"Don't."
One word. The healer's hands dropped to his sides.
There was nothing more torturous than being rock-hard while carrying a dying omega.
"Protocols—" a second healer attempted, which took courage. Short-lived. He fucked off mid-syllable.
The thought of pinning her against a wall and thrusting kept replaying in Dexmon's mind. The second he killed the thought, his wolf resurrected it.
Aegon: Taste her. Touch her.
Dexmon: Go to sleep.
The girl had stopped making sounds somewhere between the clearing and the portal and every fiber in his body screamed he needed to fix this now.
As he walked, every torch in the corridor flared at once. Dexmon didn't notice.
A low vibration started in his sternum. That was new.
No.
No, no, no.
Aegon: Healing vibration.
Dexmon: I swear to every god, turn it off.
The purring grew louder. A passing guard glanced at Dexmon with visible confusion.
Dexmon walked faster, tightening his core, trying to stop it. The purr adapted. It found a new route through his chest and came out louder.
Alaric Kestrel, his Master Healer, fell into step beside him, already assessing her. "How long has she been bleeding?"
"Too long. She took a blade to the side." Saying it aloud tasted like failure and Dexmon Drakenfell did not fail. He should have been the one to stop that blade, not her.
She coughed once against him, a wet, ugly sound that sprayed red across his collarbone. His vision spotted, her pain carving through him even as she was unconscious.
Aegon: That healer is too slow. I could heal faster.
Dexmon: You don't have healing magic.
Aegon: I would lick the wound.
Alaric's hands glowed gold, still walking with Dexmon. The healer's magic should have closed it rapidly, but her skin knit slowly.
She arched with a broken whimper. Dexmon's body didn't distinguish between her sounds of pain and something else entirely, and his cock jerked in response. Gods, that was messed up and he knew it was, but his body did it anyways.
Aegon: Mate is in pain.
Dexmon: Don't call her that.
Alaric cursed and pulled his hands back. "She can feel it. I need to take a closer look." He reached out to take her from him. "Hand her over. We'll get her stabilized."
Dexmon's eyes flared molten gold, his wolf trying to surface.
Alaric dropped his arms. Out came the flask. One long swig. He had the distinct feeling he was going to need every drop.
Dexmon pushed past him and shouldered into a private chamber reserved for royals, laying her on the bed with a gentleness that contradicted everything about the last ten minutes.
The hearth across the room roared to life on its own.
Aegon: The fire is a nice touch. Now we get on top and spread her legs.
Dexmon: What the actual hell is wrong with you?
Alaric entered the room, rolled up his sleeves, and began examining her. "Silver burns. Fortunately they'll fade. Unmarked." He paused, tilting her chin to get a better look. "And the kind of pretty that makes smart men do stupid things."
A dark heat flared in Dexmon's core, making his blood thrum. Unmarked meant no mating bite. He already knew that. But knowing it and hearing it were two different things.
Gold light poured from Alaric's hands over her body. When they slid under her torn shirt, a vicious growl ripped straight from Dexmon's chest.
Alaric glanced up. Dexmon cleared his throat, as if that was indigestion, and Alaric read the room.
Aegon:Bite him.
Dexmon: No.
Aegon:A corrective bite. On the hand. Wolves do it all the time.
"SHIT." The healer's usual composure evaporated. His magic surged brighter, almost desperate. "Don't you dare."
One.
Her heart tripped over itself, then stopped entirely. It was so fast that Dexmon didn't understand it.
Two.
Everything he'd been feeling from her went dark.
Three.
The void spread. Grief was warm compared to this. This was the kind of empty that made wolves stop hunting and lie down in the snow.
Four.
No. This wasn't real.
Five.
Alaric yelled something. Dexmon's ears were ringing.
Six.
Outside, every dragon roared in unison, rattling the windows like thunder.
Seven.
Dexmon's wolf pushed to the surface and his voice was no longer singular. "BRING HER BACK NOW, HEALER."
"What do you think I'm doing?" Alaric panted, dropping every safeguard he had, channeling raw, unfiltered magic directly into her chest cavity. The amount of power would have killed a lesser healer but he held, hands shaking, until her body filled with gold like sunrise.
She convulsed once, hard, before sucking in a breath that sounded like it was pulled from the bottom of the ocean.
He looked up. "She needs blood now."
"Will Alpha blood work?"
"That would be our best bet with her. But—"
"Give her mine." Dexmon was already rolling up his sleeve.
