Masfa Aura
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STORY BY Masfa Aura
The Omega Who Burned
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For twenty years, she lived as an Omega in a werewolf pack that saw her as nothing. No wolf, no rank, no family, no future. She swept the floor, survived daily abuse, and kept her head down because there was nowhere else to go and no one who cares either. She was assaulted, and everything changed. The trauma triggered a power inside her, since birth by her dying mother, a desperate final act to protect her daughter from enemies who had already killed her parent. Mira is not just human; she is a Sanguis Wizard, a bloodline wizard, the last surviving descendant of an ancient magical lineage so powerful that the supernatural world spent twenty years believing it was extinct. She also carries Alpha wolf blood inherited from her father's lineage. Half wizard, Half wolf. Fully awakened, completely. They were looking for her everywhere. She has to escape the Hollow Shell pack border at all costs before getting caught. Can she escape the threat? Is she going to reject her mate? Is she ready to accept who she is? Let's Find out..... Mira, THE OMEGA WHO BURNED.
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ASHES OF THE OMEGA
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They exiled her to silence her. She came back as the fire. Lyra has spent her entire life as the lowest wolf in Ashveil Pack — an Omega with no rank, no status, and no future worth fighting for. She was born into invisibility and learned early that survival meant keeping her head down, her mouth shut, and her heart locked away from everything she could never have. A mate was the one dream she buried deepest. Omegas don't get chosen. Not by warriors. Not by ranked wolves. And certainly not by Alphas. So when Alpha Caden of the Ironveil Pack arrives at Ashveil for negotiations — cold-eyed, stone-faced, and powerful enough to make the air itself go quiet — Lyra doesn't spare him more than a glance. Until her wolf speaks one word she was never supposed to hear. Mine. Caden is everything she isn't — ruthless, feared, untouchable. He leads one of the most powerful packs on the continent with an iron fist and zero tolerance for weakness. He has never bowed to anyone or anything. But the mate bond doesn't ask permission. And now the one man determined to fight what he feels — who calls her a distraction, a liability, a mistake of fate — is the only one her wolf will ever recognize as home. Lyra has two choices. Shrink back into the shadows the way she always has. Or rise into the woman the bond is trying to force her to become. She's spent a lifetime being ash. Maybe it's time to be the fire.
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Bound by Blood, Broken by You
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There is a rule in the Moretti household that Sienna learned before she learned to walk. Blood is loyalty. Loyalty is survival. And survival is the only love this family has ever known. Her father, Dante Moretti, taught her that rule with the quiet certainty of a man who had never needed to raise his voice to make a room go still. He taught her how to read a contract and find the clause that would destroy you. He taught her how to shake a hand and count the fingers afterward. He taught her that the world was divided into two kinds of people — those who held power, and those who bled for it — and that a Moretti would always, always be the former. What Dante Moretti never taught his daughter was what to do when the power started dying with him. Sienna is twenty-three years old and she has been running the Moretti empire in everything but name for two years. She sits in the meetings her father is too weak to attend. She makes the decisions he is too ill to finalize. She holds the loyalty of men twice her age who would never admit, publicly, that they answer to her — because admitting it would mean acknowledging that a woman leads them, and in this world, that is still a sentence that comes with consequences. She is used to consequences. She is used to walking into rooms that do not want her and leaving them restructured in her image. What she is not used to — what she has never been prepared for — is Aleksei Volkov. The Volkov name is not spoken lightly in any city that values its silence. Where the Morettis built their empire on old money, political reach, and the kind of influence that moves through backroom handshakes and generational debt, the Volkovs built theirs on something far simpler and far more terrifying: the absolute, unshakeable willingness to do what other families hesitated to do. No negotiation. No second chances. No mercy dressed up as strategy. They came from St. Petersburg to Chicago two generations ago with nothing but a name and a ruthlessness that made even their allies nervous. Now the Volkov empire stretches across weapons distribution, underground infrastructure, and a web of financial control so intricate that three separate government agencies have tried and failed to map it. Aleksei is the product of all of that. The heir. The instrument his father Viktor spent twenty-seven years sharpening into something precise and pitiless and perfect. He does not lose his temper. He does not make impulsive decisions. He does not want things he cannot have — because he has never encountered something he could not eventually acquire, dismantle, or destroy, depending on which served his purpose better. He is called The Ghost not because he is invisible — but because by the time you know he was there, everything has already changed and there is nothing left to fight. He walks into the Council meeting in New York on a Tuesday in November and Sienna Moretti is already seated at the table. She does not look up when he enters. Every other person in that room tracks his movement. Every other person in that room adjusts their posture, their expression, their breathing — unconsciously recalibrating themselves in response to his presence the way people do around something dangerous. She continues reading the document in front of her. He notices. He sits across from her and for the first time in longer than he can remember, Aleksei Volkov finds himself recalculating. The Council was established forty years ago as the only alternative to a war that would have consumed all three families and painted three cities red. The Morettis. The Volkovs. The Reyes. Three families. Three territories. Three sets of rules. One agreement that kept them from destroying each other — a rotating Council of six, two representatives from each family, that governed disputes, divided profits from shared ventures, and maintained the fragile architecture of peace that allowed all three empires to thrive. It has held for four decades through betrayals, power shifts, deaths, and the kind of pressures that collapse lesser agreements in months. It is holding now by a thread. Someone has been stealing from all three families simultaneously. Not taking — stealing. Systematically. Invisibly. Funds redirected through layers of shell accounts. Supply chains quietly sabotaged. Information leaked to the wrong people at the wrong time. Three separate incidents that looked like internal problems until an anonymous tip reached all three families at once, making clear that the same hand was behind all of it. The Council convenes in emergency session. The room is full of men who trust each other precisely as far as they can afford to and not one inch further. The accusation hangs over the table like smoke — one of you is doing this — and the denial from every quarter is immediate and loud and entirely unconvincing. "Bound by Blood, Broken by You" By Masfa She was built to lead. He was built to conquer. Neither of them was built for this.
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THE FACE DONOR
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She survived the accident. She just didn't know it wasn't one. Shen Weilin woke up with a new face and a second chance at life. The doctors called it a miracle. A rare donor match. A gift. They never told her the donor was murdered. Three months after the transplant, strangers keep stopping her on the street. Whispering a name she doesn't recognize. Reaching for her like she belongs to them. Meifang. When Weilin searches the name, she finds a news article. A photograph. A dead woman with her face, her exact face, right down to the scar near the left temple. Luo Meifang. Murdered eight months ago. Case closed. Husband cleared. But the husband doesn't look like a grieving man. He looks like a man who has been waiting.Because Weilin was never a random recipient. Her accident was never an accident. Someone needed Meifang's face to keep living controllable, silent, asking no questions. They chose the wrong woman.Hidden inside a cloud account set up in Weilin's own name is everything Meifang died to protect. Financial records. Photographs. A conspiracy worth killing for. And a video. A dead woman. Sitting very still. Speaking directly to the camera. Speaking directly to her. "If you're watching this, I'm already gone." A pause. "And you're wearing my face." Now Weilin must decide how far she will go to finish what a dead woman started before the man who killed once decides to kill again. Some secrets are written on the skin. Some women refuse to stay silent. Even after death. THE FACE DONOR 捐颜者 A thriller by Masfa Aura
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