GIFT OF AN ALPHA

Mira’s POV Wolfsbane and wild roses clung to my mother’s burial shroud, thick and bitter, like the pack had wrapped her in one final warning. Or a curse. Either way, the smell lodged itself in my lungs and refused to leave. Nine years away from Nightmare Pack, and this was how I came back, not home, not welcome, but standing over a pine box sinking into a grave that wasn’t deep enough to bury anything that mattered. I stood at the edge with a single white lily clenched in my fist. Bought it from a florist near my apartment, one of those places that charged extra for staying open past midnight. It felt useless here. Fragile. Out of place. I kept wondering if she’d known. If, at the end, she realized I wasn’t coming. Or worse, if she’d waited for me anyway. The wind cut through the cemetery, colder than memory, sharp enough to sting. September always bit harder here. Voices drifted around me, low, polite, distant. Pack members stood in loose clusters, careful not to get too close, like grief was contagious. These were the same wolves who’d watched my father’s head roll across the Alpha’s banquet table thirteen years ago. The same ones who’d looked away when my mother grabbed my hand and ran. They’d done nothing then. They were doing nothing now. They were very good at nothing. I didn’t hate them for it anymore. Fear erased things. It scrubbed guilt down to bone. “The Moonlight Festival begins at sundown.” Elder Rothman’s voice cut through the quiet, loud and self-important. He always spoke like tradition mattered more than blood. “All activities must cease until the ceremony concludes. The burial will have to wait until—” “She’s already buried.” I dropped the lily onto the fresh dirt. It landed crooked like it didn’t belong. “I’m not waiting three more days because of a festival.” Someone gasped. Then another. I felt the reaction ripple through the crowd, that sharp intake of breath when someone breaks a rule everyone else is still pretending to respect. Good. “Miss Kenwood,” Rothman snapped, his voice hardening. “The Moonlight Festival is sacred. No wolf may—” “Then it’s lucky I’m leaving tomorrow.” I turned to face him. He’d aged. Thinned. His eyes were still that washed-out yellow, though eyes that had watched my family fall apart and called it balance. “My mother is in the ground,” I said. “Whatever business you think I have here? I don’t.” It was a lie. I knew it the second it left my mouth. Nothing about this was finished. Coming back had split something open inside me that had never healed right. But lies kept me breathing. I’d learned how to swallow things that tasted wrong and call it survival. Rothman’s jaw twitched. Around us, the pack shifted, uneasy, torn between instinct and common sense. Wolves were trained to obey. I’d lost that training somewhere between watching my father die and realizing the human world didn’t care about pack laws or sacred nights. “The Alpha has decreed—” “The Alpha,” I cut in, my voice going flat and cold, “can decree whatever he wants. I don’t belong to him.” Silence fell like a blade. Rothman went pale. Not offended, afraid. The wolves behind him stepped back without thinking, bodies reacting faster than their minds. You didn’t talk about Alpha Asher Creed like that unless you wanted to lose your tongue. Or your life. I’d already lost enough. “You will attend the festival,” Rothman said. The pomp was gone now. This was steel. “All unmated wolves between eighteen and thirty are required. No exceptions.” I laughed. Sharp. Ugly. “I’m not unmated by your standards. I live in the city. I have a job. A life. I’m not some pack girl waiting around for her mate to—” The word stuck. Not in my mouth. In my chest. Something shifted. Stirred. Woke up. Pressure bloomed behind my ribs, like something stretching after being folded too tight for too long. Twenty-three years of silence shattered in a single breath. My wolf uncoiled inside me, furious, alive, done waiting. No. Not now. Not here. “Miss Kenwood?” Rothman sounded far away. “Are you—” The world tilted. Gravestones blurred. The sky smeared gray. Beneath it all, something pulled at me, not words, not thoughts, but a call so deep it rattled my bones. Heat raced through my blood. My heart slammed like it was trying to escape my chest. After twenty-three years of nothing, of thinking I was broken, defective, wrong, my wolf was awake. And she was screaming. “Get away from me,” I gasped, stumbling back. My hands shook violently. The ground felt unstable, like it might split open and drag me down into the grave beside my mother. The wolves scattered. Even Rothman knew better now. Fear flooded the air, sharp and acidic, cutting through roses and wolfsbane until my stomach rolled. I pressed my hands to my head, trying to force the feeling down, trying to shove my wolf back into whatever dark corner she’d been trapped in for two decades. She refused. She’d caught something in the wind. A scent that reeked of recognition, rage,and hunger. It terrified me. “No,” I whispered. “No—” The moon was already rising, pale and thin, like it had been waiting. My wolf didn’t care about grief or timing or what I wanted. She’d found what she’d been missing. And then I felt him. The bond snapped into place, violent and unforgiving. Chains around my throat. Fire in my veins. Every nerve lit up, raw and exposed. I knew him instantly, the way you know pain. The way you know your own name. My mate was here. He was very close. I lifted my head, vision swimming, and saw him at the edge of the cemetery. Tall. Still. A dark shape against dying light. His eyes burned like embers as dusk closed in. Alpha Asher Creed. The man who ordered my father’s execution. The man who destroyed my family. The man my wolf was screaming for. And to make it worse— He was smiling. The cemetery fell deathly silent. Asher moved toward me with lethal grace. The crowd parted automatically. I tried to run, but my wolf locked me in place, straining toward him, desperate for what my mind rejected. “Don’t,” I choked. “Don’t you dare—” He stopped inches away. I smelled cedar, smoke, and something wild. Up close, he was worse, sharp angles, controlled power, darkness in his eyes that promised he’d never learned mercy. This was the man who killed my father. The boy who demanded a traitor’s head at his birthday feast. The monster who made me an orphan. And my wolf wanted him. “Mira Kenwood,” he said softly. “After all these years.” “Stay away from me.” His smile was slow and predatory. He reached out and cupped my jaw, gentle in a way that made my skin crawl. Fire ripped through my veins. My wolf howled, triumphant, already surrendering. I wanted to tear her apart for the betrayal. “You feel it,” Asher murmured. “You know what this is.” “I feel nothing,” I spat. His eyes flashed. He raised his voice so the entire pack could hear. “I, Alpha Asher Creed of Nightmare Pack, claim you, Mira Kenwood, as my true fated Luna and soulmate.” The words hit like a blow. The bond tightened around my soul like a noose. Gasps erupted. Whispers exploded into chaos. I stood at my mother’s grave while the man who murdered my father claimed me. Asher’s eyes held nothing but satisfaction and dark promise as he waited for my response.