The Runaway Alpha's Feral Mate

Chapter Two

Akira hated the bright lights of the cage-room. They hurt her eyes and gave her nowhere to hide. Nowhere except under the sleeping platform the pink-skins called a "bed."

She crouched in the shadows beneath it, nostrils flaring at the stench of chemicals that burned her sensitive nose. Eight winters in the cutting-place had taught her that humans smelled wrong—like dead things and poison. This place stank less of pain than the other one, but the silver in the walls burned just the same, leaching her strength day by day like a slow bleeding that never stopped.

The first direwolf had been born when the Great Ice still covered the world, when the Moon was closer and magic ran thick in the blood of all living things. Akira's mother had told her this story, as her mother had before her, back through twelve thousand winters to the Beginning Time. Back then, the First Pack had run beneath stars so bright they painted the snow in colors no human eyes could see. They had been born of winter itself—frost-souls in wolf bodies—blessed by the Moon with powers no other creature possessed.

"We were first," her mother had whispered on the night Akira's frost powers first manifested, her own silver eyes gleaming with pride. "Before the lesser wolves. Before the two-legs who would later become werewolves through our blood. We were the first children of Winter and Moon."

Memories were all Akira had now. Memories and the desperate hope of finding her stolen cub.

The female pink-skin with the quiet voice came every sun-cycle. Eleanor, they called her. Akira didn't trust her, but at least this one didn't bring the sharp things. Just watched. Just took pictures with the clicking machine and left meat that wasn't still warm with blood but was better than starving.

Akira's stomach growled, a sound that echoed in the empty room. The meat they'd given her hours ago hadn't been enough. Never enough. Her body needed more to fight the silver sickness. To heal the burn-marks around her neck where the metal collar touched skin.

She shifted position, frosted breath escaping in a small cloud despite the warmth of the room. The cold was part of her, rooted in her bones since before the pink-skins claimed the world, since before her kind retreated into the deepest wilderness. In the old days, direwolves had commanded blizzards, frozen lakes with a single howl, created paths of ice across uncrossable chasms. Now her powers—dampened by the silver collar—could barely frost the floor beneath her feet.

The pink-skins feared her frost, scrambling like frightened prey when ice formed beneath her fingers. Good. Let them fear. Fear was the only weapon she had left.

Time had little meaning in the cage-room, but Akira had counted five night-cycles since they'd brought her here. Before that, eight winters of torment in the other place—the cutting-place where they'd taken so much from her. Blood. Tissue. And worst of all, her eggs. The future of her kind, stolen while she lay drugged and helpless on their metal tables.

She had escaped their first prison when a power failure had weakened the silver doors just enough. For three blissful night-cycles, she had run free under the stars, following the scent-trail that would lead to her cub. Then the silver trap—pain—darkness—and awakening here.

The outer door hissed open. Akira's lip curled back, exposing teeth that were too sharp for her human form. The quiet female was back, her scent tinged with something new—excitement and fear mixed together like prey that spots the hunter but can't decide which way to run.

But another scent cut through the sterile air, making Akira freeze in place.

*Wolf*.

Not just any wolf. Alpha. Power. Male. Hidden beneath human stink and cloth-coverings, but unmistakable to her senses.

Akira's heart hammered against her ribs, sending tiny frost patterns spreading across her skin. She had searched for twelve thousand winters, ever since the Great Ice retreated. Her kind had dwindled, scattered, disappeared—hunted by humans and betrayed by lesser werewolves who feared the direwolves' ancient power. One by one, her pack had fallen until only she remained, roaming the far northlands alone.

She'd begun to believe she was truly the last, destined to die alone in this silver cage with no mate, no pack, no cub of her own to hold.

Her cub. Kova. The one they stole from her body before she ever saw his face, ever felt his weight in her arms. Named in her heart during endless nights of captivity, dreamed of during brief moments of sleep between pain and more pain. Somewhere north in another prison like this one. She needed to find him. Needed to escape this place.

The prophecy of the Last Frost, passed down through generations, whispered in her mind: When the last frost-soul stands alone, the Moon will grant one final gift—a mate of fire to balance ice, a union to restore what was lost.

Akira had stopped believing in ancient promises long ago. Until now.

