Make Me Yours, Alpha Uncle

Danette POV:

I died in a car crash-only to wake up as the "Wolfless," a disgraced princess despised by all of wolf-kind, and poisoned to death by my own stepmother before I even had time to breathe.

But I've always lived by one rule: kneel fast enough, and no one can kick you away. So the very first thing I did after coming back to life? Cling to the most ruthless regent in the entire wolf clan-and refuse to let go.

Hunted by assassins? The regent blocks every blade. Swallowed by a tiger? I tame the beast and turn it into a pet. Want to survive? I make the ice-cold regent beg me to stay with his own lips.

Surrounded by elite warriors and bolts of silk in his sprawling courtyard, I was moved to tears. "Your Highness," I said, "you've been so good to me. Tell me your heart's desire-and I'll make it happen."

The man lowered his gaze, his voice deep and low. "I want an heir."

***

Ah...... I'm dead!

Darkness swallowed me whole.

When consciousness returned, it was to a cold that felt like it was inside my bones. I was lying on something hard, unyielding. My body was a statue, completely frozen. I couldn't move a muscle.

I tried to open my eyes. My lids felt like they were sealed with lead. All I could perceive was a dim, blurry blackness.

Then the memories came.

Not my memories.

They poured into me, foreign and overwhelming, carrying a life that wasn't mine. A girl named Danette Espinoza was Twenty years old. She Diagnosed as "wolfless," a disgrace to her family and her Pack.

Seraphina Valerius-the Alpha King's favored consort, pressing a cup into Danette's hands. "Drink, dear. It's medicine."

Danette was the Alpha King's daughter. His only child by his first wife, Helena. But after her mother fell from favor, Seraphina had taken charge of her care.

Flashes of a sweet, cloying broth, forced down her throat day after day. The weakness that followed, a slow decay from within. The woman who called herself Danette's caretaker had been systematically poisoning her.

The final memory was the worst. A gut-wrenching pain. The taste of copper as she coughed up blood. Her vision fading to black as she collapsed.

I understood.

The knowledge hit me like a physical blow, and for a heartbeat I teetered on the edge of panic. I had died, a modern woman with the same name as this girl. And I had woken up in the body of a princess who had just been murdered.

What the hell? The thought, my own, screamed through the foreign memories. I was just trying to make a deadline. I ran one stupid red light.Then I got into a car accident.

The scent of mildew and bitter herbs crept into my nostrils. My senses were slowly coming back online.

A voice, cold and old, drifted from outside a door. "I've confirmed it, Matron Gable. Not a breath in her."

Another voice chimed in, dripping with satisfaction. "Finally. The family's shame is over."

Matron Gable's voice cut through the air again, sharp and final. "Follow protocol. Alert the cleaning crew. Dispose of it before sunset. I don't want the filth stinking up this place overnight."

My heart-if this body still had a functioning one-seized in my chest.

They were going to throw me out like trash.

A primal need to survive, raw and overwhelming, surged through me. I had to take control of this vessel. Now.

I heard footsteps retreating down a hallway. I didn't have much time.

I focused all my mental energy, every ounce of my will, on my right hand. Move.

Just a finger. Move.

My pinky finger twitched. A spasm. It sent a searing pain, like a tearing nerve, all the way up my arm.

But it worked.

A flicker of hope ignited in the cold darkness of my mind. I kept trying, pushing against the rigid paralysis.

Then I heard it. A soft, suppressed sob from a corner of the room.

The new memories supplied a name. Helena Acosta. The original Danette's mother. Locked away in this hovel, her mind broken.

A wave of something-pity, a daughter's concern-mixed with my own desperation. It gave me a jolt of strength.

I tried to pull air into my lungs. My chest seized, refusing to expand. Panic flared. I forced myself to focus, to try again. This time I fought for a breath.

My lungs screamed as icy air flooded them, a feeling of being burned from the inside out.

But I did it. I was breathing.

I forced my eyes to move, to focus. The room swam into view. It was dilapidated, dark. A single sliver of light pierced through a crack in a boarded-up window.

In the corner, a thin woman was curled into a ball, hugging her knees. Motionless, like a statue carved from grief, except for her thin fingers plucking at a frayed thread on her sleeve-a tiny, repetitive motion that spoke of a mind lost in its own world. My mother. Helena.

I wanted to call out for help, but I knew. A woman who had lost her mind couldn't save me.

I had to save myself.

More footsteps approached the door. Heavier this time. The cleaning crew.

The door creaked open.

