By sunrise, sixteen men would be dead by his hand and the notorious playboy prince of Skardos would have his card permanently revoked.
But at 4 AM, Dexmon Drakenfell's biggest problem was that he couldn't sleep because of the marriage contract sitting on his desk. One signature and his life was over. So he jumped from his balcony, shifted from human into a black wolf during the fall, and took off the second he landed.
For eleven minutes, the run was perfect. Fresh air. Steady pace. Zero problems.
At minute twelve, a scent grabbed him by the dick and informed him that his life was no longer his own.
Fated mates were beyond rare. A soul-deep tie to another wolf. Considered Moon-Goddess-ordained bedtime story bullshit by most, present company included.
Dexmon hadn't connected the dots yet. But his wolf absolutely had. The beast also knew his human was the most stubborn Alpha in Skardos, and decided to say 'it' instead of 'she' to ease him in. Baby steps.
Aegon: Run to it.
Dexmon didn't need to be told twice. He tore through the forest at Alpha speed, skidding to a halt when he saw the source of the scent.
Hair white as moonlight. Eyes green enough to make a man's train of thought catch fire, roll off a cliff, and explode at the bottom.
Aegon: Why are we stopping. Why are we STOPPING.
The dark impulse to prop her up on all fours and dominate her burned so hot, he almost shifted back into human form on the spot.
Then his brain caught up to his dick and the situation got ugly fast. Blood everywhere. A sword she was barely keeping upright. Rogue wolves advancing on her and a redhead cowering behind her.
"Shift and run," she called over her shoulder to the redhead. "I got this."
The redhead shifted into a wolf mid-step, paws hitting the ground in a sprint, and didn't look back. Smart woman.
Dexmon crouched down in the trees, counting bodies and exits. Rogues were packless wolves usually involved in slave trafficking and bounties. Fifteen of them meant the buyer wanted insurance.
One leapt in front of the girl, landing in a predator crouch, and stood slowly.
"Serena Silverveil. Third-time runners don't get quick deaths. Unfortunate for you, but a wet dream for—"
Her boot found his groin before he finished his sentence. His voice went up three octaves, then he folded in on himself.
A second closed the distance. "You know what Viremont does to pretty wolves like you? He plays with 'em first. Makes the whole pack watch."
One karate chop to the trachea. Then she introduced her knee to his future children, and he discovered religion on the way down.
Dexmon watched the second rogue crumple and didn't know whether to intervene or sell tickets.
Her technique was a war crime. Non-dominant hand on the chop. Wrong grip on the blade. But two-for-two testicles on the scoreboard. The math didn't lie.
"Fifteen of us and one of you, sweetheart," the largest rogue called. "We can do this the easy way or the hard way."
"Thirteen," she corrected. "These two are going to be down for a while."
"All of you grab her. NOW!" the leader roared.
None of his men moved. Their eyes darted between the two on the ground cupping themselves.
"With respect, sir, I'd rather fuck a cactus."
"FINE. Get the redhead first."
Every rogue turned towards the redhead's trail. Serena's panic flooded into Dexmon's chest like it was his own and he was going to aggressively ignore why that was possible.
"Hey, geniuses." She drove her sword into the ground and clapped once.
Their heads swiveled back towards her as one. She blinked, stunned with how well that worked, then recovered. "Good boys. Stay."
Thirteen blank faces stared back at her. Cactus rogue mouthed the words 'good boys stay' to himself twice before he understood.
Dexmon exhaled. The laugh wanted out. This was her idea of trash talk. Zero curse words. No yo-mama's. Nothing about their manhoods. He had heard better insults from five-year-olds.
Time to intervene. Only because she was cute and Dexmon wanted her attention now. Standard rescue. Save the girl, kill the rogues, accept the gratitude. Five minutes, tops.
He shifted from wolf to man mid-step, and walked into the clearing like the 6'5" Alpha Prince he was.
"Evening, gentlemen."
Every head turned. Including the girl's. Good. She was about to be very, very impressed. Women tend to do that.
"The fuck is this?" the leader spat. "You here for the bounty too, pretty boy?"
Dexmon's fist met the bastard's jaw, sending him to the ground. "Sure. Let's go with that."
"Wrong move, ASSHOLE!" The next one charged head-first.
Dexmon sidestepped and let him headbutt a tree.