The silver door to her cage slid open.

Akira snarled, pressing her back against the wall under the bed, muscles coiled tight. She wouldn't make it easy for them. Eight winters of captivity had taught her that submission only invited more pain. Better to fight, even in defeat.

A man stepped in—tall, with dark hair and eyes the color of forest shadows. He wore the same white coat as the others, carried himself with the same careful movements, but his scent... his scent told the truth his human clothes tried to hide.

Wolf-who-pretends.

He stood still, eyes scanning the room until they dropped to the shadows where she hid. Something flickered across his face—recognition? Understanding? The pink-skins never understood. They poked and cut and tested, but never understood what they were destroying with their silver cages and sharp tools.

But this one...

For a heartbeat, something changed. His scent intensified, power radiating from him like heat from summer stones. His eyes flashed gold—Alpha gold, pack-leader gold—before returning to human brown.

The Burning Alpha. That's what the old stories called the perfect mate for a frost-wolf. One whose inner fire ran hot enough to complement the direwolf's cold. One strong enough to withstand the killing frost that leaked from a direwolf's skin during mating. One whose bloodline stretched back to the same ancient source, but followed a different path.

Mate, her instincts howled. Mate-match-perfect-found-at-last.

Akira's chest tightened with a feeling she'd nearly forgotten existed. Hope.

She crawled forward, still low to the ground, still ready to attack if needed. Ice crystals formed in her wake, tiny fractals that marked her path across the floor like delicate frozen footprints. The humans behind the glass wall made nervous sounds, but the wolf-man didn't back away.

He watched her with eyes that saw too much. Eyes that reminded her of others long gone, of her pack before the pink-skins took everything.

"Wer-ūlfaz," she growled, the ancient word for his kind, their kind, feeling strange on her tongue after so long unused. The Old Tongue had been the first language, spoken when wolves and humans first began to merge into something new.

The man's eyes widened. He understood. Not just a wolf playing human, but one who knew the old words, the old ways. Perhaps even the old stories.

She circled him, instinct driving her to test his resolve, to see if he was worthy. If he was truly what her heart had recognized instantly: mate. Her silver eyes never left his face, watching for any sign of fear, any hint of the dominance games lesser wolves played. A true mate wouldn't try to force submission. A true mate would stand as equal.

Twelve thousand winters of waiting. Of being the last. The cold one. The frost-bringer with no one to share the long dark nights. Of watching her kind hunted to extinction, betrayed by the very werewolves who carried diluted direwolf blood in their veins. Of mourning as each pack-sister fell until only Akira remained, carrying the memories of an entire species within her.

Her mother's last words echoed through time: "Find the burning one. Only together can ice and fire survive what comes."

The wolf-man didn't move as she circled, but his eyes followed her, careful and measured. When she stepped closer, frost spreading from her bare feet to his shoe-coverings, he didn't flinch. Didn't show fear. His heat radiated toward her, creating small wisps of steam where it met her cold aura.

Perfect opposition. Perfect balance.

Akira sniffed at him, drawing his scent deep into her lungs until it filled her completely. Under the human coverings beat the heart of a true Alpha. Power like hers, but different. Heat where she was cold. Strength where she was speed. Control where she was chaos.

The ancient direwolf mating bond – sjele-frost – could only form between perfect opposites, like ice forming at the boundary between water and air. Neither could exist without the other, yet they remained distinct. The old stories said that when a true pair bonded, their powers doubled. That their offspring carried both frost and fire within their blood.

Offspring. Kova. Her stolen cub.

She growled low in her throat, not a threat but a question. Why did he hide? Why did he let them put him in the white coat and pretend to be one of them? Did he not know what humans did to their kind? Had he not seen the silver cages, felt the cutting blades?

The wolf-man seemed to understand her unspoken question. Sadness flickered across his face, quickly hidden behind careful control. There was old pain there, old wounds that matched her own. He had lost something too.

She needed him to understand. Needed his help. Her cub—her Kova—wouldn't survive another winter in the cutting-place. She'd escaped after eight winters of pain, but they still had her cub.

"Cub," she managed, the human word feeling clumsy on her tongue. She made the holding motion with her arms, then pointed north where her instincts told her Kova was kept. "Kova." She placed her hand over her heart, willing him to understand what she couldn't say with human words.

