The Runaway Alpha's Feral Mate

Chapter Eleven

The Northern Lights pack held their positions among the frost-rimed spruces, their breath misting in the sub-zero air like smoke signals from another age. Magnus stepped forward from the shadows, and Liam caught the full measure of him now—a man carved by decades of Alaska's cruelty. Scars mapped his exposed skin like tributaries of violence: three parallel gouges across his throat that had missed his jugular by millimeters, the ruined cartilage of his left ear where something had taken a chunk, keloid tissue on his forearms from what looked like acid burns. This was an alpha who'd paid for his territory in blood and pain.

"We could help." Magnus's voice carried the gravel of too many years spent more wolf than man. The offer seemed to surprise him, his thick brows drawing together as if he hadn't meant to speak. "The Northern Lights pack has resources. Information."

Liam felt Akira shift beside him, her presence a pocket of deeper cold in the already frigid night. Her bare feet had turned the ground beneath them to permafrost, delicate fractals of ice spreading outward like frozen lightning. The borrowed jacket hung on her frame in a way that should have looked vulnerable but instead emphasized the coiled power beneath—a predator wrapped in sheep's clothing, fooling no one.

"The facility you're targeting..." Magnus swallowed, his throat working around words that clearly cost him. "Eclipse is certain death. I don't care what you are"—his dark eyes flicked to Akira with wary respect—"that place is designed to break things like us. To study us until there's nothing left but samples in jars."

"Not break me." Akira's voice carried the weight of mountains, of glaciers grinding civilizations to dust. "Already try. Failed."

The simple declaration sent visible ripples through the gathered wolves. Sylvia's sharp intake of breath clouded the air between them. Even Mary, pragmatic to her bones, looked at Akira with new assessment.

"Before you commit suicide," Magnus continued, jaw tight with the effort of pushing past his pride, "let us tell you what we know. What we've learned watching that hellhole for the past eighteen months."

Eighteen months. The specificity caught Liam's attention, filing itself away with the other pieces of this puzzle. That would put them starting surveillance right around when their pups were taken.

Mary checked her watch—a battered military-issue piece that had seen better decades. "Whatever intelligence you're sharing needs to happen fast. My Cessna only holds two passengers safely, three if we're really pushing the weight limits. And our window—"

"Twenty minutes until the next satellite pass," Magnus finished. "I know the schedules." He turned back to Liam and Akira, and something shifted in his bearing—the alpha posturing bleeding away to reveal raw desperation underneath. "I'll meet you at the halfway point. Wiseman. We have people there, supplies cached. You'll need current intel before attempting Eclipse."

"Why?" Akira's single word cut through the night like a blade through silk.

Magnus's hands clenched at his sides, and Liam caught the scent rolling off him—grief aged into rage, fermented in the dark places of a parent's nightmares. "Three of our pups. Taken last year." His voice cracked like lake ice in spring. "Holly was seven. Just got her first shift, early bloomer. Dylan was nine, could already track better than wolves twice his age. Little Georgia..." He stopped, unable to continue.

Sylvia stepped closer to her alpha, not touching but offering presence. "Georgia was five. Still believed in fairy tales and happy endings."

The weight of those names, those ages, settled over the group like snowfall. Liam felt his own wolf stir—not in aggression but in recognition. This was primal law being broken, the fundamental compact that said cubs were sacred, untouchable. Even in the old days, when pack wars painted the snow red, children were off limits.

"They came in broad daylight," Magnus continued, voice steadier now, hardened by the telling. "Said our pups showed 'aberrant traits' that required specialized observation. Had paperwork, official seals, the whole bureaucratic nightmare. What were we supposed to do? Fight? Start a war that would see every wolf in Alaska hunted down?"

"Yes." Akira's response was immediate, absolute. "Fight. Always fight for cubs."

Magnus flinched but didn't argue. How could he? She was right, and they all knew it. Sometimes the choice was between dying on your feet or living on your knees, and the Northern Lights pack had chosen survival over honor.

