The Enemy Alpha's Wet Nurse

Lingering Scent

Amara woke up gasping, her lungs feeling as if they were filled with hot sand.

Dark. Confined.

For a moment, she forgot where she was. Her first instinct was to grope the side of the bed, searching for her husband’s strong arm. But her fingers only met a pile of rough fabric and the cold wooden floor.

Reality hit her like a tidal wave.

Her husband was dead. Her baby was gone. And now she was curled up like a mouse on the floor of her enemy’s walk-in closet.

Amara sat up, hugging her knees tightly. Her body trembled, not from cold, but because of the aroma in this cramped space.

This walk-in closet was hell for her senses. Hundreds of Raxus’s shirts, battle cloaks, and fur coats hung above her like a line of watchful ghosts. Every thread in this room screamed one name—Raxus Blackmoon.

The heavy scent of sandalwood, tobacco, and male musk wafted from the clothes, enveloping Amara, clinging to her skin, stealing the air from her lungs. It felt as if Raxus was embracing her from all sides, squeezing her until she could barely breathe.

“Damn it,” Amara whispered, rubbing her goose-pimpled arms. She felt dirty. She felt betrayed by her own body, which, strangely, felt safe surrounded by this dominant scent.

Creak.

The sound of heavy footsteps came from the main bedroom.

Amara’s heart stopped. She held her breath, her eyes fixed on the closet door gap which—per Raxus’s command—had been left slightly ajar.

Moonlight from the balcony cast a giant silhouette that moved closer. The shadow grew larger, darker, until it finally covered the door gap completely.

Raxus stood in the closet doorway.

He was still bare-chested, wearing only loose pajama bottoms that hung low on his hips. His hair was messy, his eyes gleaming in the darkness, a sign that the Alpha had not slept well.

“You’re noisy,” Raxus growled. His voice was raspy, typical of waking up, but its sharpness was undiminished.

Amara blinked. “I—I didn’t make a sound…”

“Your heart,” Raxus cut in, stepping into the cramped space. “Your heartbeat is too loud. Like a rabbit chased by a wolf. It’s bothering me.”

Amara backed up until her spine hit the closet wall. This room was too small for both of them. Raxus’s presence sucked up all the remaining oxygen.

“I’m sorry,” Amara squeaked, looking down. “I had a nightmare.”

“A nightmare?” Raxus scoffed mockingly. He didn’t stop walking. He kept approaching until his bare feet touched the edge of Amara’s blanket. “Do you think you’re the only one haunted by nightmares in this castle?”

Raxus knelt.

The sudden movement made Amara gasp. Now their faces were level. In the narrow space filled with hanging clothes, Raxus looked like a monster cornering its prey in a den.

The man reached out a hand. Amara squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself to be hit or choked again.

But the touch wasn’t painful.

Raxus’s fingers gripped the hem of Amara’s nightgown, then pulled the fabric close to his nose.

“Your scent…” Raxus whispered, his tone sounding frustrated. “Why is your scent so strong tonight?”

Amara opened her eyes, confused. “I’m not wearing any perfume. I haven’t even bathed since—”

“Milk,” Raxus cut in again. “And vanilla. And fear.”

He released Amara’s gown, then his hand moved up, touching his black shirt hanging right beside Amara’s head. An expensive silk shirt whose hem now brushed Amara’s shoulder.

Raxus brought his face close to the shirt, inhaling deeply.

His jaw hardened.

“You are contaminating my clothes,” Raxus accused coldly. His gaze shifted from the shirt to Amara’s face. “Your aroma is clinging to my shirts. To my cloaks. To this entire room. Now, everywhere I go, I will carry your scent.”

“I can move!” Amara quickly offered, seeing the flash of anger in Raxus’s eyes. “Let me sleep in the bathroom. Or on the balcony. I didn’t mean to—”

“Silence.”

Raxus gripped Amara’s chin, holding her in place.

“I didn’t tell you to move,” he said, his voice dropping into a confusing, possessive growl. “I’m just stating a fact. You are invading my territory, Prisoner. And my wolf… he doesn’t like strange scents in his den.”

That was a lie. Amara could see it. Raxus’s dilated pupils betrayed his words. Raxus’s wolf wasn’t angry. The wolf was curious.

Raxus leaned closer, eroding the distance between them. His nose brushed Amara’s jawline, inhaling the scent of cold sweat on the woman’s neck.

Amara’s body tensed rigidly, but strangely, she didn’t push Raxus away. There was a strange magnetic pull—an invisible bond drawing them both in.

“Do you know what a male wolf does when there is a strange scent in his territory?” Raxus whispered right in front of Amara’s lips.

Amara shook her head weakly, her breath held captive.

