Alfred Gotham Novels & Stories

Chest tight. I needed Alfred. Now. “Get Alfred,” I snapped, voice like a knife. “Now.” The guard at the door bolted. Alfred knew every sickness, every cure, every fucking thing that could go wrong in a wolf’s body. If anyone could fix this, it was him. I turned back to the books. Scanned. Flipped. Ripped. The words bled together. None of it made sense. Minutes passed. Maybe an hour. Didn’t fucking care.

She took a few small steps forward, shaking her head as disbelief and grief wrestled for control inside her. Jeff remained silent, avoiding her gaze. His hands were folded on his lap, his face unreadable. He knew better than to interfere. Alfred Wyndham was not a man anyone dared to question—not even him. The old man had built empires from nothing, manipulated industries, families, and even bloodlines to protect his name. Alfred finally sighed, resting both palms on his cane. His voice softened, but it held authority still. “Maybe when you sit down, I’ll explain.”

And Zeus, Arthur and even me, we can’t stand the power he holds. Alfred didn’t even mourn Heathen’s or Paxton’s death; all he is worried about how to make me his. He can do whatever he wants, but there are still two tier’s left. But when Zeus, Arthur and I discussed about the soul sorcerers, Zeus specifically mentioned to stay wary of Alfred. We only had Heathen’s photo at that time, but if we look at Alfred, he looks like a normal human but with a gigantic body. He was taller than Zeus, broader than him as well.

Adulf did not join the crazy era to desire doc martens boots or Hart Simpsons T-shirt, or trying to dress all Alicia silver stone in Clueless, adulf was embracing instead a far more backward culture, the goth, against a backward baseball hat. A man, of whom might have been his mothers lover, or husband(she previously had been married to six) had read him Goosebumps, a best honor horror fiction dedicated to ruin children's imaginations. Leaving USA and back to wales, was leaving trends of oversized denims he so detested. Three square meals became rarer and rarer and Adulf grew skinnier and meaner(Damaris cain had been fired from a very prominent work in the UK, which had been the reason of he

Easton made a low and almost inaudible grunt before narrowing his gaze down to Alfred. “Who do we have here?” he asked instead, a small smile on his lips as he lowered himself a bit to have a better look at Alfred. I took in my bottom lip as my body tensed up. This is the exact conversation I was trying to avoid! “Hello to you, Mr. Grey. I’m Alfred Brookwood, and this gorgeous woman is my mother.” Alfred said boldly before I could respond, his face void of expression that I couldn’t tell his emotions at that moment. “And you are?” He asked Easton.

If an alpha could die at his hand, what about them? These thoughts made them add more vigor to their washing and cleaning. One week was enough to gather strength for work. "Work harder or the Aloha will have your heads for breakfast!" Alfred screamed at the sweating wolves. The whole house smelled of bleach and soap. All traces of the party and booze slowly disappeared. Alfred made his way to the dungeon, where rotten skin made his eyes water. No matter how long he stayed here, he would never get used to the double odor since he was a wolf. He banged at the caged doors to alert the guards.

“How could I not know those two damned baby thieves?!” Alfred roared, his voice filled with almost superhuman hatred, and, even after everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, I think it was safe to say that I had never been so shocked in my entire life. "What...?" I stammered, weakly, but no one there seemed to notice.

Alfie's Pov I am Alfred, the first son of Uther Sullivan. My father, Uther, had an affair with my mother, but he lacked the courage to acknowledge her openly. And why? Simply because my mother, a mere servant, hailed from a tribe deemed forbidden by the standards of our society. They believed the werewolves of Whistleberry were cursed, yet Uther, the almighty king of Galencia, didn't consider that when he engaged in a relationship with my mother.

“He used to run with Enzo, the guy in that underground downtown.” The guy squinted. “Who is asking?” I shrugged. “Businessman. Looking for someone who can move things.” He took a long sip, burped, then nodded lazily. “Alfred runs some rat hole cartel out near the port. He still acts like he’s made of fire. He is an idiot.” That was enough. I slipped him a folded bill and left without another word.

Alfred was a renowned medical practitioner who quit the profession to dive into the herbal and mystic healing arts of the lost age. He groaned deeply as he sat up, his eyes darting to the little test tube Alfred was swirling over a benzene burner. “Is it ready yet?” “Sooner than later,” Alfred replied in his hoarse voice, pushing up his glasses. “You should lay back and let those herbs properly soak up the toxins from your wound. If you had gotten here even just a minute late, the blood oak pack would have been without an Alpha.” “I’m fine,” Tatum replied but hearing that he could have been dead, reminded him of when he rode his motorcycle off a cliff to his near death to escape capture from