The Alpha's Unclaimed Mate novel Chapter 564

Chapter 564: Gavriel, Come! Who’s A Good Boy?

Fin Shadowclaw’s face was doing something that, on a less dangerous son of a bitch, might have been called an expression. His mood had a blast radius. You could feel the radiation from twelve feet. Gavriel was inside the red line at eleven and considering retreat.

The portal deposited them into the underground chamber beneath the library, and Serena was already gone.

Between the ancestor’s long-ass monologue and the portal, her body dipped and consciousness didn’t stick around to say goodbye.

Her head was tucked against Fin’s collarbone, her breathing shallow but steady, her white hair matted with ash and blood and the accumulated debris of a woman who had survived a volcano, a squid, and vampires.

If someone had told Gavriel forty-eight hours ago that he’d crawl out of a volcano smelling like grilled ass and squid piss, he’d have asked what drugs they were on.

Fin carried her up the stairs without a word. His jaw was granite. His eyes were forward. His silence had graduated from "angry" to "geological," the kind of quiet that belonged to tectonic plates deciding whether to shift and level a city or hold for another century. Every step was measured, controlled, the footfalls of an Alpha whose fury and whose love were occupying the same body and neither was willing to vacate.

Tiberon walked behind him without saying a word. It didn’t take a mage-librarian to figure out why the hell Finnick Shadowclaw was throwing a silent tantrum and Tiberon was going to continue playing his role as a golden retriever until further notice.

Gavriel was walking behind the King of Drakenfell like a duckling with a chest wound, one hand pressed to the wraps on his chest that had given up structural integrity three catastrophes ago and were now horseshit. Medically, structurally, aesthetically. Triple-threat horseshit. Lake Fun did a great job.

They made their way through a tunnel that led them directly into Drakenfell’s infirmary, which Gavriel had seen more times in the last few days than in his entire life combined.

Hyran, Maelor, and Aeron formed a loose semicircle in the hallway with the coordinated positioning of mages who absolutely had not been waiting for this exact moment.

Fin didn’t stop. He walked through the center of the formation without acknowledging any of them, carrying Serena into the infirmary’s private chambers with the single-minded focus of a man whose only objective was a bed and a healer. The door closed behind him with a soft click that contained zero invitation.

TRANSLATION: Fuck off.

The hallway went quiet.

Then all three mages snapped their heads toward Gavriel like a flock of possessed, synchronized Satan-owned geese. Six eyes zeroed in on him with a focus so choreographed it deserved a standing ovation from the underworld.

Gavriel had been stared at by commanding officers, disappointed healers, one very sexually aggressive seagull, and his own mother. This was worse than all of them.

He stopped walking.

"Why are you all looking at me like that?"

Nobody answered, which was not scary at all. This was fine. Instead, all three of them smiled in the same creepy second, something Gavriel had never seen Hyran or Maelor do, let alone in unison.

Then all three of them said his name at the same time.

"Gavriel."

"Gavriel."

"Gavriel."

Three grown-ass mages were using different tonal strategies aimed at the same Gamma with the competitive energy of fishermen casting into the same goddamn pond.

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