Hating Alpha Adolphus
Dusk.
Bedroom, Grimm Mansion.
Dam’s Keep, Damhale.
Birdsong. Footsteps. The distant howl of wolves.
Seraphina surfaced from sleep, the sound tugging her back into a world she didn’t want. Morning light seeped through heavy curtains, staining the room muted gold.
Warmth. Unfamiliar. Comforting.
She shifted—and her palm brushed an arm.
Her breath caught. Her gaze trailed upward.
Adolphus.
Dark eyes—too dark—watched her. Last night they had glowed like a predator’s.
Panic surged.
She scrambled back, clutching the furs like a shield. Distance. She needed distance from his heat, his scent—wild and crisp, undeniably wolf.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded, voice sharp with betrayal.
Adolphus sat up slowly, sheets pooling at his waist. He didn’t answer at first, only studied her, as if committing every inch of her fury to memory.
“You had no right,” she spat. “No right to lie with me.”
His jaw flexed. That’s what she focused on? Not that he’d saved her. Not that she’d nearly died.
“You were cold,” he said at last.
Her glare could have cut steel.
He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t defend himself. He saw it in her eyes—hatred, simmering and raw.
Adolphus exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Come down for tea when you’re ready,” he murmured.
She stayed silent.
He rose, bare feet whispering across the floor. The door closed with a soft finality, leaving the room colder than before.
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 in,” she said, voice hollow.
A young woman entered—bronze skin, sharp brown eyes, pretty. Too pretty.
“Miss Seraphina,” she said carefully.
Seraphina tilted her head. “Does everyone know that I hate werewolves? That I wouldn’t care if this whole realm burned to the ground?”
“Yes,” the maid said simply.
That answer unsettled her more than she wanted to admit.
She stood, ignoring the ache in her limbs, and reached for the folded dress—the same one from last night, now cleaned. Almost… kindly.
“Help me zip up,” she muttered.
The maid’s fingers were quick. “My name is Emma,” she offered. “The girls and I bathed you last night.”
So he hadn’t.
Seraphina almost sneered. Almost. But she wasn’t ready to be bitter at Emma. Not yet.
She glanced at her again. Are they all this strong-looking? This beautiful?
Curiosity flickered. Rage smothered it.
They were the enemy. And she would never forget that.
Morning.
Dining Hall, Grimm Mansion.
Dam’s Keep, Damhale.
Seraphina stood stiffly in the werewolves’ ancestral dining hall, a relic of power and blood.
Her black curls were haphazardly pinned back—a deliberate choice. She needed a clear view of her captors.
Smoke and roasted meat hung heavy in the air, layered with something more primal. Tapestries lined the walls—hunts, wars, conquests. Antler chandeliers cast flickering shadows across the long wooden table where werewolves dined with unrestrained vigor.
Flesh tore. Bones cracked. Growls threaded through guttural conversation.
Human. Outsider. Prey. She felt their stares like claws.
At the head of the table sat Adolphus, radiating command. Dark hair a wild mane. Red eyes pinning her like a curiosity rather than a hostage.
“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 waited—reserved, 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.
The table was heavy with food—roasted meats, fruit, fresh bread. Hunger gnawed at her resolve. She reached for a piece of meat, forcing herself to chew as their talk continued—territories, hunts, human women.
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 of dark liquid, watching her over the rim. “You’ll learn to accept your place here.”
She froze mid-chew.
My place? The trophy? The prisoner? The coward?
Her gaze flicked to the grand fireplace at the far end of the hall. She imagined flames devouring wood, stone, flesh. A fantasy.
“You’d fail.”
She jerked her head toward him. “What?”
Adolphus’s lips curled. “Burning this place. Killing us all. It wouldn’t work.”
Her spine locked. How does he know?
The air between them tightened. He leaned closer, voice barely 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, velvet-voiced promise. “You have no idea what you’ll become.”
A chill coiled through her.
The pack’s laughter swelled, low and hungry. Seraphina dropped her gaze to her plate. The food turned to ash in her mouth.
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.
