THE ALPHA'S NAUGHTY LITTLE CHRISTMAS GIFT.

December in Louisiana is supposed to smell like cinnamon and pine. Supposed to feel like warmth curling around your shoulders, laughter spilling from porches strung with lights that blink red and green against the evening sky. Supposed to sound like carols drifting through neighborhoods where families gather, where love still means something.

A season built for warmth had become a month she’d learned to survive instead of celebrate.

Mystic Valley smells like dust and dying things.

Ivy Dalton drags her suitcase, the navy blue one with the broken wheel that squeaks like a wounded animal across cracked asphalt that stretches endlessly before her. The sun beats down with cruelty that makes you wonder if God's paying attention. Her left heel snapped twenty minutes ago. Maybe thirty. Time loses meaning when every step sends pain shooting up your calf, when the limp becomes your new rhythm.

Click-drag. Click-drag. Click-drag.

Sweat pools beneath her collar. Her cream blouse, the one she'd ironed this morning in her parent's guest room, the one that used to mean something, clings to her back. Dust coats the fabric now, turning cream to brown, settling into the creases where she's folded into herself trying to stay upright. Her pencil skirt rides up with each uneven step. She doesn't bother fixing it anymore.

A strand of dark hair falls across her face. She doesn't push it away.

The tears come without permission. Hot. Angry. Unstoppable.

She swore she wouldn't do this. Swore she'd stay steel when Marcus drove his body into Jenna's on their anniversary weekend, the weekend Ivy had planned down to the wine selection. Swore she'd stay strong when he handed her divorce papers three days after the blood, after the cramping, after the tiny life she'd waited four years to feel growing inside her simply… stopped. She still heard the silence of that ultrasound sometimes, it hollowed out her ribs from the inside.

 She'd walked into court sessions with her spine straight, chin lifted, watching Marcus and Jenna arrive hand-in-hand like they were the victims in this story.

Watching the judge strip away eight years of her life with the stroke of a pen.

"All marital assets to Mr. Rowan. Mrs. Rowan is hereby instructed to revert to her maiden name, Ivy Dalton, effective immediately."

She hadn't cried then either.

But here, in this godforsaken wasteland that barely registers on maps, where December sun scorches earth that should be celebrating winter here, the dam breaks.

"Where the fuck is this hotel?" Her voice breaks. She's desperate to find some places to settle down.

The piece of paper crumples in her fist. The address she'd scribbled down from the flickering computer screen at her parent's house mocks her now. "Moonstone Inn, 1847 Shadowbrook Lane, Mystic Valley, New Orleans."

Mystic Valley. The name had sounded mysterious when her finger jabbed the map orb in frustration, searching for anywhere that wasn't home. Anywhere Marcus and Jenna wouldn't be. A tiny corner of New Orleans parish she'd never heard of, barely visible unless you zoomed in close enough to see the dust motes.

Her mother's voice replays in her skull. "Ivy, sweetheart, maybe you should wait. Research this place first. You don't just fly somewhere because it has a pretty name."

Her father had been worse. "This is insane. You're acting irrational. Come back inside and let's talk about this."

She'd stopped listening. Stopped explaining. Just sent them a text from the airport: "Didn't go missing. Just left. Love you."

Smart, Ivy. Real smart.

The landscape around her looks like God started building a town and forgot to finish. Rundown apartments squat in the distance, their paint peeling like sunburned skin. Windows dark. Porches empty. No Christmas wreaths. No lights. No life. Tumbleweeds, actual tumbleweeds, roll past like props in a Western her dad used to watch. The earth itself seems tired here, broke and gasping for something it lost long ago.

And no taxis. No cars. No people.

Just heat and dust and the sound of her broken heel scraping asphalt.

Her mascara runs in black rivers down her cheeks. Her lipstick, the red one Jenna said made her look powerful, smears across her chin where she's tried wiping her face with the back of her hand. She catches her reflection in a boarded-up shop window and doesn't recognize the woman staring back. Disheveled. Destroyed. Defeated.

"No. Keep moving. You're not staying out here when it gets dark." It looks creepy enough during the daytime. Imagine the night.

