The Alpha's claiming rite
(December 24, 2025)The crescent 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
spoke, everyone listened.
He stopped in front of Lira Voss. Her essence set every molecule
in his body on fire. Her eyes caught
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
likely to hit the panic button.
"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
male dominated world"
"Yours"
"no- no no Im good" yet as she finally allowed her eyes to meet his, her confidence
began to crumble