Beta of Drakenfell.

His massive frame was still as stone, except for his jaw, which had gone completely slack. He looked like someone had just thrown a lightning bolt into his frontal lobe.

His eyes were glued to Elara.

Serena’s lips twitched. She glanced between them once, then wisely said nothing.

"Oh for fuck’s sake," Bellatrix hissed, clearly unbothered by the sanctity of the grounds.

"Yes. That does smell good," Elara said quickly, shaking her head once. She then continued walking with the rigid posture of someone who absolutely was not thinking about what just happened.

Serena wasn’t sure if she was speaking to her just then or to herself.

Hale hadn’t blinked. Possibly hadn’t breathed.

His lips parted.

"Hale. I am—hi." The words came out mangled, like his brain had loaded them in the wrong order.

Gavriel’s face went through six expressions in two seconds, all of them delighted.

Just as Serena and Elara took their places, Hale opened his mouth again.

"You smell nice." He flashed a boyish grin that looked far too sincere for a man his size.

Gavriel and Dexmon glanced at one another in perfect unison, then both looked away just as fast. Gavriel converted his laugh into a rough cough. Dexmon lifted his hand to his chin like he’d suddenly been struck by a deeply philosophical thought.

Elara offered him a warm smile. "Thank you."

Queen Bellatrix made a sharp, displeased sound.

"Must we encourage this?" she drawled, gaze flicking from Hale to Elara. "We are here for a sacred rite, not a tavern courtship."

Then her eyes landed on Serena.

"Though I suppose this sort of attention is familiar to girls who survive by being noticed."

Serena didn’t flinch or rise to it. She met Bellatrix’s eyes head-on, but her expression was neutral, as if Bellatrix had spoken about the weather rather than her worth.

"Oh don’t give me that pious look. You opened your legs to get here and you know it."

The words hit Dexmon like they’d been aimed at him. Heat flared through his chest.

"She did no such thing."

"Hush. You lost all credibility the second she opened her bed to you," Bellatrix snapped.

Serena’s brows lifted for a fraction of a second, betraying the smartass reply sitting on her tongue like a lit match. She let it burn out.

Bellatrix watched her closely, almost as if she was waiting for a reaction. That’s when it clicked. Court Warfare 101.

She wanted a show, but Serena had no intention of giving her one.

The firelight caught Bellatrix’s face and she dropped her voice. "I know exactly how you got here. On your back, on your knees, and on your silence."

Serena processed those words. Then processed the fact that Bellatrix had delivered them in front of her husband, her son, and a sacred altar.

Gavriel cut through the silence before Dex could.

"That’s one theory," he said lightly. "Mine is she’s just very bad at dying."

Bellatrix shot him a glare. Gavriel just raised both hands, smiling. "What?"

Her gaze returned to Serena, chin raised. Silence stretched, the air tightening with it.

"The whoring you inherited from your mother no doubt does nothing for the prestige of Drakenfell. Especially not from some slave servant who knows nothing but dirt and chains."

Serena didn’t flinch. When she spoke, her tone was calm. "And yet here we are," she said. "Wasting your prestige talking to a slave servant who knows nothing but dirt and chains."

Bellatrix’s lips curved into a smile. "Enjoy the attention. It’s the only currency you have, and it depreciates fast."

"I’m flattered you’ve given it that much thought, Queen Bellatrix."

"Why..." Bellatrix’s voice fractured, gold erupting in her irises. "You little slut." She was moving before the last word left her mouth.

King Tiberon held out his arm in front of her, but Bellatrix pushed past.

"That’s enough." His Alpha tone landed like a physical weight on every wolf in the circle.

Bellatrix stopped mid-step, her body forced to obey. Her fists were clenched, her shoulders trembling with barely leashed rage. It would have been funny if Serena hadn’t been called a whore in eight different ways right before.

Her fury pivoted to Tiberon. He met it head on.

"This is sacred ground. You will not desecrate it with petty cruelty."

Still looking at Bellatrix, he added, "You held your ground, Miss Silverveil. That is noted."

Bellatrix’s mouth opened. Tiberon didn’t let her use it.

"Leave the circle. Return when you remember you are queen of this realm. Not a spurned girl with a grudge."

For a moment, no one moved.

Bellatrix’s nostrils flared. Then she turned on her heel and stormed from the ritual grounds, crimson cloak snapping behind her.

Gavriel let out a low whistle. "Well. That was almost spiritual."

Dexmon’s entire body was rigid, eyes locked on Serena. He’d been like that since his mother accused her of being in his bed, going back and forth with Aegon.

Aegon: Claim her. Now. While the altar is still warm.

Dexmon: That’s not how this works.

Aegon: MINE.

Dexmon: She is not ours.

Aegon: MINE MINE MINE MINE MINE.

Dexmon: Not a word anymore. You’ve killed it.

Serena exchanged a quick glance with Elara. She wasn’t upset, more so trying to understand what caused that woman to hate her to that degree.

Hyran, meant to officiate the ceremony, remained silent after Bellatrix stormed away. His attention stayed on Serena, studying her with quiet intensity.

That interaction told him more about Serena than anyone realized.

She held her composure throughout. Most would have risen to those insults. She did not. She held her tongue for nearly all of it, and that alone marked training. Cultivation. Discipline learned in high society, not instinct.

But when she finally spoke, that sealed it. Her diction was precise and enunciation proper. Her wit was razor-sharp without crossing the line.

She wasn’t merely raised in high society. No, she was raised in a court somewhere.

Hyran glanced at Tiberon, offering a knowing tilt of the head that clearly said, Court-trained. Language-fluent. And pretending to be nobody. Fascinating.

Tiberon met it with a look that said, Obviously. Stop looking at her like she’s a new toy.

Hyran’s expression shifted to, Fine. But we are discussing this after.