A portal tore open in the clearing.
Dexmon stepped through without slowing, the girl still in his arms, blood soaking through his shirt.
They emerged in the healing wing of Drakenfell, bright stone and sharp incense replacing forest.
"Healing protocols—" a healer started to say.
Dexmon walked past, without sparing them a glance.
"Your Highness," Alaric said, falling into step beside him.
"She took a blade to the side." Dexmon's wolf howled in his mind as soon as the words left his mouth. Even saying it aloud felt like grinding glass into his chest. He should have been the one to stop that blade, not her.
Alaric's hands glowed gold, still walking with Dexmon. Her shirt was torn on her side, and he could see the stab wound clearly. His healing magic should have closed it rapidly, but her skin knit together painfully slow.
His mouth thinned. "I don't like that."
Serena arched suddenly, a broken sound tearing from her throat as the magic touched her.
Alaric cursed and pulled his hands back. "She can feel it. I need to take a closer look."
Dexmon's grip tightened on her.
"Hand her over. We will get her stabilized," Alaric said, looking up from her wound. He stepped in front of Dexmon, prepared to take the girl from his arms.
Dexmon looked at him.
Alaric reconsidered his life choices and moved aside.
Dexmon carried her straight into a private chamber reserved for royals and laid her gently on the bed, as if she might break if he wasn't careful.
His hands lingered a fraction longer than necessary before he forced himself to step back.
Alaric rolled up his sleeves with the resigned air of a man about to work under a very large apex predator.
Golden light poured from his hands over her body. The wound still resisted his healing.
"Long term silver exposure," he said, frowning. "Blood loss and severe dehydration." He eyed Dex's blood-soaked shirt. "Yours or hers?"
"Hers."
"Who is she?"
"I don't know. She was fighting rogues when I found her."
Alaric hummed, unconvinced, and brushed her hair aside to examine her neck.
Faint scars circled her throat. Clearly old silver burns that didn't heal properly, layered one over the other.
"These restraints were applied repeatedly," he said quietly. "Someone enjoyed hurting her."
The instant Alaric's fingers touched her skin, every muscle in Dexmon's body locked. Instincts gripped him that didn't make any sense. He didn't even know this girl.
She was not his to touch.
Aegon:Bite him.
He stiffened and swallowed the instinct down.
Aegon:A corrective bite. On the hand. Wolves do it all the time.
"She's unmarked," Alaric said, still focused on his work.
Dexmon already knew she was unmarked. It was irrelevant.
"She has a wolf. The silver poisoning proves it." Alaric's frown deepened. "But there's another signature beneath the surface. Similar to fae, yet not."
"What is it?"
"No idea. And I don't like saying that."
"She is not to be logged," Dexmon said coldly. "Not as a guest and not as a patient."
Alaric narrowed his eyes. "That removes her rights—"
"Until I decide what she is, she is no one."
Alaric swallowed, glancing back at the woman in critical condition, under his care. "And if she wakes?"
"She will not be told where she is."
Dexmon forced himself to look away from her. He knew that if he stayed another second, he wouldn't be able to leave.
He had the urge to hold her and that was a problem. Because there was already a woman waiting for him in his chambers. A chosen mate whose future his mother had negotiated before he'd learned to hold a sword.
Aegon: Get in that bed with her.
Dexmon: Absolutely not.
There was no version of reality where that was happening.
Aegon:You won't even have to do anything. Just lay there. I'll be calm. I promise nothing will happen.
Nothing about the energy behind those words suggested calm.
Aegon:I can hear you doubting me. That's hurtful.
Dexmon turned and left without another word. His wolf snarled in fury, but he ignored it.
Behind him, gold light flickered beneath an unconscious girl's skin.
Alaric froze, I.V. in hand. He blinked as if his eyes were deceiving him.
"That," he murmured, "is going to be a problem."
✦✦✦
Serena bolted upright with a sharp gasp, drenched in cold sweat. Her lungs burned and pain lanced through her side.
She scanned the room, heart thudding so loud she could hear it in her ears.
The stone walls were draped in rich fabric, and the sheets beneath her were silk.
The room reminded her of another time in her life, before everything burned. Before she was chained in Viremont.
Unwanted emotions bubbled in her chest and her eyes watered.
No. She shook her head once and cut the thought off.
Her fingers went to her throat absentmindedly. No collar. The silver cuffs were gone from her wrists too.
That didn't mean safe.
She'd spent an entire year in Viremont's dungeons, collared like an animal. The memory of silver scorching her throat still made her wince.
But she'd survived it. She'd die before anyone put her in a cage again.
"Where the hell am I?" she muttered. The silk sheets and expensive furniture weren't exactly comforting. The last time she'd been in a room this nice, someone tried to kill her.
She dragged in one careful breath.
Elara.
Her name cut through the haze and with it, absolute panic.
Shit.
She swung her legs off the bed, boots hitting the floor. She crossed the room and slipped through the door, each step pulling at her side.
The corridor beyond was luckily empty.
Unexpected déjà vu cut sharp, strong enough to make her falter for half a step.
She didn't dwell on it. No memories came to the surface anyway. Probably just her mind playing tricks.
Voices drifted from around the corner ahead.
"…can't keep her here."
"She doesn't belong in the keep. An unmarked, unknown woman from gods know where. Princess Agnes will have questions, and the Prince already made his decision."
Serena slowed, pressing herself into the shadow of an alcove.
"What decision?"
"To keep her hidden until she stops being a problem."
Serena gasped, much louder than she intended in a silent corridor. Fantastic.
"Who goes there?" a voice called out. She heard footsteps quicken, and two shadows grew on the stone floor near her.
Fight-or-flight instinct took over and she took off at a full sprint.
She ducked behind a tapestry into a hidden tunnel and held her breath as armored boots thundered past.
The tunnel was pitch black, but she turned and ran. Even with no wolf, she trusted her instincts.
Her pace shouldn't have been possible, considering she was stabbed and lightheaded. But this wasn't about her. Elara was the most important person in the world to her and adrenaline overpowered all else.
Finally, cold air hit her face.
She burst out of the passage and bolted straight towards the tree-line.
Elara was alive. She had to be.
Serena clung to that certainty as she ran, because if she let go of it for even a second, she would fall.
Only when she was far into the forest did the question surface.
How had she known the way out?
The tunnels had felt familiar. The turns, instinctive. Like a path she had walked a hundred times before.
She hadn't.
Had she?