"They have our kind working as guards now," he said, the words tasting like ash. "Wolves who've turned traitor. Who hunt their own for government favor."

The temperature around Akira plummeted so fast Liam's next breath burned his lungs. Ice crackled across the ground in spiraling patterns, and somewhere in the distance, a tree split from the sudden cold with a sound like a gunshot.

"Explain." Her voice had dropped to something prehistoric, something that remembered when the world was ice and darkness and the hunt.

"Harvesters," Sylvia supplied when Magnus seemed unable to continue. "Otherkind who've sold their souls for privilege. They wear collars—part technology, part something older. Darker. Enhances their natural abilities but chains their will."

"The Eclipse facility has at least six," Magnus found his voice again. "Led by someone called Victor Bloodmoon. Northern European lineage, old blood. Specializes in tracking cubs with unusual gifts."

Liam filed the name away, already strategizing. Werewolf guards changed everything. Humans could be fooled by scent masking, misdirection, ordinary stealth. But their own kind would see through any disguise, would recognize them as threats immediately.

"Collars," he said, mind working through possibilities. "You said they enhance abilities. How?"

"We're not entirely sure," Magnus admitted. "But the few times we've encountered Harvesters in the field, they were... wrong. Faster than they should be. Stronger. And their eyes..." He shuddered. "Empty. Like looking at a wolf-shaped shell with nothing inside."

Mary cleared her throat. "Fascinating as this is, we're burning moonlight. Decisions need to be made now."

Liam felt Akira's attention shift, her ancient gaze fixing on Magnus with the weight of collapsed stars. "You offer help. What help? What cost?"

"No cost," Magnus said quickly. "Just... if you find them. If any of them are still..." He couldn't finish.

"If cubs live, will free," Akira stated. "All cubs. Is only way."

The promise fell like an oath, binding and absolute. Magnus's shoulders sagged with something that might have been relief or might have been the weight of hope—equally crushing forces.

"Wiseman," he said, voice rough. "The trading post is run by a woman named Sandra Pike. Tell her I sent you. She'll have supplies, current intel on Eclipse's patrol patterns. And..." He hesitated, clearly debating how much to reveal.

"And?" Liam prompted.

"Ask her about Elena Moontooth."

The name landed with significance, though Liam couldn't parse why. Mary, however, straightened with sudden interest.

"Elena's still in Wiseman? I thought she'd gone back to Canada after—"

"After her brother was taken," Magnus finished grimly. "No. She's still there. Waiting. Planning." He looked directly at Akira. "She's like you. Not in species, but in purpose. They took her younger brother Jimmy two winters ago."

"Bear," Sylvia added. "Good kid. Worked the fishing boats, kept his head down, never caused trouble. Didn't matter. Harvesters grabbed him right off the Nome docks. His crew said they didn't even try to hide it—broad daylight, tranquilizer guns, loaded him into a van like cargo."

"Elena went... dark after that," Magnus continued. "Former Canadian special forces. Best bush pilot in three territories. She's been mapping Eclipse from the air for two years, pushing the boundaries of restricted airspace, gathering intel."

"Sounds like someone we need to meet," Liam said.

"If she'll see you. Elena doesn't trust easily anymore. But if anyone can get you close to Eclipse..." Magnus shrugged. "Just don't expect warm welcomes. Grief's made her half-feral."

Akira made a sound that might have been approval. "Feral good. Feral remembers what matters."

They moved toward Mary's plane in a tight group, the Northern Lights pack shadowing them through the trees. The small Cessna waited in a clearing barely large enough to qualify as an airstrip, its white fuselage collecting frost that glittered like scattered diamonds.

Mary immediately began her preflight check, headlamp cutting through the darkness as she examined control surfaces and checked fuel levels. Her movements were economical, practiced, the ritual of someone who knew that overlooking a detail meant death in the Alaskan wilderness.