“He piles his own scent on top of it,” Raxus answered darkly. “He marks it. Claims it. Until the foreign scent is completely gone.”

Raxus’s hand moved down from her chin to her neck, then stopped right above Amara’s heartbeat on her left chest. His large, hot palm covered Amara’s cloth-covered breast.

“Perhaps I should mark you, Amara,” he whispered dangerously. “So you know your place.”

Waaa… Waaaaa!

Ares’s cry broke the spell instantly.

Raxus froze. His hand was still pressed against Amara’s chest. For one second that felt like forever, he seemed reluctant to let go. He seemed to want to continue whatever he had just started.

But the crying grew louder. Reality rushed back in.

Raxus snatched his hand back as if burned. He stood up straight, towering over Amara, his face returning to a cold, untouchable mask.

“Tend to him,” Raxus commanded harshly, turning and stepping out of the closet without looking back. “And make sure you bathe afterward. Your scent is driving me insane.”

Amara slumped weakly onto the closet floor. Her heart raced wildly, no longer because of the nightmare, but because of the burning sensation Raxus’s palm had left on her skin.

An hour later, the morning sun began to peek through the thick curtains.

Amara had finished nursing and changing Ares’s diaper—using clean cloths she found in a drawer, since no servants had arrived.

Raxus was fully dressed. He wore the black shirt Amara had touched the night before. The man stood in front of the large mirror, buttoning his cuffs with stiff movements.

“Alpha,” a heavy voice sounded from behind the main door.

“Enter,” Raxus replied.

The door opened. A sturdy man with short brown hair entered carrying a tray of food and a water pitcher. That was Dorian, Raxus’s trusted Beta.

Dorian’s eyes immediately swept the room. He saw Raxus, then his gaze fell on Amara, who was sitting in the corner chair, patting Ares’s back to burp him.

Dorian’s steps paused momentarily. There was a flash of sympathy—or perhaps admiration—in the Beta’s eyes when he saw Amara. Despite her disarray, Amara’s beauty as a former Luna could not be hidden. Her long, flowing hair and maternal aura radiated a gentle charm.

“Your breakfast, Alpha,” Dorian said, placing the tray on the table, but his eyes glanced at Amara again. “And I brought an extra portion for… Lady Amara.”

Raxus, who was adjusting his collar, suddenly froze.

He saw where Dorian was looking. He saw how his Beta was staring at Amara’s slender neck, exposed because her hair was swept to the side.

Raxus’s jaw hardened. The air in the room suddenly turned cold and sharp. Raxus’s dominant pheromones exploded outward, aggressive and oppressive.

Dorian flinched, immediately lowering his head, breaking eye contact with Amara. “Forgive me, Alpha. I didn’t mean to—”

“Get out,” Raxus cut in. His voice was calm, but deadly.

“But the morning training schedule—”

“GET OUT!” Raxus roared, slamming a perfume bottle on the dressing table until it shattered.

Dorian immediately retreated and closed the door quickly, leaving the two of them in a chilling silence.

Amara hugged Ares tightly, her eyes wide with shock at the outburst of anger.

Raxus turned slowly to face Amara. His breathing was ragged. His golden eyes flashed savagely, not at Dorian, but at Amara.

He approached with long strides, caging Amara in the corner chair.

“What did you do to him?” Raxus accused.

“What? I didn’t do anything!” Amara defended herself. “I was just sitting here!”

“You let him look at you,” Raxus snarled, his hands gripping the back of the chair, trapping Amara between them. “Your neck. Your hair. You flaunted it for another male in my room.”

“He’s your Beta! He was just bringing food!”

“He’s a male!” Raxus brought his face closer, his teeth gritted. “Listen carefully, Prisoner. In this room, in this castle… the only male allowed to look at you like that is me.”

Raxus gently pulled Amara’s hair, forcing her to look up, exposing the slender neck Dorian had just seen.

“From now on, you are not to leave this room without my permission. You are not to speak to any male other than me. And you…”

Raxus traced Amara’s collarbone with his finger, leaving a searing trail of heat.

“…you must cover every inch of your skin, unless I command you to expose it for my brother. Understand?”

Amara swallowed, staring into those obsessed, golden eyes. That was not an Alpha’s command to a prisoner. It was a claim of ownership.

“Understood, Alpha,” Amara whispered.

“Good,” Raxus straightened up, adjusting his jacket as if nothing had happened. “Eat your breakfast. Your milk must be high quality. If Ares gets a stomach ache because you’re stressed, I will kill Dorian as a warning.”

With that final threat, Raxus strode out, slamming the door behind him.

Leaving a trembling Amara, who realized she had just triggered something far more dangerous than hatred:

The jealousy of an Alpha who didn't realize he was already in love.