Wanted by the alpha and omega

Aria glanced around the glittering ballroom filled with elite werewolves. Laughter and whispers rippled through the air, a cacophony of gossip she quickly shut out with her mental shield. The only voice she wanted to hear was Damien’s—her boyfriend, her childhood sweetheart, the man she loved with all her heart.

She smiled to herself, thinking about tomorrow. Tomorrow, the moon goddess would announce her mate. Deep down, Aria was certain it would be Damien. She prayed for it every night, and she knew he did too.

“You’d better not be drunk, young lady.”

Her mother, Cassie Vale, appeared at her side.

“I’m not, Mum,” Aria replied, though her head felt pleasantly light.

“Good. Because I expect you to mingle with the packs, not just stand here,” Cassie said sharply, plucking the glass of wine from her daughter’s hand and setting it on a nearby table.

“Try being social, Aria. Don’t expect people to come to you. Be like your sisters.”

Aria rolled her eyes, glancing toward Mandy and Claire. They stood poised and elegant, laughing with two male wolves. Mandy’s laugh rang too high, too fake, and Aria knew she felt nothing for the wolf in front of her. Still, Mandy always played the perfect daughter.

Though they were twins, she and Mandy barely resembled each other. Both had long blonde hair, but Aria’s eyes were blue like a clear sky, while Mandy’s were a sharp grey. Where Mandy’s beauty was polished, Aria’s curves drew eyes the moment she entered a room. Their differences often left them at odds, especially since Aria knew Mandy harbored a dangerous fascination with Dante Blackwood—the newly risen Alpha of their pack and cousin to Damien.

Dante was infamous. Ruthless, beautiful, and terrifying. Tonight, the pack gathered to celebrate his mother’s birthday, and even surrounded by wolves of power, Dante’s presence was a shadow no one could escape.

Needing air, Aria slipped away. She wandered into the long marble hallway, her heels echoing softly against the polished floor, until she found a door slightly ajar. Pushing it open, she stepped inside.

The room was vast, draped in elegance and shadow. Polished black marble stretched across the floor, reflecting the soft glow of golden sconces set into the dark walls. A towering bed stood at the center, its frame carved from obsidian wood and dressed in silken sheets as dark as midnight. Heavy velvet curtains framed the windows, shutting out the world, while crystal chandeliers rained a warm, golden light that danced over sleek leather chairs and a glass table trimmed in silver. The air carried the faint scent of sandalwood and power, making the space feel less like a bedroom and more like a throne room disguised in luxury.

She sank onto the edge of the bed, rubbing her forehead. The wine was catching up with her, spinning her thoughts.

“Lost, night rose?”

The deep, dark voice froze her in place.

Aria spun around. And there he was.

Dante Blackwood.

The man every woman wanted. The man every man feared. Even her father lowered his head in his presence.

He was the kind of man who commanded a room without a word—broad-shouldered, every line of his body carved with strength and authority. Dark hair fell carelessly across his brow, a striking contrast to the piercing silver of his eyes. Eyes that saw too much, stripped away defenses, and claimed without asking. Power clung to him like a second skin, dangerous and magnetic, making the air itself heavier.

“Do I look lost?” Aria shot back, standing on unsteady legs. The fear she should have felt was drowned by wine, leaving only reckless boldness.

“You shouldn’t be here.” His steps were measured, calculated, each stride bringing him closer.

“Then tell me, where should I be, big bad wolf?” she asked, defiance curling in her tone.

His lips curved into a dangerous smirk as his hand slipped around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

He didn’t speak. Instead, he lowered his head, and the space between them vanished.

She should have pushed him away—for Damien, for loyalty, for herself. But something about Dante was fire and gasoline, and she was already burning.

Her gaze dropped to his lips. She bit her own, and his eyes darkened like a storm.

“Don’t do that, my Luna,” he growled, voice rough with warning. “Unless you want to leave this room in pieces.”

A wicked smile tugged at her lips. The wine whispered daring into her veins.

And then his mouth crashed against hers.

The kiss was a blaze, fierce and consuming, stealing her breath as his hands tightened around her. She moaned into him, pleading without words for more than a kiss, her body arching into his as he led her back toward the bed.

Somewhere deep inside, she knew this was wrong—that the consequences would come with the dawn. But tonight, she didn’t care. Tonight, she would let herself burn.