When Cactus rogue pulled a knife, Dexmon took it from him, then offered it back handle-first. "Try again. I'll wait."
Cactus did not try again.
Dexmon glanced back at the girl. She was watching him with an expression he couldn't read. He flashed her a grin that historically had a one hundred percent success rate.
Aegon: She is not smiling back.
Dexmon: Right where I want her. Watch and learn from the master.
Two more rushed at him from opposite sides. Dexmon slammed their heads together. "You two should talk."
He continued down the rogues without breaking stride and absolutely not showing off.
The roundhouse was necessary. And the muscle flexes between combatants was involuntary. Muscle memory. Couldn't help it.
About halfway through, Dexmon's wolf bristled under his ribs.
A portal ripped open in the clearing. A dark mage stepped through, officially changing this from a bar fight to a chess match.
Not good.
Dexmon moved in a blur, placing himself in front of the girl before the portal snapped shut.
"Stay behind me." The lighthearted tone he carried earlier was completely gone.
The fact he could make a portal in Drakenfell territory meant their wards were down, and there were likely more.
He mindlinked his patrol immediately.
Dexmon: Breach at the eastern perimeter, sector three. Wards failed. If you're not already running, start.
LieutenantCalder: Mobilizing all units. ETA two minutes.
As he mindlinked, the mage scanned the scene, looking past Dexmon like he wasn't there. "Does she bite?"
A few of the rogues laughed.
"Bite? No. But I'd wear a cup," cactus rogue answered before throwing his knife straight for Dexmon.
Dexmon could have caught it blindfolded. But little miss survival instincts beat him to it, moving faster than any unshifted female wolf he'd seen.
Well. That was annoyingly attractive.
"Cactus. I'm not mad. I'm disappointed," Dexmon called to him.
The dark mage's eyes were glued on the girl. "And there she is. A year in silver and you still move like that. What else are you hiding?"
"Take a step closer and you'll find out exactly what I am hiding," she replied, voice calm.
Every rogue still standing in the clearing began to laugh, including Cactus. The mage didn't, which meant Dexmon was missing context.
Without warning, dark tendrils shot from the mage's fingers aimed straight for Dexmon. The girl threw herself in front of him so the tendrils stabbed through her instead. She was hit by multiple in rapid succession before the mage realized.
"Idiot bitch. I like my toys wet and messy. Not dead."
She gasped, stumbling backwards, and looked down at her blood-soaked hands. Dexmon's gut clenched like he'd taken the same hits.
Her knees buckled, and the mage laid hands on her before she hit the ground, his focus tunneled on her. Mistake.
"Pretty little thing. Aren't you? When I take you there, he is going to—"
Dexmon tore the mage's head off before he finished the sentence and caught the girl before the body knew to drop her.
"I've got you," he breathed, looking down at her.
For one suspended second, their eyes locked, and something hot and electric shot straight into his hardening cock so aggressively that he almost dropped her.
He needed a cold shower and a priest because this was supposed to be a rescue.
Then his vision tunneled to the pulse on her neck. He hadn't realized he'd leaned down or that his fangs had elongated on their own until they grazed her skin. He stiffened, drawing his head back, and swallowed the instinct.
Marking. More intimate than sex. Done once and only once in a lifetime. The male bites the female's neck, sharing his venom. And Dexmon had almost done it.
Her expression said, very clearly, What the fuck.
His said, less clearly, If you could forget the last four seconds, that would be great.
Before he could say anything out loud, her eyes fluttered closed. Hot blood pooled from her side, soaking his shirt.
"Hey. Stay with me. I still need to know why a girl with the worst sword grip I've ever seen played hero in my territory at four in the morning."
The clearing filled with Drakenfell patrol within seconds, cutting down every remaining rogue.
"Eliminate all hostiles. Grid formation, sweep to the boundary markers. I want a breach report on my desk within the hour," Dexmon ordered.
"Yes, Commander."
His lieutenant pulled a rolled bounty notice from a dead rogue's vest. The number on it made him read it twice. "Whoever she is, someone wanted her badly."
He glanced up at Dexmon. "I can take her, Commander."
Dexmon's eyes surged molten gold, his arms tightening around her. His wolf whispered a single word in his mind, but he already knew it.
Aegon: Mate.
And she was dying in his arms.