Chapter 17

Dexmon jerked back, eyes flaring. “What are you doing p>

The words weren’t kind. He didn’t bother pretending.

His gaze snapped past her, just in time to see Gavriel’s hand slide to Serena’s lower back and guide her away. His touch was casual and familiar. Like she belonged to him. Like she was his to touch.

Heat flared in Dexmon’s chest, hot and immediate.

Then he felt her emotions shift through the matebond.

Gavriel was helping to ease the tension inside her and in the room. His subtle gesture was a claim. Men still looked, but not as boldly, and the women’s smiles no longer hid knives.

The atmosphere shifted, subtle but undeniable, and with it Serena herself softened.

A flicker of lightness surfaced in her, almost playful, as if she were finally enjoying herself.

Gavriel was doing what he should have been doing. Claiming her. Protecting her.

He was playing the hero. Quiet power. It suited him.

She did not need help, but in that moment, it made a world of difference.

The realization was a hard pill to swallow.

Agnes, oblivious to the shift in him, trailed her fingers along his jaw, her smile still perfectly arranged.

Dexmon looked down at her, jaw set hard.

His eyes cooled, the heat bleeding out of them, replaced with something far more dangerous.

“Princess,” Dexmon said, voice low and final, “we need to talk. Somewhere private p>

He glanced down again, reinforcing it. Not a request. A line being drawn.

Before Agnes could respond, a sharp, amused voice cut cleanly through the moment.

“Well,” Queen Bellatrix purred, stepping into their space with predatory grace, eyes glittering, “the room can practically feel the love blooming between you p>

Her lips curved, satisfied.

“Truly,” she continued, “you are the most powerful couple here tonight. Every eye has been drawn to you p>

Dexmon did not return the smile.

“Come,” Bellatrix said, already turning slightly, gesturing with elegant authority. “The elders are eager to meet you, Princess. And seeing the two of you together will only strengthen the impression p>

Dexmon felt his patience snap thin.

“Actually,” he said coolly, stepping forward into the space without raising his voice, “that will wait. I need a private word with her p>

The air tightened.

Agnes looked up at him, fingers curling lightly at his sleeve, her voice soft, hopeful, oblivious to the fracture running straight through him.

“Can we have our word after?” she asked, eyes searching his face.

Dexmon did not answer immediately. His jaw flexed once.

And somewhere across the room, through the matebond, he felt Serena laugh at something Gavriel said.

“No. Now p>

“Are you sure about that?” Agnes said, looking directly at him, challenge in her eyes. Almost saying, Try me. I dare you.

“I was going to do this in private, out of respect. But since we’re already on display, let’s make it official. I’m ending our betrothal p>

“You’re upset over something. Lashing out again. Come, let’s get you a drink and let things settle p>

“No need.” He stepped past her without breaking stride. “We’re finished p>

Princess Agnes caught his arm sharply. “Don’t be foolish, Dex. Both of our packs benefit from our arrangement p>

Dexmon glanced at her hand.

“For her. Lying little slut. Fine, you and your Gamma can share,” she hissed, loud enough for everyone nearby to hear.

“No,” Dexmon said, his voice cutting through the room. “It’s because I have just witnessed a side of you I cannot overlook p>

He pulled himself free from her grasp and turned.

A sharp pain shot through his chest. Like a hot knife slashing through his insides.

His hand shot to his sternum in confusion.

Then he saw her across the room.

Serena was hunched forward, her hand pressed tightly over her heart.

The realization struck him at once. This was not his pain.

She coughed into her palm, and blood stained her skin. It was not gold. It was red.

She covered her mouth to stifle a sob, and a single tear slipped from her eye.

Gavriel dropped to his knees in front of her, trying to understand, his face tight with concern.

Dexmon looked at Agnes. She was smiling.

His mother’s back was turned, conveniently unaware of the scene unfolding behind her. It was intentional. Bellatrix always positioned herself to face the room, to observe everything. This time, she had chosen not to.

Clenching his jaw through pain, he mindlinked everyone important, leaving his mother off purposefully.

Dexmon: Alaric. Agnes poisoned Serena. She just coughed blood and is clutching her chest.

“Fuck,” Gavriel said aloud as the mindlink hit.

He did not hesitate and scooped Serena into his arms. The music faltered. The crowd parted as he carried her toward the corridor.

Dexmon stepped forward—and staggered. Another wave of agony tore through him, violent enough to white out his vision. As her lungs failed, his seized in tandem.

For a split second, his body refused to move.

Then his wolf surged—ripping him free of the pain.

He shoved through the crowd, not caring who he knocked aside, his voice a snarl.

“Move p>

Behind him, Agnes stood exactly where she’d been all evening, champagne in hand, smile soft and practiced.

The music resumed, as if nothing had happened at all.