She forces her legs forward. One aching step. Then another. The suitcase wheel catches on a crack and she stumbles, going down hard on her good knee. Pain explodes white-hot. She stays there, kneeling on the ground like she's praying to a god who stopped listening months ago.

The asphalt burned through the fabric of her skirt, but she stayed there, breathing like someone learning how for the first time.

Get. Up.

She gets up.

The signpost appears like a mirage fifty yards ahead. Old. Rusted. Half the letters missing so it reads: W-L--ME TO M-STI- VALL-Y. The post tilts at an odd angle, like even it doesn't believe in this place anymore.

But something shifts as she moves toward it.

The air changes. Thickens. Becomes something she can almost taste, like copper and electricity and wild things that don't have names. The hairs on her arms stand straight. Her breath catches.

Every instinct tells her to stop. Her body braces itself for something deep in her bones, something she doesn't have a name for.

She crosses the threshold anyway.

Her fingers cramped around the suitcase handle, muscles locking as if resisting something ancient stirring awake.

An explosion happens inside her chest.

Not painful. Nothing could hurt worse than the last six months. But, this is massive. Like something sleeping has suddenly opened its eyes. Like a door sealed shut for lifetimes has been kicked open. Energy erupts from her core, shooting through her veins like liquid lightning, building and building until—

"Ahhhhh!"

The exhale tears from her throat. The wave bursts outward in a circle she can almost see, rippling through the air like heat rising from pavement. It races across Mystic Valley, invisible yet undeniable, touching everything and everyone in its path.

In the square, wind chimes that haven't moved in years suddenly sing.

In the diner, glasses shatter.

In homes across the valley, men and women freeze mid-conversation, mid-breath, mid-everything.

They feel it. All of them.

The return of something that should be extinct.

Kai Winter feels it like a fist to the sternum.

Valor snarled inside him, a rare sound, one he hadn’t heard since the night everything burned

"Sir?" Jackson's voice sounds distant, tinny. "Should we proceed with the territory expansion—"

"Meeting's over." Kai's already moving, already grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. The council room erupts in confused murmurs but he doesn't stop. Doesn't explain. Can't.

Because this energy, this signature should be dead. Buried with the others twenty-eight years ago when his father's pack slaughtered the last of them.

He hits the tree line at a run. His wolf, Valor, surges forward beneath his skin, eager and restless. Kai doesn't fight the shift. Bone and sinew reform in seconds. Black fur erupts. His senses sharpen until he can taste the wind, feel the heartbeat of small creatures underground, hear conversations happening miles away.

And the scent.

Moon goddess, the scent.

Honeysuckle and smoke. Wildflowers and thunderstorms. Something ancient and new all at once. It pulls him forward like a rope around his chest, dragging him through underbrush that tears at his fur. Trees blur past. Birds erupt from the canopy above him, startled into flight as if fleeing from something only they understood. His massive paws eat up ground at impossible speeds. His mind races faster.

"It can't be. They're extinct. We made sure of it. Father made sure—"

The scent grows stronger. Richer. It fills his lungs until he's drowning in it.

A clearing opens up ahead. He skids to a stop, claws digging furrows in the earth.

There. A quarter mile away. Too far for human eyes.

Perfect for his.

He focuses, pupils dilating until his wolf vision sharpens like a sniper scope. The woman comes into view in perfect detail. Dark hair falling wild around her face. Cream blouse covered in dust. Broken heel. Suitcase. She's limping toward the Moonstone Inn, unaware she's being watched. Unaware of what she is.

What she's just announced to every supernatural creature within a hundred-mile radius.

"No. Impossible."

But her energy signature pulses like a beacon. Unmistakable. Undeniable.

Valor, his wolf, surges forward in his mind. The beast who never speaks unless absolutely necessary. The one who's been silent and cold for thirty-one years, content to let Kai maintain control.

He growls one word that changes everything:

"Mate."

Kai's legs give out. He hits the ground hard, human hands digging into soil, heart hammering against his ribs.

Because she's not just alive.

She's not just what shouldn't exist.

She's his.

And somewhere in Mystic Valley, in shadows Kai can't yet see, others have felt her arrival too.

Others who've been waiting for this moment.

Waiting for her.

The hunt has begun.