The needle went in clean, and Alaric worked fast, knowing better than to ask are you sure.
"She is not to be logged," Dexmon clipped. "Not as a guest or patient."
Alaric glanced down at her, his brows furrowing. "That removes her rights—"
"Until I decide what she is, she is no one."
Dexmon's tone was steel, overcompensating, and he knew it. The urge to hold her had only gotten worse. A slight problem because there was already a woman waiting for him in his chambers.
"An unmarked omega that looks like her, in the royal healing suite, with no paper trail," Alric said, tone flat. "You understand that every wolf who walked this corridor tonight caught her scent already right?"
Dexmon didn't answer.
Aegon: Get in that bed with her.
Dexmon:There is no version of reality.
Aegon:You won't even have to do anything. Just lie there. I promise nothing will happen. I'll be calm.
Nothing about the energy behind those words suggested calm.
Aegon:I can hear you doubting me. That's hurtful.
Gold light flickered beneath the girl's skin. Alaric blinked as if his eyes were deceiving him. They weren't.
"And there it is," he muttered, reaching for his flask.
Aegon: Tell me you saw that.
Dexmon was already leaving, ignoring his wolf and every instinct he had.
On the other side of the door, he pressed his forehead to the corridor wall, chest still heaving. Then he adjusted his trousers, attempting to hide the worst case of royal blue balls in Drakenfell history, and got the hell out of there.
✦✦✦
Consciousness hit her like a brick wall and she came through it swinging.
Her hand closed around the I.V. stand before her vision cleared. She ripped it free, held it like a spear, and aimed it at the door.
Pain immediately lanced through her side from the movement.
"Where am I?"
The silk sheets didn't answer. The last time she'd been in a place this lavish, someone had tried to kill her.
Her fingers brushed her throat out of habit. No collar. But that still didn't mean she was safe and she'd die before anyone put her in a cage again.
She inhaled and a scent flooded her senses, warming her chest. It smelled like rain on rock and the forest, and for a moment, she almost forgot why she was standing. A flash followed: golden eyes, black fur, hands catching her before she hit the ground. Then nothing.
Before she could linger on it, a worse thought hit like cold water.
Elara.
Shit.
Ignoring her body's protests, she crossed the room and slipped through the door into an empty corridor.
The scent followed her through the halls, making it harder to think. Out of nowhere, déjà vu slammed into her so hard she faltered for half a step.
Just my mind playing tricks, she told herself, pushing the feeling down. She didn't have time for ghosts.
Voices drifted from around the corner ahead.
"…can't keep an unmarked stray in the keep, brother."
"Boys in the hall are sayin' she's Fae blood. Wolfless for sure."
"Commander's done talkin' about it. She's either locked up tight or she's fertilizer. Ain't no third option."
"Lower your fuckin' voice, idiot. Princess catches wind, our balls are on a platter by sundown."
Serena slowed, pressing herself into the shadow of an alcove.
"Once he gives the order, I say we play with her first."
A gasp escaped her much louder than she intended, and her hand flew to her mouth in absolute horror.
"Who goes there?"
Footsteps quickened, and two long shadows stretched across the stone floor towards her.
Fight-or-flight chose flight unanimously and she took off at a full sprint, skidding to a halt in front of a heavy tapestry. She ducked behind it, fingers finding a hidden latch, and dove inside.
Armored boots thundered past.
The tunnel was pitch black, but her legs knew the way.
Left turn. Right turn. A low archway she ducked under without slowing.
She was navigating a castle she'd never seen and the wrongness of that didn't have time to register because Elara was out there alone and slowing down was not an option.
Adrenaline was one hell of a painkiller. It wouldn't last but that was a future-Serena problem.
"This way. Hurry," a child whispered, close enough to be in her own head.
Every hair on her body stood on end and her stride faltered.
Nope. Not happening. One crisis at a time.
She gritted her teeth. Sprinted harder. The dark swallowed everything except the sound of her own breathing.
The pine scent had faded somewhere in the tunnels, and that bothered her for reasons she didn't understand.
Finally, cold air hit her face and she burst out of the tunnel, heading straight for the tree line. Behind her, the tunnel entrance sealed itself shut with a low grinding of stone.
Only when she was deep in the forest did the question surface: How had she known the way out?
A howl split the air from the castle behind her. Then another. Then a third.
Miles away an Alpha King caught her scent and his stride broke. His head turned in her direction.