Seduce the alpha

They came at dawn.

Veiled in pale linen, with gloves too clean to trust and eyes too cold to pretend kindness. No guards. No servants. Just five women with silver scrolls and wrists wrapped in royal seal.

Aurora didn't recognize their faces.

But Monica did.

"Inspectors," she whispered, voice like cracked glass. "Of womb and bloodline. Stay still."

The seven girls were lined shoulder to shoulder in the chamber near the west garden. Not quite servants. Not quite consorts. Something in between. Each had been chosen for beauty, for loyalty, for possibility.

And now—apparently—for fertility.

The lead woman began with a chant. Hollow, memorized, indifferent.

"By order of the Highblood Council, we confirm the vessels assigned to the Court remain unspoiled, eligible, and sworn."

Unspoiled. Eligible.

Aurora felt those words press into her collarbone like brands.

The inspection was methodical. Gloved fingers. Cold instruments. A nod after each girl, or a note scribbled without comment. Most didn't flinch.

Until the fifth girl.

A sharp inhale. A glance between inspectors. The lead woman stiffened.

"She's with child."

The words shattered through the chamber like a dropped blade.

The girl—Eline—stepped back, eyes wide.

"I didn't— It's not—"

But she didn't finish.

Two guards entered from the shadows, cloaks dragging ash behind them. No one had seen them waiting.

Eline screamed when they took her.

She still screamed as they dragged her across the stone floor, out through the frost-brushed arch, her voice trailing behind like torn silk.

Monica didn't move.

Neither did Aurora.

But her fingers had curled into fists without her knowing.

Monica leaned in.

"They'll say it's punishment," she said. "But it's fear. One pregnancy out of season, and every Alpha questions the bond. Questions the bloodline. That girl wasn't ruined. She just scared the court."

Aurora swallowed.

The inspectors continued.

The inspector paused in front of Aurora.

Gloved hands hovered over her abdomen, pressed lightly—measuring, memorizing. Aurora kept her eyes forward, breathing steady, even though her stomach curled with each heartbeat.

After a moment, the inspector gave no nod.

She simply stepped back.

But instead of turning to the next girl, she drifted—slowly, deliberately—toward the far end of the chamber where the Queen stood.

They exchanged no greetings.

Just one whisper, close enough that even Monica couldn't hear.

The Queen's gaze didn't shift from the line of girls.

But her mouth curved.

A smirk.

Polished. Cold. Dangerous.

And then—a single nod.

No words were spoken. No accusations made.

But Aurora felt it, deep in her bones.

**Whatever was said… it was about her.**

After the final scribble of ink and the last hushed exchange, the lead inspector turned to face the girls.

"You are dismissed," she said, voice flat as glass.

The line broke. Some girls moved quickly, like being spared had stolen their breath. Others—like Aurora—moved slowly, one eye still on the far end of the room where the Queen stood watching shadows instead of people.

Monica fell into step beside her.

But Aurora's mind hadn't moved on.

She glanced sideways. "What if she was wrong?"

Monica blinked. "Who?"

"The inspector." Aurora's voice dropped. "What if she mistook something? What if she—"

Monica cut her off with a sharp laugh. Not mocking. Just final.

"That woman?" she said. "She's the palace's cold right hand. Knows how to read a womb the way priests read prophecy."

Aurora frowned. "Still. No one's perfect."

Monica shook her head, the corners of her mouth tight. "She doesn't *guess*, Aurora. She confirms. If she whispered to the Queen, it's because she saw something no one else was meant to see."

They reached the corridor.

The light felt different now—cooler. Watching.

Aurora looked down at her hands. Still clean. Still hers.

But suddenly, it didn't feel like her body was fully her own anymore.

Because someone else had made a decision.

And she hadn't even known the question had been asked.

—

Aurora stepped into the room, expecting silence.

She'd thought he was gone—called to another council meeting or summoned by the King. The door hadn't been guarded. The air was still.

But as she turned to place the flask on his desk, she froze.

**He was there.**

Standing with his back to her, bare save for a towel wrapped low around his hips, another draped over his head as he dried his hair in slow, even motions.

He didn't flinch at her presence.

Didn't even turn.

But his voice, low and amused, rippled through the silence.

"I don't know which of us is meant to be seducing the other anymore.

Me, or the girl sent to make me stumble."

Aurora blinked, caught between modesty and curiosity. Her mistress's warning echoed sharp in her mind: *"Make him want you. Or you're replaceable."*

She cleared her throat. "Alpha Zev."

He dropped the towel from his head—casual, deliberate. His smirk deepened when he saw her staring.

"Careful," he said, voice like smoke. "You keep looking at me like that and I'll assume you've chosen your weapon. Again."

She stepped forward. Not bold—controlled. Rehearsed.

There was a towel left folded at the edge of the bed. She picked it up, fingers steady despite the hammer in her chest.

"Sit," she said gently—barely above a whisper.

He raised a brow, clearly entertained.

"Are you giving me orders now?"

Her eyes met his, lashes low. "No," she said. "I'm... requesting."

He sat.

And she knelt behind him.

The towel touched his hair, slow and measured. Aurora pressed it through the damp strands, careful not to tremble. He didn't speak—just let her work.

But by the third pass, his shoulders had dropped.

By the fifth, he sighed.

The towel at his waist shifted slightly. Aurora's eyes flicked down. She swallowed, heat crawling up her neck.

*"It's working,"* she thought. *"He's letting me in."*

Oil warmed in her palm. She pressed her hands to his back, smoothing it over tense muscles, working in silence.

And then—soft. Barely audible—a breath from him that sounded like restraint unraveling.

Aurora leaned close, pressing a kiss to the base of his neck.

"Alpha Zev…"

He stood.

Suddenly. Fast.

She stumbled forward, caught herself on the edge of the mattress.

"I'm tired," he muttered, walking to the wardrobe. His voice had hardened again, pushing something away.

Aurora composed herself.

"What do I earn, for doing as you wanted?" she asked, lips curled into something that wasn't quite a smile.

He turned, eyes sharp like glass ready to break.

A pause.

Then—

"Fine. You earn the bed."

A heartbeat.

"But stay on the side."

He held her gaze, voice like command wrapped in warning.

"Am I clear?"

She nodded.

"Yes, Alpha."

---

The space between them felt measured, as if he'd drawn an invisible line down the bed and dared her to cross it.

Zev didn't speak after that. He lay on his back, one arm folded behind his head, the other stretched across his stomach. His chest rose and fell in slow, steady rhythm—Alpha calm. Untouched by what just happened.

Aurora stared at the ceiling, still alert. Her fingers curled into the blanket she hadn't dared pull fully over her body. She couldn't tell if the heat in her skin was from tension or disappointment.

She had done everything right.

Every touch had been rehearsed. Every word soft enough to be safe, bold enough to be noticed. Still... no reward. Just a bed, and a warning.

*Was that a victory?*

*Or just mercy?*

She rolled to her side carefully, facing away from him. The sheets rustled, and for a breathless second, she thought he might shift—say something. Reach. React.

But nothing.

Even his breathing didn't change.

*"Make him want you."*

The words echoed again, sharper this time. But now, in the dark, beside a man who ruled entire provinces with just a glance... the idea felt *childish.*

Zev didn't want.

He decided.

And if he did want—he'd never let her see it.

She shut her eyes, but rest didn't come. Not with her back to a wolf she still didn't know how to tame.