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JACE

B y nine in the morning, Jace Montgomery had already broken up a sparring match, handled a boundary patrol dispute, and scolded two teenage shifters for shifting mid-argument behind the farmers market fruit stall.

He wasn’t in the mood for paperwork. And he definitely wasn’t in the mood for babysitting a new assistant.

“Dammit, Calla,” he muttered under his breath as he yanked open the double doors to Moonfang Keep’s central command hall—a cavernous room that smelled faintly of pine resin, old magic, and exhaustion. “You said she’d be helpful, not a distraction.”

He hadn’t wanted an assistant. Hell, he hadn’t wanted half the changes the council kept throwing at him.

But with Ezra Wolfe prowling at the edge of the territory and half his pack fraying at the seams, someone had to handle the influx of magical incident reports, council correspondence, and, for some reason, thirty-two unsigned requisition forms for enchanted boots.

Jace did everything. Always had. His father had taught him the weight of leadership before he could shift, before he understood what it meant to bear the title of Alpha Montgomery.

“You don’t lead with teeth,” his father used to say. “You lead with shoulders. Carry more than your share. Always.”

And so he did. Every hour. Every damn day.

He stood at the arched window, watching Celestial Pines stretch below like a living fairytale.

Colorful rooftops, lampposts that flickered in daylight, shop windows blinking with enchantments and charm.

A town full of magical oddities and ancient secrets, hidden from the human world beneath the Moonlit Veil.

He was the quiet engine that kept it running. Alpha of the Moonfang Pack. Protector of the Veil. Problem-solver for every supernatural squabble this side of the mountains.

But he hadn't been ready for today’s first crisis—a minor fight between two shifter teens over the same girl. Fur had flown. One mailbox lost a door. The girl ended up leaving with neither of them.

Jace had stood there with arms crossed, watching the whole mess unfold with a headache blooming behind his eyes.

“Alpha,” Petra had said gently afterward, “your new assistant should be settling in. You might want to, uh… check on that.”

He had growled something unintelligible and stalked upstairs.

And that’s when it happened.

He rounded the hallway, pushing open the office door, and everything… shifted.

There she was.

A mess of curls, fiery auburn laced with silver threads that shimmered even in the dusty lamplight.

She was crouched in front of a file cabinet, sorting scrolls into piles that defied any organizational logic he’d ever seen.

She wore a skirt that swirled around her knees like a stormcloud caught in a spell, and her sweater was embroidered with mushrooms. Smiling ones.

She smelled like wild honey, sun-warmed lavender, and something else. Something older. Something that twisted in his gut like a howl caught in his throat.

His wolf surged forward, claws at the edge of his skin, eyes sharpening.

Mate.

It hit him like a punch. No warning. No preparation. Just truth , absolute and unignorable.

She looked up. Their eyes met.

Green. Startlingly green, like moss and mischief and early spring.

“Hi,” she said brightly, holding up a small paper bag like a peace offering. “I brought muffins.”

Muffins?

Jace blinked. His heart didn’t stutter. His breath didn’t hitch. He was alpha, for moon’s sake. Steady. Controlled.

But the edges of his world had just tilted, and nothing was where he left it.

He took a slow breath. Pushed down the growl in his throat. Locked the wolf back in its cage.

“You’re in my office,” he said, the words low and clipped.

Her smile faltered. “Right. Yes. Sorry, I just thought since this was the central archive and I’m technically your assistant?—”

“I said you could work in admin support. Sorting incident reports. Filing. Quietly.”

She rose to her full height, which barely hit his shoulder, but she stood her ground with a tilt to her chin that dared him to keep growling.

“I’ve only been here four hours and haven’t set anything on fire. I’d call that a win.”

Her voice was like her smell, sweet, warm, threaded with chaos.

“I don’t like surprises,” he said, taking a measured step forward. Her scent thickened. The wolf inside him growled softly. “And I don’t like magic that doesn’t stay in its box.”

She blinked up at him, a small crease forming between her brows. “Then you hired the wrong witch.”

He froze.

Not because she was wrong. But because she wasn’t. Not one damn bit.

He didn’t know what Calla had been thinking about assigning this woman, this witch to his command center.

“I’m Lyra, by the way.” She stuck her hand out like they weren’t practically circling each other. “Full name Lyra Ravenshade. Chaos witch. Muffin enthusiast. Mildly good at filing.”

He didn’t take her hand. Couldn’t. Touching her felt… dangerous.

She dropped it with a shrug. “Suit yourself.”

He watched her turn back to her scrolls, the sway of her skirt, the faint golden glow under her skin when she wasn’t focused on hiding it.

Chaos witch.

He'd read the file. Knew she’d left her coven up north under strained circumstances.

But the details were vague. A “portal incident” and “unauthorized transfiguration.” He'd dismissed her initially, too unpredictable, too messy for his meticulous world.

But he had needed someone and Calla had vouched for her.

And now, he had a bigger problem.

Because Lyra Ravenshade was his mate.

And he couldn’t claim her.

The town didn’t need a distracted alpha. The pack didn’t need drama. He didn’t need… feelings.

She looked over her shoulder at him, grinning like she knew something he didn’t.

He clenched his jaw. “Stay out of the north wing. That’s for senior pack members only.”

She saluted. “Roger that, Alpha Grumbles.”

His eyes narrowed. “What did you just call me?”

“I said I’ll keep to the west wing.”

She smirked. He scowled.

And the wolf inside him purred .