Episode 4
1199 Words
Ethan POV
Smoke-like whispers reached me before their owners stormed into the courtroom below. From my tower perch, I watched them arrive—elders and high court members, faces etched with undisguised rage as they shot venomous glances toward my chambers.
"They're waiting, my king."
I didn't turn at Sam's voice. "You mean circling like vultures."
"They're out for blood today," he said, stepping closer. "Six more died last night."
Those words pierced between my shoulders like a dagger. I straightened my spine, armoring myself. "Then let's not keep the executioners waiting."
The grand oak doors swung open. Inside, the air crackled with hostility. Every head turned as I entered, chairs scraping stone as they rose mechanically.
"Long live the king," they intoned, the ritual greeting hollow as a corpse.
"Sit," I commanded, dropping into the throne that now felt like a lightning rod. "What exactly requires such urgent attention?"
Elder Thornton's face contorted with fury. "What requires attention?" His voice cut through the room. "Perhaps the morgue overflowing with our dead? Children orphaned overnight? Neighboring packs sealing borders against us like we're diseased rats?" Spittle flew from his lips. "And you sit there asking what's worthy of your *valuable* time?"
My claws dug into the wooden armrests. "Is there anyone who can speak without theatrics?"
The chamber fell silent until Diane stood, composure intact despite the shadows haunting her eyes.
"My king," she said evenly. "Yesterday changed everything. At Anastasia's wedding, Felicia collapsed showing all plague symptoms. Her son sickened within hours of touching her. Three royal guards and Elder Seth's grandmother are now in the infirmary."
I scanned the room—Felicia's absence suddenly glaring. "And Felicia?"
"Fighting for her life," Diane replied. "Panic is spreading faster than the disease. Soon we'll be completely isolated."
I leaned forward. "I've been working to—"
"Working?" Elder Markus slammed his fist down. "Writing letters while we cremate our families?"
A chorus of agreement surged through the chamber.
"The specialist I've contacted—" I started.
"Your ghost doctor!" Gideon shouted. "Your promises are as empty as your leadership, Alpha Ethan. First you failed to contain the outbreak. Now you fail to secure help. It takes more than bloodline to lead a kingdom."
My claws splintered the armrests. Rage burned behind my eyes, vision swimming at the edges. This betrayal—piled atop Isadora abandoning me for my best friend, my beta's loyalty evaporating, and now my subjects' open contempt—tasted like ash in my mouth.
"The doctor," I said, each word razor-sharp, "will arrive within days. She's the world's foremost expert on lycanthropic epidemiology."
"Another lie?" someone called.
"Believe what you want," I replied, ice replacing fire in my veins. "But the doctor is coming, and this plague will be contained. That is my word as your Alpha and King."
Skepticism painted every face.
"When does this miracle worker arrive?" Elder Thornton demanded.
I rose abruptly. "Soon enough. This meeting is over."
They filed out, bowing stiffly, whispers trailing behind them—plots to leave, accusations of insanity, predictions of our pack's extinction. I remained motionless until the doors closed.
Only then did I realize Sam's absence. Unusual—he never left during council meetings.
I collapsed back onto the throne, exhaustion washing over me. Three messengers sent to this Dr. Rory Aldrich. A thousand pleas, met with deafening silence.
Footsteps thundered down the corridor. The doors burst open as Sam rushed in, face flushed, waving an envelope.
"She responded!" he shouted. "Finally!"
I snatched it, claws shredding the expensive paper in desperation.
Inside lay a single sheet with just three words in elegant script:
"*I humbly decline.*"
No explanation. No hope. No salvation.
Rage exploded through me, paper crumpling in my fist as crimson tinged my vision.
"You know where she is." Not a question.
Sam nodded cautiously. "Waxing Crescent territory. Their central hospital. She lives near the eastern border."
I rose, power emanating in waves so intense Sam retreated a step.
"Listen carefully," I growled, thrusting the crumpled letter at him. "Take six warriors. Enter Waxing Crescent territory. Bring Dr. Rory Aldrich to me—*willing or not*."
Sam's eyes widened in shock. "That's an act of aggression! It could trigger war with—"
"War?" I laughed bitterly. "We're already at war with death itself. What's one more battlefield?"
I turned away. "Bring her alive, Sam. I don't care what rules you break or bridges you burn. Find her. Bring her here."
Sam's breathing became measured, the air between us thick with unspoken conflict.
"You don't need to do this," he finally whispered, almost pleading.
"Three days," I said, steel in my voice. "Before I come looking for you both myself."
A long pause, then the soft rustle of movement.
"I hope you know what you're doing," Sam murmured.
I didn't. But admitting that wasn't an option.
The door clicked shut, its gentle sound thunderous in the emptiness.
I exhaled shakily, shoulders buckling under the weight of my decision. My kingdom crumbled beneath me like sand through fingers.
This was my final gambit.
If Dr. Rory Aldrich wouldn't come willingly to save my people...
She would come by force.
---
*Three days later*
The dungeon's iron door groaned open. I descended the damp stone steps, torch crackling in my grip, illuminating patches of moss-covered walls.
"Leave us," I ordered the guards.
They hesitated, exchanging glances.
"Now!"
Their footsteps receded up the stairs.
I approached the cell slowly, torch held high. A figure huddled in the corner, head down, tangled auburn hair obscuring their face.
"Dr. Aldrich, I presume?" My voice echoed off stone walls.
Silence.
"Your refusal cost twelve more lives while Sam traveled to retrieve you."
The figure shifted slightly.
"I'm giving you one chance to cooperate willingly. Help us cure this plague, and you'll return home unharmed."
Finally, the prisoner looked up. Eyes glittering with defiance met mine.
"I'm not Rory Aldrich."
I froze, torch wavering.
The woman's laugh was bitter. "Your men didn't verify my identity before abducting me. I'm Elena Aldrich. Rory's twin sister."
My blood turned to ice. "Where is Dr. Aldrich?"
"Dead." Her smile was vicious. "Killed two weeks ago—investigating your plague."
My mind reeled. "That's impossible. We just received her refusal—"
"I wrote that letter," she hissed, rising to her feet. "And I've been waiting for an opportunity to meet the man responsible for my sister's death."
She stepped into the torchlight, something metallic glinting in her hand.
"My sister discovered something about your plague, Alpha Ethan. Something that made her dangerous enough to silence." Her eyes narrowed. "She wasn't just a doctor. She was a geneticist specializing in targeted biological weapons."
My throat constricted. "What are you saying?"
"Your plague isn't natural." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "It was engineered—specifically for your bloodline."
The torch trembled in my grip. "Who would—"
"That's what Rory was trying to discover when they found her." Elena's expression darkened. "But I already know the answer."
She lunged forward suddenly, pressing against the bars, eyes blazing with hatred.
"Your plague has a designer, Alpha Ethan. And they're inside your royal court.”
- Writer
