3 Hating Alpha Adolphus.

Dusk.

Bedroom, Grimm Mansion.

Dam’s Keep, Damhale.

###########

Birdsong, distant footsteps, and the haunting howls of wolves stirred Seraphina from the depths of sleep.

Morning light seeped through heavy curtains, painting the room in muted gold.

Warmth. Unfamiliar. Comforting.

She shifted, something firm beneath her palm—an arm.

Her breath hitched. Her gaze trailed up the expanse of muscle and found him.

Adolphus.

Dark eyes—too dark—stared back at her, unreadable, yet she knew they had glowed last night. Like a predator’s.

Panic surged.

She scrambled away, tugging the thick furs around her like a shield. Distance.

She needed distance from him. From his heat. From his scent—wild, crisp, undeniably wolf.

His silence was infuriating.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, voice edged with betrayal and disgust.

Adolphus sat up slowly, sheets pooling at his waist. He didn’t answer immediately, only studied her, as if memorizing every inch of her fury.

“You had no right,” she spat, clutching the fabric tighter. “No right to lie with me.”

His jaw tensed. That’s what she focused on?

Not that he had saved her. Not that she had nearly died. Not that her father—

His chest rose, then fell. “You were cold.”

Her glare could have burned through steel.

He didn’t elaborate, nor did he try to defend himself. Any explanation would be wasted. He saw it in her emerald gaze—hatred, simmering and raw.

Adolphus exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Come down for tea when you’re ready,” he murmured.

She didn’t reply.

With one last lingering glance, he stood, bare feet whispering across the floor as he left. The door closed behind him with a quiet finality.

The house—the one he owned, the one he ruled—felt suffocating now. He could only imagine what it must feel like to her.

Seraphina sat motionless, staring at nothing, her mind an endless storm.

A knock broke the silence.

“Miss Seraphina,” a soft voice called. “Breakfast is about to begin. You are expected downstairs.”

Expected? Like a guest? Like a prisoner?

“Come inside,” she said, her voice hollow.

The door opened, revealing a young woman with smooth bronze skin and sharp brown eyes. Pretty. Too pretty.

She hesitated. “Good mor—” she stopped herself, correcting her approach. “Miss Seraphina.”

The courtesy was almost amusing. Almost.

Seraphina met her gaze, tilting her head. “Does everyone know that I hate werewolves? That, despite being here, I wouldn’t care if this whole realm burned to the ground?”

The maid blinked. Then, without hesitation, “Yes.”

Seraphina wasn’t sure why that answer unsettled her.

She stood, ignoring the ache in her limbs, and reached for the folded dress—the same one she had worn last night, now cleaned. Almost… kindly.

She slipped it over her head, carefully avoiding the mirror. She didn’t want to see herself.

“Help me zip up,” she muttered, turning her back.

The maid complied, fingers swift and efficient. “My name is Emma,” she offered. “The girls and I bathed you last night.”

So he hadn’t.

Seraphina almost sneered, almost snapped—I don’t care.

But that would be a lie.

And she wasn’t ready to be bitter toward Emma. Not yet.

She glanced at the maid again. Are they all this strong-looking? This beautiful?

Curiosity flickered. Then rage smothered it.

They were the enemy.

And she would never forget that.

###########

Morning.

Dining Hall, Grimm Mansion.

Dams Keep, Damhale.

##########

Seraphina stood stiffly in the werewolves’ ancestral dining hall, a relic of power and bloodshed.

Her black curls were haphazardly pinned back, a deliberate choice—she needed a clear view of her captors.

The room reeked of smoke and cooked meat, layered with something more primal, more alive.

The walls bore the weight of history—tapestries depicting hunts, wars, conquests.

The chandeliers, crafted from antlers, cast flickering shadows across the long wooden table where werewolves dined with unrestrained vigor.

Flesh tore. Bones cracked. Growls wove through conversations spoken in guttural tones.

She felt the stares, the unspoken disdain. Human. Outsider. Prey.

At the head of the table sat Adolphus. He radiated command, his dark hair falling in a wild mane, red eyes pinning her like she was a curiosity rather than a hostage.

She clenched the table’s edge, knuckles whitening. He had dragged her here. And now, he watched, waiting.

“Sit,” he said, voice low, final.

Every gaze followed her as she moved, slow and deliberate, forcing strength into trembling limbs.

The chair beside him was empty—reserved for her, as if she belonged here. She didn’t.

Adolphus leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “You’re safe, Seraphina.”

Safe. A bitter joke. She was a prisoner in a den of monsters. Her stomach twisted, but hunger gnawed at her resolve.

The table was heavy with food—roasted meats, fruit, fresh bread.

The scent pulled at her. She wished she had the strength to refuse. She didn’t.

She reached for a piece of meat, forcing herself to chew as conversation carried on around her—territory disputes, hunts, mentions of human women.

She gritted her teeth. Her father had hunted them for years. Looking at them now, she wondered why he ever thought he had the upper hand.

Adolphus raised a goblet filled with dark liquid, watching her over the rim. “You’ll learn to accept your place here.”

She froze mid-chew, fingers tightening around her fork.

My place? The trophy? The prisoner? The coward?

Her gaze flicked to the grand fireplace at the far end of the hall. She imagined the flames spreading, devouring wood, stone, flesh.

She could almost hear their screams, smell the burning fur. A fantasy. Nothing more.

“You’d fail.”

Her breath caught. She turned sharply. “What?”

Adolphus’s lips curled. He set his goblet down, eyes glinting with something unreadable. “Burning this place. Killing us all. It wouldn’t work.”

Her spine locked. How did he know?

The air between them grew taut. He leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “Your mind is louder than you think, Butterfly.”

Her pulse slammed against her ribs.

He dragged his gaze over her lips before sitting back, amused. “Eat. You’ll need your strength.”

Her hands curled into fists beneath the table, nails biting into skin. She lifted her chin, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I will never be one of you.”

Adolphus chuckled, dark and knowing. “Oh, Seraphina,” he murmured, his voice a promise wrapped in velvet. “You have no idea what you’ll become.”

A chill coiled through her.

The pack’s laughter broke the moment, their voices a low chorus of amusement. Seraphina dropped her gaze to her plate, food suddenly tasteless.

I need an out.

Her heart pounded with a single truth: She was trapped in a house full of wolves, and survival meant enduring.

For now. She’d pretend.