The ones who had captured her, who had stolen her eggs, had created life from her body without permission. She had never seen her cub, never scented him, but she felt him in her blood. Mother-bond transcended distance. Every night she sent her consciousness searching, reaching across the frozen wastes until she caught glimpses of a small wolf-child with silver-tipped fur. Her son. Her future. The last hope for direwolves.

Something changed in the wolf-man's face. Pain. Recognition. His scent shifted with emotion so strong she could almost taste it.

"Help?" she asked, the single word carrying everything—her desperation, her hope, her recognition of him as mate, as her only chance to save her stolen cub.

The First Pack had a saying: The strongest alpha travels the path alone; the wisest knows when to seek a pack. For twelve thousand winters, Akira had been strong. Now she needed to be wise.

He stared at her, conflict clear in his eyes. The silver collar burned against her throat, a constant reminder of her weakness in this place of metal and poison. She touched it, then gestured to the wolf-man's coverings, trying to make him understand.

"Small," she grunted, pinching her fingers together. They both had cages—hers of silver, his of human clothing and lies. Both made smaller than they should be. Both diminished from what the Moon had intended.

The ancient prophecy spoke of this: The frost-soul will be imprisoned in silver; the fire-heart will forge his own chains. Only by breaking both can the circle be restored.

The wolf-man's scent changed again—resolution replacing conflict, strength pushing through carefully maintained control. Something awakened in him, something that had been sleeping for many seasons. His wolf. His true self.

"What are you?" he asked softly.

Akira drew herself up, frost swirling around her in a miniature blizzard. If she was to die in this place, she would die as herself, not as their specimen, their test subject, their thing.

"Akira," she said, the name she'd kept secret through eight winters of torture. The name that meant "bright light on snow" in the Old Tongue. Then she found the human word they would understand: "Direwolf."

The last of her kind. The carrier of twelve thousand winters of memories, of knowledge that would die with her if she failed. Of frost magic that once shaped mountains and redirected rivers. Of healing cold that could draw poison from wounds and preserve life through the harshest blizzards.

She stepped closer, until they breathed the same air. His heat mingled with her cold, creating small wisps of steam between them like the fog that forms when warm breath meets winter air. She placed one frost-tipped finger against his chest, directly over his heart, feeling its powerful beat.

"Mine," she growled.

The word hung between them, ancient and new at once. A claim. A truth. A beginning.

Beyond the glass, the humans were moving, making worried sounds. But the quiet female—the one who brought food—made a choice. She stepped away from the alarm, giving them time.

The wolf-man looked at Akira with new understanding dawning in his eyes. He recognized the truth too. Mate. After twelve thousand winters of solitude, the Great Moon had given her this one chance, this one hope.

Akira's tribe had once numbered in the thousands, running from the frozen northlands to the great mountains of the south. They had been teachers to the first werewolves, guardians of wild places, keepers of winter's secrets. Now she was all that remained—the last vessel of ancient knowledge, the final link to powers that humans had sought to harness and destroy.

The collar around her neck was more than captivity; it was the human attempt to control what they feared. To take the frost magic for themselves, to turn her kind into weapons. Eight winters of their cutting and taking had taught her that humans would never stop until they had stripped every secret from her bones, every power from her blood.

Now she just needed to make him understand about Kova. About the need to go north. About the duty that came before even the mate-bond.

A mother would risk everything—even a mate waited for through countless winters—to save her cub. And a direwolf mother, the last of her kind, would tear apart the world itself to protect the future her son represented.

The wolf-man's eyes changed again, gold flecks appearing in the brown as his wolf rose closer to the surface. He understood. Or was beginning to.

Their time was running out. The humans behind the glass were growing more agitated, their fear-scent sharpening.

Akira leaned forward, frost gathering on her lips as she whispered the ancient direwolf mate-promise against his ear:

"Sjele-bunden til tid-slutt." Soul-bound until time ends.

Whether he helped her or not, whether he accepted the bond or not, he was hers now. And she would find her son, with or without him. But with him—with the burning alpha by her side—she might actually succeed.

A mother alone was dangerous.

A mother with her mate was unstoppable.