The Alpha's Naughty Christmas

13: To Want And Be Wanted.

Zolani’s POV

When Aradia said she was going to spend her daddy’s money, I hadn’t realized she meant it literally, like, emptying-the-entire-mall literally.

The boutique was small but viciously expensive, tucked into the snowy heart of the mountain town like a jewel box no one else was allowed to touch.

Inside, racks of wedding gowns, different designer s**t glowed under soft spotlights, mirrors everywhere, and a team of stylists who looked like they’d been born in haute couture.

Aradia stormed in like she owned the place which she probably could have if she asked nicely.

Within ten minutes, the entire staff was at her beck and call, pulling gowns, veils, jewelry, shoes...everything.

She tried on dozens of dresses, ivory lace, blush satin, deep emerald velvet that made her look like a forest queen who’d just murdered her enemies and was now celebrating. Every time she stepped out of the changing room, she spun, laughed, and demanded my opinion.

“This one makes my t**s look like they’re trying to escape,” she announced in one particularly low-cut number. “Perfect for the reception. Kyle will lose his mind. Alex will just growl and drag me to the coat closet.”

I laughed until my sides hurt, but she wasn’t done with me.

“Your turn, Zee.”

I tried to protest. “I’m the maid of honor, not the bride...”

“Exactly. You need to look hot enough to make the groom’s cousins drool but not so hot that my mates get territorial. Balance. Now strip.”

She shoved me into the changing room with an armful of dresses before I could blink.

I tried on everything, soft blush chiffon that floated like a dream, deep sapphire silk that hugged my curves, black lace with sheer panels that made me feel naked and powerful at the same time.

Every time I stepped out, Aradia wolf-whistled, the stylists clapped, and I caught my reflection in the mirror looking like someone else. Someone bold. Someone who wasn’t afraid to be seen.

I was tired after the tenth dress. My feet ached in the sample heels, my arms hurt from holding still while they pinned and tucked, but Aradia wouldn’t hear of stopping.

“Shop like a billionaire, b***h,” she said, tossing another gown over the curtain. “You’re in my world now. Act like it.”

I wasn’t a billionaire.

I was shopping with her daddy’s black card.

The thought made my stomach twist.. freedom and nerves tangling together. It felt reckless, delicious and dangerous.

Mom would lose her mind if she saw these bags. She’d confiscate most of them the second I walked through the door, sell them quietly, and call it “money for the church” or “your sister’s mission trip.” Dad would nod approvingly. Evan would probably ask why I needed so many dresses when I already had “perfectly good ones” at home.

But I’d already made plans in my head.

I’d hide them.

The really beautiful ones, bury them at the bottom of my suitcase under boring sweaters and jeans. If Mom sniffed them out anyway, I’d sell them online quietly and keep the money for myself. For once.

It was my gift.

My moment of rebellion.

I had every right.

“Goddess, honey, come check out the treasure!” Aradia called from the jewelry counter.

I walked over, still in the sapphire silk, and froze.

The necklace she held up was breathtaking, a delicate chain of white gold with a single teardrop ruby the size of a small plum, surrounded by tiny diamonds that caught the light like falling snow.

It looked like blood frozen in mid-drip. It was beautiful and deadly. Expensive enough to make my heart stutter.

The price tag made me actually freeze.

Eighty-eight thousand dollars.

For a necklace.

I laughed high, and disbelieving. “Aradia, no. That’s insane.”

“It’s perfect,” she countered, already fastening it around my neck before I could protest. The ruby settled in the hollow of my throat, cool and heavy. “It matches your fire. The one you keep hiding.”

My hand flew to it instinctively. “I can’t...”

“You can. And you will.” She stepped back, eyes shining. “Look at yourself, Zee.”

I did.

The sapphire dress, the ruby at my throat and my black wig still perfect, but the woman in the mirror looked… different. Not small, safe or invisible.

She looked like someone who could burn the world down if she wanted to.

And for one reckless second, I wanted to.

Aradia looped her arm through mine, triumphant. “We’re buying it. And the matching earrings. And the bracelet. Daddy won’t even notice. He’s got more money than God and worse taste in apologies.”

I opened my mouth to argue again because the price tag was still burning holes in my brain, but she cut me off with a quick kiss on my cheek, soft and fierce all at once.

“You deserve pretty things, Zolani. And you deserve to keep them.”

My throat tightened. The words landed somewhere deep, somewhere I’d kept locked away for years. I was about to say no... habit, guilt, the voice of Mom in my head saying “pride comes before a fall”...when another voice cut through the boutique’s soft jazz.

“It looks pretty on you. Keep it.”

I turned.

And damn.

The man standing a respectful distance away was… stupidly handsome.

Tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair swept back just enough to look effortless, sharp jaw, and eyes the color of aged whiskey, warm, amused, and dangerous.

He wore a charcoal coat over a black sweater, sleeves pushed up to reveal inked forearms, and the kind of quiet confidence that said he didn’t need to shout to be noticed. He smiled slowly, and easily, like he knew exactly the effect he had and my silly, traitorous inner girl screamed 'damnnn' so loud I almost flinched.

Aradia whipped her head toward him, then back to me, eyes wide with mischief. She leaned in, voice a conspiratorial whisper, “He’s been checking you out since we walked in. Looks loaded. Hot. Good luck.”