In that split second, with a surge of adrenaline that felt like lightning, I poured every last bit of my will into one, single action.

I sat up.

The two men who entered the room froze. Their faces, rough and uncaring a moment before, twisted into masks of pure terror. One of them let out a choked scream. The other simply stared, his jaw hanging open, a dirty burlap sack dropping from his nerveless fingers.

They saw a dead girl, eyes wide open, sitting bolt upright on her own deathbed.

Danette POV:

"She's alive!" one of the cleaners shrieked, scrambling backward so fast he tripped over his own feet.

The other one wasn't far behind, crashing into the doorframe in his haste to escape. They fled, their panicked shouts echoing down the hall.

I gasped for air, each breath a painful victory. My body was still incredibly weak, a fragile shell, but my mind was racing.

The news of my "resurrection" would spread like wildfire. I needed a story, a defense, before they came back with someone more powerful than a cleaning crew.

My gaze fell on the woman curled in the corner. Helena. My mother.

The memories told me she was once the Pack's Luna, a position of honor. But she'd lost a political battle, and after I was diagnosed as "wolfless," her spirit had shattered completely.

Fragments of the original Danette's suffering flickered through my mind-being shoved into a muddy puddle while nobles laughed, locked outside in a winter storm until her lips turned blue, a cup of scalding water thrown over her for "talking back" when she only whimpered. Each memory burned with a cold fury that wasn't entirely my own.

This was a hell of a starting point.

Using the wall for support, I struggled out of the bed. My legs trembled, barely able to hold my weight. I shuffled over to her, my movements slow and agonizing.

I knelt and gently took her hand. It was as cold as mine had been, and so thin it felt like a bird's skeleton.

"Mom?" I whispered. Her eyes remained vacant, lost in a world I couldn't see.

Normal words wouldn't reach her. I needed something powerful. A lie so profound it could break through the fog of her grief.

I took a deep breath, ignoring the ache in my ribs. When I spoke, my voice was clear and firm. "Mom, the poison didn't kill me. It cured me."

A flicker. A tiny, almost imperceptible shift in her empty gaze. Her eyes slowly, painfully, focused on my face.

I caught her hand and pressed it against my cheek. "Feel, Mom. I'm warm. I'm here."

She flinched, as if expecting a ghost. Then slowly, hesitantly, her fingers traced my jaw.

"Dani?" Her voice was a dry, rasping sound.

I nodded, forcing tears into my eyes. "It's me, Mom. I'm better now. But Seraphina-she tried to kill me. And she'll try again."

At that name, Helena's body went rigid. Her hand jerked back as if burned, and her eyes clouded with raw terror. She shook her head, curling tighter into herself. "No, no-I can't-she'll kill us both."

I gripped her shoulders, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Listen to me. The cleaners are already reporting my 'death.' By tonight, Seraphina will know I'm alive. She won't send servants next time-she'll send someone who won't fail."

Helena's breath came in shallow, hitching gasps. Her fingers twisted the frayed edge of her sleeve, a frantic, repetitive motion. For a long, agonizing moment, she said nothing. Her lips parted, then closed. A tear slipped down her cheek. Then another.

I held her tighter. "We have nothing left to lose, Mom. Please. Who in this Pack has the power to stand against her? Who does even she fear?"

Her trembling gradually stilled. She looked at me-really looked-and something in her eyes shifted from pure panic to a reluctant, desperate resolve.

She swallowed hard. "The Lord Regent," she whispered. "Griffith Whitfield."

Her voice dropped even lower. "He is the adopted son of the late King Alpha. A cold, ruthless Lycan. He is the true ruler of the Silverwood Dominion.Per the house's hierarchical rules, you ought to call him uncle."

Griffith Whitfield. I repeated the name in my mind.

A memory surfaced: a towering figure against the moon, an arena falling silent at his arrival, a whispered tale of him tearing out a traitor's throat with his own teeth.

My target was set. I had to reach him before Seraphina realized I was alive-before she sent someone more competent than a pair of cleaners.

My eyes hardened with a resolve I hadn't felt since I was chasing that impossible deadline back in my old life. I was going to find Griffith Whitfield. But just getting to him wouldn't be enough. He was a man who valued leverage, not pleas. I needed something he wanted-something only I could offer. The thought flickered, half-formed, but it planted a seed.

I rose on unsteady legs, bracing myself against the wall. Helena's hand found mine, her fingers cold but clinging.

"Dani..." she whispered, her eyes pleading.

I squeezed her hand. I had a long way to go, and no one to rely on but myself.

