The Wolfless Widow: Defying The Enforcer Alpha

Everleigh Gillespie POV:

The sound didn't come again. I didn't care who it was. I pushed myself off the wall and dragged my legs toward the back corridors.

Two Pack warriors in tactical vests stood near the courtyard archway. They saw me limping past, blood soaking through my stockings, and neither moved. One nudged the other with an elbow, smirking loud enough for me to hear: "The useless widow of the main branch."

I kept my eyes on the cracked stone floor. I'd heard worse for three years in the Holland Pack. You learned to swallow it.

The annex door creaked open. Cold hit me like a wall. The hearth was empty—the servants had "forgotten" my firewood again.

I hadn't even sat down to deal with my ankles when the door slammed open, rusted hinges screaming.

Martha Tucker, Estelle's head maid, didn't knock. She didn't look at the blood on my feet. She tossed a grimy, thick manila envelope onto my bed.

"The Matriarch wants you to see this." Her voice was sharp and nasal. "So you don't get any foolish ideas about playing the proud widow tonight."

I tore the wax seal open. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Glossy photographs slid out, along with a scrap of stained parchment.

In the photos, Eber was chained to the damp, jagged wall of an underground silver mine. Heavy silver chains wrapped his wrists and chest. Where the metal touched skin, the flesh was blackened, blistered, weeping pus and blood. Werewolves healed from almost anything—except silver. Silver stopped cell regeneration. It burned the wolf. It burned the soul.

On the parchment, in his own blood, five crooked words: Ever, save me... silver poisoning.

Tears hit the paper, smearing the blood.

"You see it now?" Martha crossed her arms, watching me break with a satisfied smile. "Without the Matriarch's word, he won't last until the third sunrise. His wolf will wither. His organs will fail."

Rage broke through the terror. I shot up and grabbed her coat lapels. "You framed him! Eber didn't start that riot! You threw him in that pit to control me!"

Martha sneered and shoved me back with pure-blooded strength. I hit the table edge.

"Framed or not, the Council's warrant has your brother's signature." She smoothed her coat. "Save your strength. Tonight at ten, go to the main kitchen. Take the calming tonic on the stove to Lord Damon's room in the East Wing. If you don't get into his bed, your brother's corpse will be at your door by the third sunrise."

She slammed the door behind her.

I dropped to my knees, pressing Eber's bloody note to my chest, shaking too hard to cry. I couldn't break. If I broke now, Eber died.

I stood up. Cold water on my face. A damp rag on my ankles—I hissed at the sting. Clean black stockings. High-collared charcoal dress. Hair twisted into a tight knot.

By the time the main hall clock struck nine forty-five, I was walking through the service paths to the main kitchen.

Empty. Fires banked. One copper burner kept a small porcelain tureen warm. A silver-trimmed tray sat beside it, with a matching bowl and ceramic spoon.

I lifted the lid.

Chamomile and valerian root rose up. Calming tonic. But beneath it—something sweet. Cloying. Like crushed night-blooming petals.

I sold spirit inks in the black market under the name Lotus Sage. I'd spent years studying rare herbal catalysts. I knew that smell instantly.

Moon Lily.

An ancient aphrodisiac. Swallowed, it was strong enough to overwhelm most wolves' biology—even an Alpha's. Inhaled as steam, it was slower, milder, but still dangerous to a wolfless body like mine.

I stared at the tureen. I wanted to pour it down the drain.

Then Eber's blackened skin flashed in my mind. If I destroyed it, Estelle would know. Eber would be dead by morning.

I clenched my jaw until my molars ached. Poured the soup into the bowl. Set it on the tray. My knuckles went white.

Before I left, I reached into the hidden pocket inside my apron and pulled out the small black digital recording pen. I'd traded a spirit-ink painting for it back when I was still working as Lotus Sage. It had stayed hidden in my apron ever since. I never thought I'd use it against my own Pack.

I pressed the silver button. A red light blinked once under my thumb, then vanished. The pen would sync a sealed copy to my dead-drop account the moment it touched the East Wing's network node. If I was walking into a trap, I wasn't walking in empty-handed.

I slipped the pen into my dress pocket, carried the tray out, and stepped into the biting night air. Across the courtyard, toward the secluded East Wing.

Dense bamboo. Tall iron fences. Only high-ranking Enforcement Council delegates stayed here. Second-floor windows lit, casting long shadows across the stone path.

I climbed the exterior stairs. My heart slammed against my ribs.

At the heavy oak door of the master suite, my hands shook so badly the spoon rattled against the porcelain. I stood there, breathing ragged, unable to knock.

Before my knuckles touched wood, a deep voice cut through the door, dripping with Alpha authority.

"If you intend to stand outside like an ornament, I suggest you freeze to death somewhere else."