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. He jumped from his balcony, shifting during the fall. A black wolf hit the ground and took off in a sprint.
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.
Aegon: Run to it. Now.
Dexmon didn't need to be told twice, his wolf's desperation echoing his own. He tore through the forest at Alpha speed, skidding to a halt when he saw the source of the scent.
Hair white as moonlight, tucked into her shirt. 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 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. Rogues 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 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.
One of the rogues leapt in front of her, landing in a predator crouch. He stood slowly, eyes fixed on her.
"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."
She rolled her neck once, like she was a boxer entering the ring and knew exactly what she was doing.
Cute. They were buying what she was selling. Dexmon wasn't.
"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, and the sword in Serena's hand.
"With respect, sir, I'd rather fuck a cactus."
"FINE. Get the redhead first."
Every rogue turned towards the redhead's trail. Her 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 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 or checking to see if she was watching.
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.
Dexmon moved in a blur, placing himself in front of the girl before the portal snapped shut.
The mage scanned the scene, then looked 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.
"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 fuck you raw—"
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. The urge to spread her legs and thrust inside of her was so strong 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 like poison.
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.
"Fuck."
The clearing filled with Drakenfell steel within seconds, cutting down every remaining rogue. Those who tried to run were hunted. No survivors. No mercy.
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.