Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King

Then Maddox’s brain caught up.

The pieces had been sitting in front of him for weeks. Scattered across files and fragments and conversations he had shoved into drawers he didn’t want to open. Now the drawers were opening themselves and every goddamn thing he’d been stuffing into them came tumbling out at once.

Nicholas Shadowfell had stood up at an auction in front of twenty kings and announced she was his fated mate. Maddox had dismissed it as a play. A negotiating tactic deployed by a wolf king who was being outbid and needed leverage. Clean logic. Beautiful logic. Wrong logic. The universe had been correcting him on that one ever since, with escalating levels of humiliation.

Nicholas had sailed across an ocean because he felt her pain through a matebond Maddox had told himself was fabricated.

She was dead on a jungle floor while Maddox drove his fist through stone because punching a wall was the only alternative to accepting that the woman he loved was gone. Maddox had read the file. He had fragments of the actual memory still surfacing, blurred at the edges but getting sharper by the day.

He could almost see it. Her body on the ground. His own knees in the dirt. The flat silence where her heartbeat used to be. And then Nicholas, moving in a blur, doing the one thing Maddox couldn’t do, because biology had given the wolf a key that the dragon would never hold.

Nicholas had marked her there, fangs in her neck, in front of every member of that strike team and restarted her heart. That’s why the strike team record was classified to begin with. Maddox had known all of that. He had known it, accepted it, and shoved it into a drawer and buried the drawer under seven layers of territorial denial.

But now she was standing in his shower telling him she had marked Nicholas back.

Her wolf’s teeth on his neck. On a corridor floor at Greyhall. In front of witnesses. His heart had stopped and she brought him back the same way he had brought her back in that jungle. Fang for fang. Life for life. The symmetry was so clean it could have been designed by a god with a grudge.

Then Maddox Drakencrest’s pattern recognition, which had apparently been on standby, started working again.

Nicholas had walked into his chambers with runes crawling across his forearms. The same runes that had appeared on Maddox after she marked him. Her fangs in his shoulder, her wolf surging, the runes following like a receipt.

He had assumed the runes were contagious through contact. That’s what she believed. Kael didn’t correct it. No one did.

And Maddox had been blind.

The runes didn’t spread through casual skin contact. They spread by her marking.

They magically appeared on Kael after Lunaris, which meant she had marked him too.

And he strongly suspected she had no memory of Kael’s or she would be confessing that to him too.

Three men. Three sets of runes. Three marking events.

He could feel her shoulders shaking under his hands. The guilt flooding through their matebond was crushing her and he understood it now, all of it, the weight she’d been holding since the first time she felt Nicholas’s heartbeat in her chest.

He wiped tears off her face with both thumbs. The water replaced them immediately.

”Guinevere. Nicholas marked you in front of me.” He kept his voice level. Steady. The voice he used in council chambers and crisis rooms and every situation where the building was on fire and panicking made the fire worse. ”I have fragments of the memory, but I read a file on it. That was weeks ago.”

Her lips parted and her surprise flooded into him through their matebond.

”Your heart stopped in the jungle,” he continued, brushing a strand of wet white hair off her face. ”He marked you and it saved your wolf and your life. I am aware of that. He announced you and him were fated mates at the auction and I still chose to buy you.”

He expected panic or more surprise to that information. But she gave him none of it. Apparently, her dying was less of a surprise than her being marked by Nicholas in front of him.

Her face was still. Her eyes were still wet but the tears had stopped. She was looking at him with the expression of a woman who had just been told something enormous and was absorbing it without flinching because the thing she was holding was bigger.

There was something else.

He could feel it. Through the matebond. Underneath the guilt about Nicholas, underneath the relief of the confession, there was another layer. Deeper. Heavier. The kind of weight that sits on the floor of a person’s chest and doesn’t move because moving it would require admitting it exists.

”There’s something else. What is it?” His voice was calm. The opposite of everything his dragon was doing behind his ribs.

It had to do with Nicholas. He was certain of it.

”Maddox,” she began.

His mouth dropped to her neck. Right below her ear. Then lower. Then lower again, his lips tracing the column of her throat with the slow, mapping pace of a man who had memorized this route and was choosing to take the scenic version anyway.

Her hands went flat against the marble behind her because she needed something solid that was stationary and he was neither. He kissed the mark on her neck, the trinity pattern, gold and silver and white, and the runes on her skin flared to life, so bright the shower went from steamy to lit.

She gasped. The matebond surged between them. His hunger. His relief. The raw, aching weight of a man who had spent days chasing her and finally, finally had her standing still.

His mouth continued its descent. Over her collarbone. Between her breasts. Down her stomach. Each kiss was slower than the last and unhurried in a way that made her legs forget their primary function.

”Maddox, I...” She lost the rest of the sentence when his hands gripped her hips.

Whatever profound, rational, perfectly constructed thought she’d been assembling died the instant his hands locked on. Gone. Brain empty. Sentence fucked.

”You what?”