The world had always been a mosaic of species—vampires with their ancient courts, witches who commanded the elements, werewolves bound by pack law, fae with their trickster kingdoms, sharp-tongued goblins, silver-eyed elves, and countless others. Yet despite their numbers and their power, one species ruled the largest stretch of land: humans.

Humans spread fast, claimed territories fiercely, and wrote laws that everyone else was forced to obey if they wanted to live within human borders. Their most unyielding rule—no magic—kept supernatural abilities carefully leashed. Any creature seeking residence among them had to mimic humanity closely: no spells, no transformation, no enchantments, no ancient customs. Many supernatural races rejected that demand outright and instead remained in their own territories where their cultures, powers, and freedoms remained intact.

Still, uneasy peace existed. Most species tolerated one another well enough, though there were predictable exceptions—vampires and werewolves with their age-old rivalry, goblins and fae locked in eternal bickering, and other grudges scattered throughout history. But for the most part, the world held together, stitched by fragile treaties and mutual need.

Dorian O’Callen, however, had no interest in bending to human expectations. As the alpha of his pack, he would never give up his wolf, his authority, or his traditions just to live within human walls and pretend to be something he wasn’t. He believed humans were self-absorbed creatures, too fond of claiming what wasn’t theirs and pretending their rules applied to the entire world.

Still… he enjoyed slipping into the Human Lands now and then, usually for a thrill, a distraction, or a night of reckless fun—anything to break the monotony of pack leadership.

And during one of those nights, he found something he never expected.

He found her.

His mate.

Except he’d been too drunk to do anything about it, too fogged by liquor and celebration to follow her when she left at dawn. The only thing she’d left behind was her scent and the ache in his chest that had flared the moment he recognized their bond. When he woke and realized she was gone, he began searching. He searched for months—through cities, forests, markets, and border towns—following every faint trail, every hint of familiarity, until hope began to thin into frustration.

Then, one winter night, everything changed.

While running along the boundary where werewolf territory met the Human Lands, her scent hit him like lightning—warm, bright, unmistakable. His heart lurched, instincts snapping to life. He sent out his most skilled hunters instantly, though he didn’t trust anyone else to find her quickly enough. He followed the scent himself, weaving through snow-dusted pines and across frozen ground, the trail growing stronger with every step.

It led him deeper into human territory than he expected, through neighborhoods lit with holiday decorations and streets carrying the faint scent of pine and cinnamon. At last, it brought him to the front of a small, cheerful house overflowing with laughter, light, and the smell of hot cocoa and gingerbread.

Christmas.

He had nearly forgotten it was Christmas—forgotten the season, the festivities, everything except the search that had consumed his life. But her scent surrounded this place, woven into the fabric of the night like a promise he’d finally reached.

After months of chasing shadows, Dorian O’Callen stood at the door where his mate lived, the glow of human celebration spilling out into the cold. And for the first time since losing her, hope roared to life in his chest.