Luna’s Last Laugh

Lila’s POV I’m twirling in front of my busted-ass mirror, trying to vibe with this lavender dress Mom sewed me. It’s got these cute little daisies, but let’s be real, it’s no designer glow-up. My chestnut hair thrown in a sloppy braid is good enough and I’m rocking these cheap-ass sandals Dad snagged from the market. Do I look hot? Kinda. Do I feel like I’m gonna barf? Big yes. My gut’s doing backflips, and not the cute kind. Today’s the Moonlit Gala, the Silver Claw Pack’s annual “find your soulmate or cry” bash. Alphas from every damn pack in the country show up, hoping to lock eyes with their fated mate. And me? I’m just praying I don’t trip over my own feet and embarrass myself in front of some hottie. Or, you know, find said hottie. No pressure, right? Name’s Lila Thorn, 17, and I’m the pack’s resident punching bag. My dad’s the Beta, which sounds dope, but it’s a total scam when you’re me the girl with zero wolf. Like, most kids shift by 15, howling and clawing like they’re born for it. Me? I’m still waiting for my inner beast to stop ghosting me. The pack’s mean girls love rubbing it in, shoving me into lockers or “accidentally” spilling punch on my clothes. “Wolf-less Lila,” they snicker. Real original, huh? Mom’s my hype woman, always dishing out hugs and “You’re a badass, Lila” speeches. Dad, though? He’s got a permanent stick up his ass about me. He wanted a kickass Beta heir, not some “weak” daughter who can’t even growl. “You’re a disappointment,” he said once, straight to my face. Cool, Dad, love you too. But screw that noise. I’ve got one dream keeping me sane: finding my mate. Mom swears a mate’s love can flip some magic switch, maybe even wake my wolf. Sounds like a fairy tale, but I’m clutching that hope like it’s my last slice of pizza. I want a mate who’s got my back, who’ll laugh at my dumb jokes and tell the pack’s bullies to eat dirt. Someone who sees me, not just the wolf I don’t have. Moon Goddess, you better not flake on me. The Gala’s tonight, and the pack’s losing its mind. She-wolves are strutting in sparkly dresses, their makeup so extra it’s practically a second face. Me? I’m keeping it real with my daisy dress. Fancy ain’t my style, but I’m here to snag my mate, not win a fashion show. “Lila!” Mom’s voice cuts through my door, all impatient. “You hiding in there or what?” “Chill, Mom, I’m coming!” I yell, yanking the door open. There she is, slaying in this emerald dress, looking like she could run the pack herself. Her eyes became soft as soon as she spotted my freaked out face. “Girl, what's all with this deer-in-headlights appearance?” she asked, crossed her arms to the chest. “Hope you are not chickening out in the party, Right?” “Nope, I am all good.” The lie was obvious but I did anyway, twisting my beautiful made braid. “I am just like afraid I will meet my mate and he will probably think I am a total jerk. Or I won’t find him at all. No biggie.” Mom grabbed my face, her hands warm and steady. “Lila freaking Thorn, you listen up. You’re a damn star, wolf or no wolf. Some guy’s going to see you and lose his mind. The Moon Goddess didn’t make you this awesome for nothing.” I smiled, her words sparking some passion in me. “Alright, okay, don't give me the big head now.” “But that's my job,” she smirked, winking at me. “Now move your ass aside. I won't wait all night for you dear. “Fine, bossy,” I laugh, slamming the door and spinning back to the mirror. I glare at my reflection. Alright, Lila, you’re not screwing this up. You’re going to strut into that Gala and own it. Mate or no mate, you’re a badass. Pep talk on point, right? “Lila, let’s go!” Mom hollers again. “Keep your dress on!” I shout, doing one last twirl—my dress flares like it’s got attitude—and haul ass downstairs. Mom’s waiting, her grin all proud and mushy. “You’re killing it, kid,” she says. “Learned from the best,” I shoot back, linking arms with her. We head out, the night air hitting me like a slap. The pack’s grand hall is a five-minute walk, and I’m already sweating bullets. The hall’s like something out of a cheesy rom-com fairy lights everywhere, tables loaded with food that smells like heaven, and music thumping loud enough to wake a coma patient. Everyone’s dressed like they’re auditioning for a crown. Mated Alphas and their Lunas are chilling on one side, all lovey-dovey, while the unmated Alphas are on the other, eyeing the crowd like they’re hunting. The she-wolves are practically bouncing, giggling like they’re high on glitter. Our Alpha, Marcus, rolls in with his Luna, looking like pack royalty. Dad’s right behind, his Beta badge shining like he’s hot s**t. I catch his eye, hoping for a vibe check, but he just gives me this cold-ass nod. Wow, thanks for the love, Dad. Then my eyes snag on him. One of the unmated Alphas, sitting like he owns the damn place. Such a tall figure with messy hair. His eyes were cold and could burn holes through you. The leather jacket on him yarns trouble and the way he walks? Like a panther ready to pounce. My heart’s like, excuse me, what?! Is this just his stupid-hot face messing with me, or… something else? No wolf means no mate-radar, so I’m flying blind here. “Lila, you good?” Mom says, snapping me out of my drool-fest. “Who’s got you staring like a creep?” I snort, pointing with my chin. “Just that guy. Dude’s giving major heartbreaker vibes.” Mom’s face goes pale. “Lila, no. That’s Kael Draven, Alpha of the Shadow Fang Pack. He’s bad news—like, s*******r-first-ask-questions-never bad. Steer clear, you hear me?” I roll my eyes. “Relax Mom, I am not the one proposing. After all, he doesn't seems like a killer. More like a brooding rockstar.” I sneak another glance. Kael’s got this dangerous vibe, sure, but there’s something else. Like he’s carrying a secret that’s eating him alive. Or am I just thirsty for drama? “Lila, focus,” Mom snaps. “You’re here for your mate, not to play fangirl with some psycho Alpha. Be smart.” “Fine, fine,” I mutter, but my eyes linger on Kael. Mom gets dragged off by her squad, leaving me to fend for myself. The food smells so good my stomach’s screaming, so I weave through the crowd, aiming for the snack table. I’m piling my plate with mini tacos when boom! I slammed into a freaking brick wall. Or, you know, a chest. The plate in my hand wobbles, and I am about to face plant when suddenly, strong hands hold my wrist, pulling me up. “Be careful there,” says the voice that sounds like gravel, whiskey growls which send a powerful jolt through me. “Are you trying to take me down?” “S-sorry!” I squeak, my face on fire. I looked up, and oh my freaking Grok world, it’s Kael Draven. His dark eyes are drilling into me, like he’s reading my soul and not loving the plot. My skin’s buzzing where he’s touching me—a spark, a zap, something weird. Is this the mate bond? Or am I just losing it? He drops my wrists like I’m contagious, his jaw tight. “Try not to make it a habit of bumping into people.” He warned. I stood frozen, my heart thundered in my chest as if trying to force its way out. But then Kael stops, glancing back at me. His eyes lock on mine, and for one hot second, I see something raw, like hunger or recognition. My breath catches, and I’m legit shook. What in the Moon Goddess’s name just happened? My jaw’s practically on the floor, my brain screaming. Is Kael Draven—ruthless, untouchable Kael my mate? Or did I just stumble into a game I’m way too underleveled to play?