The Wolfless Widow: Defying The Enforcer Alpha

Everleigh Gillespie POV:

Damon's voice cut through the thick oak door, Alpha command rolling off it so hard my knees nearly gave. The tray shook in my hands, hot soup sloshing over the rim.

I sucked in a breath and pushed the door open.

The suite was huge and dim, amber lamps throwing shadows across the walls. The air was thick with frozen cedar and winter frost. Damon Mills sat behind a mahogany desk, black silk shirt open at the collar, classified Council dossiers spread out in front of him.

He didn't look up. His fingers kept turning the blackened steel ring on his left hand.

"Leave it on the table and get out." Flat. No warmth.

I kept my head down and crossed the Persian rug toward the low table by the hearth. The recording pen pressed against my ribs. Every part of me wanted to drop the tray and run before the heat of the room swallowed me whole.

Then I heard it.

A commotion outside. Voices. A guard snapping an order.

"You can't go in there—"

"Let me go! Please! I need to see Everleigh!"

My blood ran cold.

I set the tray down and bolted for the door. Behind me, papers rustled. Damon had finally looked up, slate-gray eyes narrowing with irritation.

In the hallway, two guards had Clara pinned to the stone floor. She was curled around Toby, her three-year-old son, shielding him from their hands. Toby was screaming, face red with terror.

"Get your hands off her!" I threw myself between them and shoved the closest guard back with everything I had.

"Everleigh!" Clara sobbed, scrambling to her knees, grabbing my skirt with bruised, dirt-caked fingers. "The warden at the southern mine sent a messenger... Eber collapsed an hour ago. The silver toxicity reached his lungs. They said if we don't pay a five-hundred-thousand-dollar silver-release ransom before the third sunrise, they won't remove the silver restraints. He's going to die in that pit, Ever!"

Five hundred thousand dollars.

I had nothing. Casimiro's allowance had been stripped from me the week after his funeral. A few pawnable heirlooms, that was it.

My gaze darted back into the warm suite, landing on the porcelain bowl of soup.

Estelle wanted a scandal. She wanted me in Damon's bed. If I kept the recording—if I held it over her head—could I get the money for Eber?

It was insane. Suicidal. But Clara's eyes were bloodshot, Toby was shaking, and I had no other cards left.

"Take Toby back to the annex," I whispered. "Lock the door from the inside. I'll get the money. I swear."

Clara stared at me, trembling, then nodded weakly. She gathered Toby into her arms and disappeared down the hallway.

I turned back, stepped into the suite, and shut the door. The lock clicked.

Damon was still behind the desk, arms crossed, watching me with cold detachment. "Done with your domestic drama? Take your garbage and leave."

I didn't leave. I picked up the bowl and walked toward his desk, palms clammy.

"Lord Damon." I kept my voice steady. "The Matriarch prepared this herbal tonic for your rest. Please. Drink it while it's warm."

His eyes narrowed. He rose slowly from the chair.

Standing, he dwarfed me. The raw dominance of an apex Alpha pressed down on my chest until breathing hurt.

"A calming tonic?" He let out a low, humorless chuckle.

Before I could react, his hand shot out and snatched the bowl. He brought it to his nose and inhaled once.

He didn't drink. The steam alone wouldn't bring an Enforcer Alpha to his knees; his metabolism would burn through it. But the room's air had already wrapped around me.

His expression turned lethal. The gray in his eyes flared crimson—his inner beast surging up.

"Moon Lily." He slammed the bowl onto the mahogany. Hot liquid splashed over his knuckles and the documents. "Is this the Holland Pack's idea of hospitality? Or your personal specialty?"

My pulse pounded. "My lord, I was ordered—"

"Ordered?" He rounded the desk in two strides, blocking the hearth light. "You look pretty eager for a woman acting under orders. How many men have you climbed over with this same pathetic routine?"

The insult hit like a slap. Tears burned behind my nose. "I am not—"

The spilled Moon Lily filled the warm air between us, sweet and heavy.

My wolfless body had no inner wolf to burn it off. The steam was enough. I'd been standing right over the steaming bowl, breathing it in. Heat rushed up my spine and pooled low in my belly.

My knees buckled. Dark spots swam across my vision. I pitched forward, straight toward Damon's chest.

His hand snapped out, fingers clamping around my jaw like a vise, stopping me inches from him.

His grip hurt. He forced my head up. Gray eyes burned down at me with open disgust.

"Can't even stand once the heat hits?" His voice was ice over stone. "Save your cheap tricks, Everleigh. You sicken me."