"She really can fly us there?" Akira asked Liam quietly, eyeing the small aircraft with deep suspicion. In the starlight, her pupils had contracted to vertical slits, giving her an even more inhuman appearance.

"Bush pilots are a different breed," Liam assured her. "They fly in conditions that would ground commercial aircraft."

"Still not natural. Wolves belong on ground."

He caught the slight tremor in her voice—not fear exactly, but profound discomfort. For a being who'd lived twelve thousand years with four paws on solid earth, the idea of flight must be anathema.

Magnus approached one final time, moving with the careful dignity of an alpha who'd acknowledged a superior predator. "There's something else. About the Harvesters."

Liam waited, sensing this was important.

"They're not all willing." Magnus's voice dropped low. "Some of the collars... we think they're control devices. Not enhancement. The wolves wearing them might not have chosen betrayal."

The distinction mattered. Traitors deserved death—that was ancient law. But slaves? That was different math entirely.

"How can you tell the difference?" Liam asked.

"You can't. Not until it's too late." Magnus's scarred face was grim. "Just... be careful. Some of those Harvesters might have been our packmates once. Good wolves, before Eclipse got them."

Akira's expression didn't change, but Liam felt the shift in her—calculation replacing blanket condemnation. She understood necessity, understood that sometimes death was mercy. But she also understood innocence, understood that not all who served evil had chosen their chains.

"Plane's ready," Mary called. "Passengers, time to board. Magnus, I assume you know the drill about patrol drones?"

"We'll be ghosts," he assured her. "Safe flights, Mary."

The pack melted back into the forest with practiced ease, but Liam could feel them watching, bearing witness to what might be the last free moments of their lives. He helped Akira into the cramped cabin, noting how her whole body went rigid the moment she entered the enclosed space.

The interior smelled of aviation fuel and old leather, metal and motor oil, with undertones of all the desperate flights Mary had made over the years. Gun oil. Blood. Fear-sweat. Hope. The seats were patched with duct tape, the instruments a mix of modern electronics and analog gauges that belonged in a museum.

Akira folded herself into the passenger seat with the careful movements of something wild forced into captivity. Her fingers immediately found purchase on the seat's edge, frost spreading from the contact points in delicate spirals.

"Hey." Liam reached back from the copilot seat, offering his hand. "I'm right here."

She took it immediately, her fingers cold even by her standards. The tremor he felt there—minute, probably imperceptible to human senses—told him more than words about her state of mind.

"Is just metal box," she muttered, more to herself than him. "Have been in worse cages."

"But those you were trying to escape," he said gently. "This one's taking you where you need to go."

"To cub." The words centered her visibly, purpose overriding instinct. "For Kova. Can endure."

Mary finished her checklist and settled into the pilot's seat with the comfortable slouch of someone who'd spent more hours in the air than on the ground. "First time flying?" she asked Akira, hands already moving across instruments with unconscious competence.

"Wolves not meant for sky."

"Funny thing about that." Mary's grin was visible in the instrument panel's glow. "Neither were humans, originally. But we're adaptable creatures. Evolution doesn't always happen in the body—sometimes it happens in the mind."

The engines coughed to life with a roar that made Akira bare her teeth instinctively. The whole aircraft vibrated, alive with barely contained power. Mary taxied to the end of the crude runway, running through final checks with the calm efficiency of routine.

"Elena Moontooth," Liam said over the engine noise. "Magnus seemed to think she was our best bet for reaching Eclipse."

"If anyone can get you there, it's Elena." Mary's expression sobered. "But Magnus undersold how dark she's gone. Losing Jimmy broke something in her. She'd just gotten back from her third tour in Afghanistan, was trying to build something normal."

"Then they took him."

"Right off the Nome docks, like Sylvia said. Elena was in Anchorage, got the call from Jimmy's crew. By the time she made it to Nome, the trail was cold." Mary adjusted the throttle, the engine note climbing. "She spent six months trying to work within the system. Filed reports, hired lawyers, called in every favor from her service days. Nothing."

