The Wolfless Gamma's Forbidden Lycan King

ADELAIDE HUGHES POV:

My body felt like it was filled with lead. My eyelids were heavy, threatening to close, and the candlelight in the room fractured into blurry halos.

It was the effect of "Moonlight's Kiss," a potent tincture designed to render even the strongest Alpha docile.

Mrs. Gable's wrinkled face loomed over me.She was Eleanor's head housekeeper, a woman whose loyalty to the matriarch was matched only by her cruelty to those beneath her. For years, she had managed the castle's servants with an iron fist—and had overseen my own "training" in obedience since the day I arrived. Her rough fingers dug into my chin, forcing my head up. Her breath carried the sour stench of rotting apples.

"Look at her," she sneered to Mrs. Pryce, who stood behind her. Mrs. Pryce, the keeper of Eleanor's inner chambers, answered only to the mistress herself. She had presided over the private affairs of the household, and it was her meticulous records that tracked every punishment and every humiliation I had endured. "The once-great 'Frostfang Gamma,' the pride of the Hughes pack. Now she's nothing but a wolfless piece of trash."

The term "Frostfang Gamma" was a title my father gave me, a name that once echoed with respect and fear across the northern frontiers. Now, it was just another tool for my tormentors.

Mrs. Pryce's thin voice, like nails scraping on slate, chimed in. "Now, now, Gable. She is, after all, an orphan adopted by the Serrano family. We must treat her 'well.'"

She stressed the words "well" and "adopted" with a venom that coiled in my gut.

My mind was sluggish under the drug's influence, but the word "wolfless" was a shard of ice in my soul. Three years ago, after the ambush that wiped out my family, my inner wolf had fallen silent. I could no longer shift, no longer access the strength that was my birthright. I was broken.

It was then that my cousin, Carlee Sweeney, returned to the Serrano court draped in false glory. She carried my father's signet ring and a forged letter, claiming he had transferred the title of Frostfang Gamma to her on his deathbed. Worse, she painted my entire pack as traitors to the crown—a lie that stained our name beyond repair. The Serranos, eager to bury any whiff of rebellion, swallowed her story whole. I was left stripped of honor, a living reminder of a "traitor's" bloodline, and Lady Eleanor—who had always resented my father's rise—seized the chance to adopt me not out of charity, but to gloat over the ruin of her rival's child.

My father's drills had carved themselves into my bones. Even without my wolf, my muscles remembered the weight of a sword, the pivot of a dodge, the silent stalk of prey. I was weaker than any Alpha, but I was not helpless. That memory was the only weapon they had not taken from me.

"Lord Warren Finch is on his way," Mrs. Pryce continued in her sickeningly sweet tone. "He's wolfless too, but he has a particular taste for beauties like our poor Adelaide—once powerful, now helpless. He'll be very 'gentle.'"

Warren Finch. The name alone made my stomach churn. A bloated, preening official who had clawed his way up through court connections. They were selling me to a pig.

Mrs. Gable released my chin with a grunt of satisfaction. "Remember how you injured me last time, you little bitch?" She pointed to a faint scar on her cheek, a memento from a time I still had the strength to fight back. "After tonight, let's see you try that again."

I summoned every ounce of my strength, forcing words from my throat. "You... won't get away with this."

The sound was a raw, weak whisper. It was pathetic.

They erupted in shrill laughter, as if I'd told the funniest joke in the kingdom. Mrs. Pryce checked the door, and the click of the lock echoed like a death sentence. No escape that way.

They retreated to chairs in the corner, two vultures waiting for their prey to stop breathing.

I lay on the bed, feigning complete unconsciousness, but my mind was a battlefield, warring against the encroaching fog of the drug. I would not be a passive victim. Not again.

I clenched my fists, feeling the familiar ache of calloused palms—a ghost of all those years of training. The drug dulled my senses, but it could not erase the instincts that had kept me alive on a dozen battlefields.

My eyes scanned the room, searching for any way out. The door was locked, guards posted outside.

Then my gaze landed on the glass doors leading to the balcony. They weren't locked.

Beyond the balcony was a sheer drop of dozens of feet, down to the oldest, most derelict part of the castle: the North Wing.

I forced my mind to focus, recalling the castle blueprints my father, the Alpha of the Hughes pack, had made me study. He taught me to know the layout of every noble's territory, a lesson in strategy I once thought was for war, not for my own escape.

The North Wing... it was forbidden. A place of dread within the Serrano lands.

I heard the rumble of a carriage outside, followed by a man's greasy laugh. Finch. He was here.

Panic, cold and sharp, washed over me. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat that seemed to momentarily push back the drug's effects. A sliver of feeling returned to my fingertips.

I had to move. Now.

I bit the inside of my cheek, hard. The sharp, coppery taste of blood was a jolt to my senses, clearing my head for a precious second.

Slowly, using every bit of strength I possessed, I slid my body from the bed to the floor. The faint rustle of fabric was lost in the sound of the wind howling outside.

Gable and Pryce were whispering to each other, haggling over the reward they'd get from Finch. They didn't notice.

I crawled toward the balcony doors, the cold stone floor a shock against my bare skin, each inch a victory against the poison in my veins. Pushing the door open felt like it took a century, every tiny creak a potential death knell.

A blast of cold night air hit me, and I drank it in greedily. Beyond the balcony lay either hell or a sliver of hope. I knew what—or who—was said to live in the North Wing.

A legend. A taboo. The "Ancient One" of the Serrano family, a creature of unknown age and immense power. It was said that anyone who trespassed on his domain never returned.

On one side, immediate violation by Finch. On the other, a gamble with a mythical monster.

The choice was terrifyingly clear. I would rather face a true demon than be touched by swine.

I hauled myself over the balcony railing, the cold stone biting into my skin. I glanced back at the two women, still oblivious, and a flicker of pure, cold hatred burned in my chest.

Without another moment of hesitation, I gripped the protruding stones and thick ivy on the castle wall and began to climb down, my movements clumsy but resolute, descending into the darkness that promised either death or a forbidden sanctuary.