The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 52

Chapter 52: His Wolf Went Silent

Serena entered Hyran’s wing, a part of the castle she had never stepped foot in before.

"Perks of being the Master Mage," Hyran remarked casually from behind her.

She jumped and let out a high-pitched yelp. She had been so lost in her thoughts about the ruined dress that she had barely registered how far she had wandered.

The ache was still there, tucked beneath her ribs. She shoved it down. There was work to do.

Hyran did not even blink.

"Come with me."

She followed him down the length of the corridor to a set of heavy double doors. He pushed them open without ceremony.

The room beyond was not what she expected.

There was a desk, yes. Books. Scrolls. Relics sealed behind glass. But those were almost afterthoughts.

The center of the room was a mini arena of some kind. A place built for testing magic rather than discussing it.

Twelve figures stood spaced around the perimeter. All members of the Brotherhood of the Hidden Flame.

"We’re short on time," Hyran stated evenly. "We have volunteers."

"First," he continued, tossing a thick book at her. She caught it on reflex. It was heavy, even by her standards.

The book was titled Mechanical Aerodynamics and Particle Filtration. A non-magic book. Engineering. Physics. The science of how air moved and how particles could be captured without enchantment.

She read it at alpha speed, finishing in under thirty seconds.

Hyran immediately tossed her another. Aether Fabrication: Precision, Multiplicity, and Remote Manifestation.

She didn’t comment. Just read, eyes moving in a blur.

Colonel Thaddeus Morholt had avoided eye contact with her for days. Not anymore. Now he was openly studying her.

"Does she retain all of it?" he asked Hyran, as if Serena were not there.

Hyran tossed him the mechanical book. "Read half a sentence."

Morholt flipped it open to a random page. "The refinement of layered airflow channels allows particulate matter to be," he stopped.

"Captured through rotational pressure differentials while maintaining consistent oxygen throughput, even under high-density contamination strain," Serena finished evenly. "The key is passive filtration. The system doesn’t require constant energy input. Once the channels are structured correctly, airflow does the work."

"Page," Hyran prompted.

"Two fifty-four," Serena replied. "Third paragraph."

Morholt closed the book and stared.

"Then why..." His teeth gritted, jaw working once before he managed the rest. "...does everyone call her illiterate?"

"Because she hasn’t performed any counter action that would actually be effective," Hyran answered flatly.

Serena huffed, crossing her arms. What did he expect her to do? Poison them back?

"I have never seen her be incorrect when she says she is certain of something," Hyran continued, ignoring Serena’s indignation. "So we are going to operate under the assumption that Red Death will be happening."

His words disarmed her. She blinked, completely caught off guard. "Oh. That’s kind of you. Thank you, Hyran."

Zephyrine stepped forward. "Princess," he began.

Serena cut him off. "Please call me Serena, Zephyrine."

It was odd to go from being on a first-name basis, to being ignored, to Princess.

"Serena, then," he agreed, nodding graciously.

"We have made a replica of Red Death. To have it match the properties, there is some risk we cannot avoid."

Serena looked at Hyran, already seeing where this was headed and not liking it at all. But he shut down her train of thought, unamused.

"If you test it on yourself and fall unconscious. We don’t have time for that."

"I don’t want any of them to get hurt," she countered, feeling protective over all of them. A feeling that made no sense, but she couldn’t shake it.

"Then don’t fail."

"We’ll be fine, Serena," Master Thalen assured her.

She swallowed and gave a nod. She would not fail.

"Before we give our proposed solution, I am curious," Cyprian, one of the mages, interjected. "What ideas do you have based on synthesizing that information?"

Serena took a breath. "Efficiency."

Everyone leaned forward, listening.

"Most mages would shield against Red Death directly," Serena explained. "But that would drain me in minutes."

"Red Death is particulate." She held up the mechanical book. "I fabricate air purifiers. Small cubes that we scatter throughout camp and I will also include them on each person I am already channeling gold magic to. No larger than a pearl. It will still filter faster than Red Death spreads."

"Expend energy once and only once during fabrication," Hyran summarized. "After that, the cubes function on their own."

Princess Agnes slipped up behind him and laid a hand on his arm.

"Is everything all right?" she asked, voice dripping with false concern. As if she hadn’t made it her personal mission to destroy the woman he loved.

Dex pulled his arm free, disgust curling in his stomach. "You tell me. Are you planning to keep trying to murder my mate, or just harass her and, by extension, me?"

"I have never tried to murder her," Agnes replied coolly. "She is mistaken. And calling her out for what she is does not qualify as harassment. If she cannot endure it, she has no business playing pretend at court."

That was when everything went wrong.

The edge of Dex’s anger dulled. Softened. Dissolved like sugar in water.

The corridor blurred at the edges. Agnes suddenly smelled sweet, intoxicating, like heat and honey and something dangerous he couldn’t name. His thoughts slid sideways, catching only on her. On how close she stood. On how nothing else seemed urgent anymore.

Serena’s face flickered in his mind, and then it was gone. Like a candle snuffed out.

"Who?" Dexmon asked, catching the tail end of whatever Agnes had said. His voice sounded far away. Wrong.

"Exactly," Agnes murmured, threading her fingers through his. Her touch burned, but not unpleasantly. Just different. Artificial. But he couldn’t remember why that mattered.

The world jumped.

One moment the corridor existed. The next they were in his private wing, her mouth on his, her hands in his hair, and he couldn’t remember walking here. Couldn’t remember agreeing to this.

"Dex...?" Elara called faintly from the hall.

Dex didn’t recognize the voice. Didn’t care. The name meant nothing.

"We should take this back to your quarters," Agnes said with a grin, catching his hand. "Aren’t you going to pick me up?" She made a small pout, lower lip jutting out.

Dex blinked, slow and unfocused. Why would she want to be picked up?

He scooped her up without quite understanding why. She laughed softly, curling closer to him, pressing her face into his neck.

Aegon: This does not feel right. Something is wrong. DEX. STOP.

Agnes leaned in, kissing him more deeply, swallowing whatever response might have formed. "Let’s play, Dex. What’s wrong?"

He shook his head once. "Nothing."

Nothing was wrong. Everything was fine. This was fine.

Aegon: THIS IS NOT FINE. THAT IS NOT—

The voice faded. Muffled. Like someone had thrown a blanket over his wolf and smothered him into silence.