The Alpha's Hidden Flame

Chapter Seven

VIVI

The pills stick in my throat. Three white tablets that taste of chalk and broken promises, chased with water that still carries the phantom warmth of last night's lake. My hands shake as I set the glass down—not from cold this time, but from the memory of light blooming beneath black water, of being something more than carefully controlled nothing.

Dawn filters gray through my window. Outside, the compound stirs with purpose that tastes like impending violence. Metal scrapes metal. Voices carry instructions for death. My tablet sits untouched on the nightstand while I braid my hair with fingers that won't stop trembling.

I should document everything. Should already be typing observations about defensive preparations, resource allocation, the psychology of a pack facing annihilation. Instead, I stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror above the dresser. Same face. Same dark eyes. Same careful mask I've worn for twenty-five years.

But something flickers beneath. A shimmer of heat that makes the glass fog at the edges.

I blink. The fog clears. Just tired eyes and wishful thinking.

My skin smell like lake water despite two showers. The scent clings—minerals and depth and that moment when drowning felt like coming home. I dress in fresh grays and blacks, armor myself in professional distance, but the memory burns beneath my skin like fever.

The compound greets me with controlled chaos. Wolves I've interviewed move with new purpose—checking weapons, reinforcing positions, preparing for war with the kind of grim efficiency that comes from having everything to lose. I maintain my usual perimeter, tablet finally in hand, but the words won't come. How do you document the last morning of people who've become more than data points?

"You look like shit."

Diana materializes beside me, all six feet of barely leashed violence. This close, I can see the scars webbing her arms—silver burns that never fully healed. She doesn't step back when I do, just watches me maintain distance with eyes that miss nothing.

"Rough night."

"Heard you went walking." Not a question. "Dangerous in these woods. Things out there that hunt more than wolves."

My pulse kicks. Did someone see? But her expression gives nothing away.

"I needed air."

"Sure." She shifts, and I catch the scent of gun oil and adrenaline. "You ever shoot?"

"I'm not permitted—"

"Not what I asked."

The memory surfaces unbidden. Father's patient voice at the range. The weight of the Glock in my hands. The perfect cluster of holes in paper targets, each one a lesson in controlled destruction.

"Yes."

She grins, sharp as her favorite knives. "Good. When the shooting starts, regulations won't stop bullets."

She's gone before I can respond, moving to supervise a group struggling with rifle assembly. I watch her correct grips, adjust stances, turn frightened wolves into something that might survive what's coming.

The fortifications have multiplied overnight. Fresh concrete gleams between wooden posts, still soft enough to take fingerprints. Concertina wire creates metallic webs between buildings. Someone's painted protection symbols on the walls—old magic that might mean nothing against modern weapons, but faith has its own power when blood's about to spill.

"Documenting our defensive capabilities?"

Luka's voice hits me like a physical force. He stands ten feet away—close enough to make my skin prickle, far enough to respect the distance I maintain. Morning light catches in his hair, turns his eyes from forest to flame. Pine and motor oil and something wild wraps around me, makes my wolf lift her drugged head.

"That's my function."

"Your function." He takes a step closer. I take two back. Something flashes in his eyes—frustration? Understanding? "Tell me, what does your function say about our chances?"

I force myself to look at the data, not at the way his shoulders carry everyone's fear. "Statistically, when outnumbered three to one with limited ammunition—"

"f**k statistics." Another step. The space between us crackles. "I'm asking what you see. Not your tablet. You."

"I see wolves preparing to die."

"Wrong." He's closer now, close enough that I smell last night's coffee on his breath, this morning's determination in his sweat. "You see wolves preparing to live. There's a difference."

My back hits the wall of Building C. When did I retreat this far? He's still outside my three-foot perimeter, but barely. The air between us feels charged, like the moment before lightning strikes.

"Your optimism doesn't change the numbers."

"My optimism?" His laugh scrapes like claws on stone. "Princess, I know exactly what's coming. Know we'll lose people. Good people. