Lira snorts. “Safe? I survived tax audits, my mother’s fruitcake, and shifter romance tropes that think ‘mine’ is a full sentence. I can handle strobe lights." 
The Alpha and the Paper Bag Princess
(December 24–25, 2025 – 24 hours of pure holiday chaos)
At the Moon Gala, alpha Darius Kane feels the faint tug of a mate bond—the old shifter magic whispering “maybe forever.” He stops in front of Lira Voss and says, “You’re safe with me now.”
Lira snorts. “Safe? I survived tax audits, my mother’s fruitcake, and shifter romance tropes that think ‘mine’ is a full sentence. I can handle strobe lights.”
Darius blinks. “You’re not what I expected.”
“‘Fragile’ isn’t on my résumé,” she replies, popping a truffle. “I’m more ‘hold my earrings while I cause problems’ energy.”
“Challenge accepted,” he rumbles.
“Careful, Alpha. I come with plot twists and 2 a.m. nacho demands.”
By 11:47 p.m., they’re on the rooftop terrace, snow falling like glitter.
Lira starts the roast. “Fated mates? The moon’s drunk friend at 2 a.m. going ‘trust me, you’d be cute together.’”
Darius laughs. “The elders say opposites balance.”
“Opposites? I’m you with better hair and worse impulse control.”
She paces. “Fated mates are cosmic identity theft. The moon yeeted me a dumpster fire with abs. I’m supposed to teach you to use a coaster? Pass.”
Darius roars with laughter. “You’re savage.”
She grins. “Fated mates? More like fated frenemies with a supernatural NDA to pretend we don’t want to strangle each other. I’m serving looks, chaos, and a cease-and-desist to the cosmos. The elders are adding a ‘what if they hate each other’ chapter to the prophecy.”
Darius: “You really hate it that much?”
“It’s a scam! Women don’t get a perfect prince. If I want something, I earn it. That’s reality.”
“Spoken like a queen.”
“I don’t want to be a queen. I manage fine without a man.” Her cheeks flush as she lingers on him.
Darius: “Not all women seek brute strength. I have two rescue dogs—both named Luna—who protect me.”
“Is that a comparison?” He pauses, then drops the hammer: “I’m the clear victor in brute strength. No explanation needed.”
Lira freezes—her sharp tongue silenced for one heartbeat.
Then—ding ding—the glove comes up.
She steps close, pokes his chest. “You think muscles impress me? My Luna dogs—rescue mutts I adopted years ago—are useless but loved. They bark at the mailman, sleep on my pillows, and hide from the vacuum. They’d eat you… if they weren’t napping.”
Darius grins. “Try me.”
“Careful. I come with plot twists, 2 a.m. snack demands, and two Luna dogs who’d lick you to death.”
He catches her wrist gently. “You’re dangerous.”
“You’re welcome,” she says, flushing deeper.
“Still think we’re fated?” she whispers.
Darius smiles softly.
“I think fate’s jealous it didn’t get credit for this.”
Twenty-four hours. Zero regrets.
One chaotic, early-afternoon forever.
The end.

(January 4th, 2025)The Wolf Moon Gala thrummed with


restrained power- crystal chandeliers scattering light like shattered ice


across polished marble, the low pulse of music blending with the murmur of pack


politics. expensive cologne held promises of fame fortune and potential for the


hundreds in attendance. Photographers lined the entrance to the hall waiting


with baited anticipation for the most powerful among them all. 


Darius Kane moved through it all like he own the place which


he probably did. He was the gravity holding the room of werewolf shifters


together. At six-foot-four, he carried the broad-shouldered build of someone


who spent equal time commanding boardrooms and bench pressing them. leading


midnight hunts—led to muscles carved from discipline rather than vanity,


silver-streaked black hair swept back with casual precision, and storm-gray


eyes that could pierce a rival or soften with hypnotic predation. His presence was quiet command: the protective


alpha who anticipated threats and rarely raised his voice because when Darius Kane


He stopped in front of Lira Voss. Her essence set every molecule


him, setting every other person in the room to a status somewhere closer to


dishrag than to her. His mate. Darius felt the pull the instinctive tug every


shifter recognized as a harmonic convergence crashes in telling your body it was


never really whole and everything you thought you'd known about yourself has in


a split second been rewritten with- a mate. Old magic and biology whispering "this


bond defines you" protect what is yours protect what lays await, instinct is your compass needle settling north. 


She stood five-foot-eight in a fluid silver slip dress that


caught every shift of light, the fabric skimming a frame shaped as feminine as


the goddesses could demand without direct intervention from heavens strength. Her


instinctive focus gauged a room before both feet hit the floor. Her dark auburn


hair fell loose in unapologetic curved flames whispering past her shoulders,


framing high cheekbones, full lips that seemed permanently on the verge of a


wry smile, and sharp hazel eyes that sparkled with quick, observant humor. Lira


was the kind of woman who navigated each scene branded as a social broker, smooth consult led


war to play as sport, with sarcasm as armor and genuine warmth as the women


underneath—independence meant never waiting to be rescued because she'd already


mapped three exits and a contingency plan based on who in the room would be most


"You're mine." Darius said, voice low and steady, his gaze


locking onto hers with that instinctive protective certainty.


Lira turned slowly to line herself shoulder to shoulder, one


dark brow lifting as the champagne flute froze, suspended between her full lips


and the grounding opinions she held in a


"no- no no Im good" yet as she finally allowed her eyes to meet his, her confidence


Chapter 1 - Alpha's Claiming Rite