"So she went outside the system," Liam guessed.

"Way outside. Started flying reconnaissance over Eclipse, pushing restricted airspace boundaries, gathering intel. Building a war chest of information." Mary's hands tightened on the yoke. "She's got detailed thermal imaging of the facility, guard rotations, vehicle movements. Everything you'd need for an assault."

"Why hasn't she tried?" Akira asked, her voice steady despite her death grip on Liam's hand.

"Because she's one person. One very skilled, very dangerous person, but still just one. And Eclipse..." Mary shook her head. "It's built to withstand a small army. She's been waiting for the right opportunity. The right allies."

"Us," Liam said.

"Maybe. If you can convince her you're serious. If you can prove you're capable." Mary met Akira's reflected gaze in the windscreen. "The fact that you escaped from there might be enough. Might give her hope that it's possible."

The plane accelerated down the rough runway, engines screaming, the whole airframe shuddering with barely controlled violence. Liam felt the exact moment they left the ground—a sudden lightness, a disconnection from the earth that made his wolf instincts scream wrongness.

Beside him, Akira had closed her eyes, her lips moving in what might have been prayer or curse in a language that predated human speech. The frost spreading from her touch had covered most of her seat now, delicate ice crystals catching the instrument lights like frozen fire.

"It's okay," he said quietly, thumb stroking across her knuckles. "We're flying north. Every second gets us closer to him."

She opened her eyes, silver irises reflecting the darkness outside. "Feel him. Always feel him. But stronger now. Like string getting tighter."

"The bond," Mary said, demonstrating the bush pilot's ability to eavesdrop while flying. "Parent and child, especially among Otherkind. Distance attenuates it but can't break it. You'll know when you're close."

"Already know." Akira's certainty was absolute. "North. Always north. Deep in earth where cold lives."

They flew in relative silence for a while, the engine drone becoming white noise. Below them, the Alaskan wilderness stretched endlessly—a canvas of snow and shadow broken only by the occasional frozen river gleaming like a scar. No lights, no roads, no sign that humans had ever existed. This was the world as Akira remembered it, Liam realized. Empty of civilization's clutter, full of danger and beauty in equal measure.

"Tell me about Elena," he said eventually. "What makes her different from other pilots who might help?"

Mary adjusted their heading slightly before answering. "Elena doesn't just fly. She thinks in three dimensions, understands terrain like a wolf understands territory. Special forces trained her to insert into impossible places, extract from worse ones. And she's got something most pilots don't."

"Which is?"

"Nothing left to lose." Mary's voice was matter-of-fact. "She's already dead inside. Has been since Jimmy disappeared. All that's keeping her going is the possibility of getting him back. That makes her dangerous in ways you need."

Liam felt Akira's attention sharpen. Another mother—or close enough—with a stolen child. Another woman transformed by loss into something harder, deadlier. They would understand each other, these two, in ways that went beyond language.

"What else should we know?" he asked.

"She doesn't trust easily. Doesn't trust at all, really. But she respects capability. Show her you're serious, that you're not just another false hope, and she might help." Mary banked slightly, following some navigation point invisible in the darkness. "And don't lie to her. She'll smell it. Whatever weird combination of genetics and training she's got, Elena can read people like books."

"We tell truth," Akira said simply. "Truth enough."

They flew on through the star-drunk night, three unlikely allies bound by necessity and the kind of desperate hope that made impossible things seem achievable. Somewhere ahead waited Elena Moontooth, nursing her grief and her plans in equal measure. Somewhere beyond that waited Eclipse, with its Harvesters and its stolen children and its sterile cells.

And somewhere in those depths, a small boy with ancient power in his blood waited for a mother he'd never known, guided only by the certainty that thrummed along bonds science couldn't measure—she was coming.

She would always come.

The engine droned on, carrying them north, carrying them toward war.