Before I could protest or even process, she was gone. Poof. Vanished toward the shoe section, leaving me standing there in sapphire silk and a ruby the size of a small country, alone with a gorgeous stranger.

“Hello, human,” he said, smile widening just enough to show a hint of fang. His voice was low, smooth, and accented with something old-world and rich.

I knew instantly he was a wolf. The way he held himself, the subtle golden ring around his irises, the way he inhaled like he was tasting the air between us. My pulse kicked up, but not the same frantic way it did with Cassian. This was… curious and flirty.

I still preferred the way Cassian called me little human, rougher, darker, like the words were a claim.

Shut the f**k up, Zolani.

“Hi,” I managed, clutching the ruby necklace like it might protect me from the way this stranger’s gaze made my skin prickle. “You… know I’m human?”

He laughed softly, nothing like Cassian’s lethal rumble. “Hard to miss. Your scent’s all over this place, and it’s not wolf.” He took one careful step closer, maintaining a respectful distance that felt deliberate, and practiced. “I’m Ronan.”

“Zolani,” I said, voice steadier than I felt.

“Shopping for a wedding, huh?” He nodded toward the racks of gowns and the chaos Aradia was causing in the shoe section.

I nodded. “Yeah. My best friend’s. That one.” I pointed.

Aradia, of course, was already watching us like a hawk. She waved enthusiastically, big and exaggerated, with a grin that screamed 'I’m eavesdropping and loving every second'. Ronan waved back, amused.

“Along with yours?” he asked, eyes returning to me.

“Nah,” I said, shaking my head. “Just maid of honor duty. Trying not to embarrass her in front of the whole pack.”

He smiled, slow, and easy, like he had all the time in the world. “You’re beautiful, you know that, right?”

I shrugged, heat creeping up my neck despite myself. “I’m… trying to keep up with the dress code.”

He laughed again, low and genuine. “You’re doing more than keeping up. You’re stealing the show and you haven’t even tried to.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. Compliments from Evan were always same.. “You look nice,” delivered like he was reading from a script. From my parents… silence or criticism, depending on the day and how much red hair peeked out from under my wig.

And this? Ronan’s words felt dangerous in a different way, warm, and appreciative, without the edge of possession that Cassian carried. This one was easy and light.

“You free later?” Ronan asked, voice smooth and unhurried. “We could grab something to drink...coffee, hot chocolate, whatever. Get to know each other more. You’re fascinating, Zolani. Bold enough to walk into werewolf territory when most humans are scared of us.”

I opened my mouth to decline, politely, of course. 'I’m engaged' was already forming on my tongue, the automatic shield I’d used for years.

But Aradia swooped back in before I could get a word out, arms full of shoeboxes, eyes gleaming with pure mischief.

“Ronan, right?” she said, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “Nice to meet you too. And yeah...she’ll be available for that grab-a-coffee-or-chocolate thing you’re talking about.”

“Aradia…” I hissed, mortified, but she shoulder-shoved me lightly, playful but firm.

Ronan chuckled low, warm, and unbothered. “Nice to meet you too, bride-to-be.”

Aradia shuffled in her pocket, pulled out a sleek black card, probably one of the pack’s private lines and handed it over. “Here. Give me a call when you’re ready. She’ll be waiting by evening.”

Ronan took it with a smile, fingers brushing hers briefly. Then his eyes found mine again, steady, interested with no pressure.

“See you later, Zolani.”

He bowed, just a slight dip of his head, old-world and elegant then turned and walked away, leaving only the faint scent of cedar and whiskey.

I stood there, frozen, and mouth half-open.

Aradia spun toward me the second he was out of earshot, triumphant. “You’re welcome.”

“Seriously?” I mouthed, voice low but sharp. “Was that necessary? I’m engaged, Aradia.”

She scoffed, loud enough that the nearest stylist glanced over. “Engaged to a man who can’t even pick up the phone when you’re in another country. That’s not a ring on your finger, Zee.. that’s a handcuff. Ronan’s hot, looks respectful, and I asked around, he's loaded. One coffee isn’t cheating. It’s… research.”

“Research?” I stared at her. “For what? My breakup?”

“For your awakening.” She linked her arm through mine again, dragging me toward the shoe section. “You deserve to be looked at like you’re the only woman in the room. Not like you’re an afterthought. And if Evan can’t do it? Let someone else show you what it feels like. No strings. No pressure. Just coffee. And maybe a little flirting. You’re allowed to feel wanted, Zolani.”

I opened my mouth to argue loyalty, vows, and family expectations but the words stuck. Because she wasn’t wrong. Evan’s silence hurt more than I wanted to admit.

Aradia squeezed my arm. “You don’t have to say yes. But don’t say no just because you’re trained to shrink. Think about it. No rush.”

I exhaled, shaky. “Okay. I’ll… think.”

She beamed. “That’s my girl.”

We spent the next hour finishing the shoe torture, red stilettos, black ankle boots, silver heels that made my legs look endless. Aradia bought half the store, refused to let me pay for anything, and kept muttering about “Daddy’s card” like it was a magic wand.

By the time we left, half the shop piled high, I felt lighter. Not free...not yet but lighter.

My phone stayed silent but for once… I didn’t check it again.

Because Aradia was right.

I was allowed to be wanted and maybe...just maybe..I was allowed to want back even if it scared me to death.