He was my only way out of this alive. I would crawl through hell to reach him if I had to.

Danette POV:

I settled my mother back into her corner, instructing her to lock the door and pretend to be asleep. Then I found the plainest, most worn-out dress in the small wardrobe and pulled it on.

I searched my new memories for a map of the territory. The Regent's manor, a fortress of black stone, sat in the northernmost part of the Pack lands-a forbidden zone. But I didn't plan to go there directly. I needed somewhere to hide, to gather my strength before I could figure out how to approach a man like Griffith Whitfield.

I peered through a crack in the window boards. A few Omegas huddled outside, pointing and whispering at my window. The news was already spreading. One of them glanced toward the main path, and I saw her lips move-"She's not dead?"-before she scurried away, likely to report.

I had to move before the Pack leadership reacted.

I found a loose board at the back of the room, pried it open, and slipped out into the cold evening air. I stuck to the shadows of the dilapidated buildings, moving as quickly as my weak body would allow.

Every step sent a wave of dizziness through me, a reminder of the poison still lingering in my system. I pushed on, but after a few dozen yards, my vision blurred and my knees buckled. I collapsed behind a rotting barrel, retching bile onto the dirt. My hands trembled violently. For a long, terrifying moment, I couldn't see-only hear the distant shouts of someone calling for guards. I forced myself to breathe, to crawl deeper into the shadows, and after what felt like an eternity, my sight returned. I had lost precious time, and the voices were closer now.

I rounded a corner and ran straight into someone.

I looked up into the sneering face of Cassandra Valerius, another of the Pack's cruel noblewomen and a distant niece of Seraphina. Beside her stood her hulking handmaiden, Bertha Riggs. Both looked at me as if I were something they'd scraped off their shoe.

"Well, look what we have here," Cassandra drawled, covering her nose with a silk fan. "The disgrace that didn't have the decency to stay dead. And dressed like a common beggar-did you steal that rag from a corpse?"

My stomach tightened. Cassandra was one of Seraphina's cronies, and her favorite pastime was tormenting me.

I had no time for this. I lowered my head and tried to sidestep them.

Cassandra stuck out her foot to trip me. I was expecting it, and I managed to stumble past, my body lurching awkwardly.

Her face flushed with anger at my audacity to dodge. "Stop right there! Who gave you permission to wander around, you wolfless freak? You think you can just walk away? I should have you chained up and sent back to the Omega pens-everyone would thank me for putting the dead girl where she belongs."

Bertha lunged, her thick fingers reaching for my hair.

My instincts, honed by a life of navigating corporate sharks, took over. Just as her hand was about to connect, I dropped into a low squat.

Bertha's hand swiped through empty air. Her momentum carried her forward, and she crashed directly into Cassandra.

"Agh!" Cassandra shrieked as they both went down in a tangle of limbs and expensive fabric.

I didn't wait to see the result. I ran.

"Get her! Don't let her get away!" Cassandra's furious screams echoed behind me, and I heard the pounding of more feet-she had called for backup.

I pushed myself harder, my lungs burning. I plunged into a small, dense patch of woods that served as a natural barrier to the northern territory.

The sounds of pursuit were close behind-two, maybe three sets of footsteps. They were faster, stronger, and gaining.

Ahead, the path forked. One way led to open ground, where they would catch me in seconds. The other led deeper into the forbidden northern woods-toward the Regent's territory. I had no choice. The open ground meant capture and certain death; the forbidden zone meant trespassing, but at least I could think.

Without hesitation, I chose the northern path. I half-ran, half-slid down the rocky incline, ignoring the branches that tore at my dress and scratched my arms. My hands were raw and bleeding by the time I reached the bottom.

From the top of the slope, I could hear Cassandra and Bertha shouting curses, but they didn't dare descend. One of the guards shouted, "That's Regent land! Let her go-she'll be dead by morning anyway."

I had shaken them. But their words hung in the air like a death sentence.

Leaning against a tree, gasping for breath, I looked up. Through the trees, I saw it. A massive structure, built entirely of black rock, radiating an aura of cold, brutal power. It loomed against the darkening sky like a monument to intimidation.

The Regent's manor.

I had made it. But in escaping my pursuers, I had just trespassed into the most dangerous place in the entire Dominion. A chill ran down my spine as I remembered the whispers: no one entered those gates uninvited and walked out again. The Regent had no mercy for intruders, and his beasts-they said-were always hungry.

I was standing at the threshold of my last chance-and my most likely grave.