Reborn: Giving My Alpha to My Stepsister

I gave my Alpha fiancé to my stepsister.

My mother's face lit up. "You're giving Damon to Maya? Don't come crying later, Kira. That man is the most powerful Alpha alive."

I won't. Never again.

Last life, I married him. Suffocated for three years.

He wanted a perfect Luna. I showed up to the full moon gala in a mini skirt. The elite ladies circled in—"Shameless. Like a bitch in heat." Damon walked over, draped his jacket over my shoulders.

I thought he was protecting me.

"Must you embarrass me like this?" His voice cut like ice. "Every damn time."

That's when I knew: he loved the perfect Luna. Not me.

Then came the conservative gowns, endless etiquette training, and every time I fought back—"Pack law, Kira. Obey."

Until the flames took me, I swore: If I ever got another chance, I would never marry that man.

I woke the night before our engagement and pushed the contract away. "Let Maya be his perfect Luna. I just want my freedom."

But I didn't expect—

When Damon discovered the switch, the cold Alpha completely lost it.

Kira's POV

My mother watched me cross out my name on the marriage contract. She froze. Then she EXPLODED.

"Have you lost your MIND?! That's the Crimson Moon Alpha! The strongest bloodline in the entire wolf world!"

"I know exactly what I'm doing." I wrote "Maya Ashford" in the blank space. "Isn't this what you've always wanted?"

She stared at that name, her expression shifting from shock to suspicion, finally landing on barely concealed euphoria.

"You... you're really giving Damon to Maya?"

"What? Not good enough for you?" I looked up at her. "I thought you'd be dancing in the streets."

"Are you sure?" Suspicion crept back. "Damon is your fated mate! If you're pulling something—"

"Pulling something?" I laughed coldly. "I could never match YOUR level. Dad was dead one month before you remarried. Barely seven months later, Maya popped out—oh right, my bad—'premature,' wasn't it?"

Her face went white.

Frost Haven Pack used to be the oldest pack on the East Coast. My father, Marcus Ashford, was a pureblooded Alpha who ruled vast territories. Until he died. My mother remarried Maya's father, Victor—the new Alpha. His piss-poor management dragged our pack straight into the gutter.

Until Damon chose me for the alliance marriage—because I was his fated mate.

"You've dumped enough money on Maya since we were kids to buy a small Pack," I said. "And me? I had to scrape together cash for my own damn gowns just to show up at wolf galas. Now the engagement's hers. You should be satisfied."

Her expression shifted instantly from guilt to naked greed. "What do you want?"

"Stormwatch Ridge." The overseas territory my father left to Frost Haven Pack.

She sucked in a sharp breath. "That's what your father—"

"Yes or no? Choose NOW."

She took exactly three seconds to decide.

"DEAL!" She snatched the contract and bolted like her ass was on fire.

The door slammed. I stood there, listening to her footsteps fade down the hall.

Frost Haven Pack. Everything had a price tag. Including daughters.

I walked to the full-length mirror. The woman staring back wore an ankle-length dress, collar buttoned to her collarbone, blonde hair twisted into a perfect bun—poised and proper, ticking every single Luna checkbox.

This was what I'd morphed into last life, bending over backward to please Damon.

I snorted and ripped out the hairpin. My blonde hair exploded down like a waterfall. I kicked off that godforsaken dress and dug into the darkest corner of my closet—black leather mini that barely covered my ass, blood-red tank top, studded boots.

The woman in the mirror was someone else entirely. Wild. Dangerous. Sexy as hell.

Fuck the perfect Luna.

I booked a flight to Stormwatch Ridge, grabbed my motorcycle keys, and stormed out. The pack guards all did double-takes—they'd never seen the "future Luna" on a bike.

I gunned the engine and roared straight for Scarlet Fang—New York's most notorious underground werewolf club.

Bass pounded hard enough to rattle bones. Blood-red lights strobed through the darkness. The air was thick with alcohol, sweat, and a mess of scents—Alpha musk, Beta cigarettes, and Omegas drowning in cheap perfume.

On stage, half-naked wolf dancers moved to the beat, muscles rippling under neon.

I shoved through the door. Every head swiveled.

The Frost Haven heiress. The future Luna of Crimson Moon. In a shithole like this.

"Strongest thing you've got. NOW." I slammed a fat stack of hundreds on the bar. "I'm buying out the place tonight! And bring out your hottest wolves!"

The bartender nearly dropped the bottle.

Bruno, the one-eyed owner, came barreling out from the back, white as a ghost. "Miss Kira! Please, I'm BEGGING you! Every wolf up North knows you're Crimson Moon's future Luna! That Alpha... he'll rip my throat out!"

I knocked back a tequila shot. Fire scorched down my throat.

"Chill, Bruno. Engagement's off. As of today, I'm just another customer throwing cash around."

"OFF?!" He choked on the word. "You CAN'T be serious! The whole damn city's buzzing about Damon commissioning you a moonstone ring! That's fated mate territory—"

"Ancient history." My voice went flat. "He wanted a Luna who's perfect and proper, who plays by pack rules, who never makes him look bad."

I threw back another shot. "Me? I'm DONE being a trophy wife. Done waking up every day wondering what'll set him off. Done stuffing myself into his bullshit box."

Bruno's mouth opened and closed like a fish.

Three ripped wolf dancers closed in. Bodies gleaming, eyes hungry.

I reached out, fingers tracing one guy's chest, feeling the hard ridges of muscle. His skin burned hot, radiating raw testosterone.

My wolf howled inside me—not lust. Pure revenge.

Damon HATED this "trashy" shit.

Perfect.

"Sweetheart," the young wolf purred, leaning close, "how about we head upstairs—"

"Who the FUCK did you just call sweetheart?"

An ice-cold voice sliced through the noise.

Every hair on my body stood up.

Fuck.

Every wolf in the club went statue-still. Alpha dominance hit like a tidal wave—cedarwood, leather, raw power.

I turned real slow.

Damon Blackthorn stood in the doorway, six armed guards flanking him. His face was carved from stone, amber eyes locked on me—or more specifically, on my hand still pressed against the dancer's chest.

Every wolf dropped their gaze.

Except me.

My wolf thrashed inside, screaming to submit, to bare my throat—the fated mate bond trying to drag me to my knees.

But I bit down hard, forcing that urge into a cage.

I lifted my chin, voice dripping attitude:

"None of your goddamn business."