The Alpha’s Surgeon

12

Rae planted herself in front of the wall of monitors, fingers already flying across the console keys before anyone could blink. The screens flickered from their dull, outdated feeds into crisp, high-definition clarity like she’d breathed life into them.

“Oh, these poor babies,” she muttered, typing so fast the keys clacked like they were begging for mercy. “Look at this interface. Tragic. I’ve seen kindergarten robotics projects with more dignity.”

Del snorted from beside her. “Careful—you’re gonna offend the screens next.”

Rae shot her a sideways smirk. “Don’t tempt me. Actually…” She nudged her with an elbow. “Since you’re co-owner of our chaos empire, you wanna help? Or are you gonna pretend you don’t know how to plug in a cable again?”

Del gasped dramatically. “That happened one time!”

“And yet,” Rae said, spinning back to the console, “it will haunt you for the rest of your natural life.”

Will groaned behind them. “Rae, please—just don’t blow anything up.”

“No promises,” she said sweetly, then resumed typing like she was hacking into NASA.

Within seconds the packhouse feeds updated—angles corrected, blind spots erased, sensors synced, and three drones hummed awake overhead, their lights shifting from standby blue to Rae’s signature warning red.

The warriors leaned in, awe spreading through the room.

Trey rubbed the back of his neck. “She’s… not even warmed up yet, is she?”

Elijah shook his head, jaw tight but impressed. “Not even close.”

“See?” Rae said, pointing at one of the revamped screens. “This is a system. This—” she waved at the former screen settings “—was a glorified toaster with delusions of importance.”

A new feed popped up—clear and live from the north woods.

And there he was.

Aspen.

In full reckless glory.

Running after a warrior who had very unwisely attempted to sneak a peanut butter jar outside.

Rae clapped her hands once. “OH! Lesson time. Pay attention, children.”

On the screen, Aspen launched himself onto the omega’s back, pinning him face-first into the dirt with professional precision. The peanut butter jar rolled, wobbled, and dropped neatly into Aspen’s waiting paws.

Rae pointed like a proud teacher. “See that execution? Clean. Efficient. Zero hesitation. Dog’s a tactical genius.”

Del burst out laughing. “Why is Aspen better at takedowns than half the warriors?”

“Because Aspen,” Rae said smugly, “is the superior species. Humans—” she eyed the pinned warrior on the screen “—are snack delivery systems with poor decision-making skills.”

Trey let out a long whistle. “That… was actually impressive.”

Elijah’s lip twitched. “I think we’re all a little afraid of that dog now.”

“And of Rae,” Will muttered, rubbing his temple.

Rae patted the side of the console. “You’re welcome, by the way. This system? Upgraded. Synced. i***t-proof. Finally.”

Del leaned her hip against the table. “You know, we could help more often…”

“Oh, I know,” Rae said without looking away from the monitors. “But then who would I mock for emotional enrichment?”

Del squinted at her. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Rae sing-songed.

Will sighed. “This is going to be a long day…”

Rae grinned, switching feeds with a flourish. “Nope. It’s gonna be fun. For me. You’re all doomed.”

And the boys exchanged another look—one that held equal parts awe, dread, and the dawning realization that Rae Maynard, chaos incarnate, had just turned their entire security system (and their morning) upside down… in ten minutes flat.

The moment the last drone feed blinked online, the war room came alive—screens flashing with pristine camera angles of every inch of pack land. Even the warriors stopped mid-task to whistle under their breath.

Del crossed her arms, grinning like a proud co-conspirator.

“Let this be a reminder to all of you—never piss off the tech hacker. Her weapons of choice aren’t claws or fangs—they’re glitter bombs and dye packs that turn you blue for weeks.”

Trey blinked. “Wait—blue?”

Remi’s smirk was slow and wicked. “Oh, that’s just the fun stuff. Don’t forget when she hacked that frat house four years ago.”

Every head swiveled toward Rae.

Rae froze mid-keystroke. “Remi. Don’t you dare.”

Del was already laughing. “Oh no, this one’s too good.”

Remi leaned back against the table, enjoying every second. “They weren’t harassing her or anything—they just wouldn’t shut up about her height.”

Rae groaned dramatically. “They called me bite-sized.”

Del cackled. “And ‘fun-sized.’ And—oh!—my favorite: ‘Do you need a booster seat to see the screen?’”

The warriors’ faces shifted from amusement to deep horror—because they knew exactly how explosive Rae could get.

Elijah blinked. “…That seems like a poor choice.”

“Oh, it was,” Remi said sweetly. “Because Rae didn’t just clap back. She went full poltergeist.”

Del nodded enthusiastically. “She hacked their smart home system and programmed a whole haunting. Lights flickering, faucets turning on, whispers through the speakers—she even timed it with the AC to blow cold air on their necks.”

Rae dropped her face into her hands. “It was supposed to scare them a little. Just a little.”

Will was wheezing. “Campus police got called, right?”

“Three times,” Del supplied proudly. “Then the city inspector. Then a priest. And then—”

“The entire house got condemned,” Remi finished, grinning. “Because one of her programmed ‘ghosts’ set off the sprinkler system during a party and shorted the whole fuse box.”

Trey sat back, stunned. “You destroyed an entire frat house… because they called you short?”

Rae pointed a finger at him, eyes narrowed. “Say the word ‘short’ and I will personally replace your ringtone with circus music.”

Elijah held up both hands. “We respect your height.”

“Good.” Rae turned back to the monitors with a huff. “Because I am not short. I am efficiently condensed.”

Will lost it—full Alpha-boy laughter, doubled over.

“Efficiently—condensed—oh my God.”

Rae typed harder, muttering in fiery Cajun under her breath.

Del patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, gremlin. We love you.”

“I will haunt your toothbrush,” Rae growled.

The warriors immediately snapped their mouths shut.

Even Aspen barked from near her chair, tail thumping, like he agreed that everyone should absolutely fear the tiny tech demon.

And as Rae’s upgraded fortress continued humming around them, one thing was abundantly clear:

No one—no one—would ever comment on her height again.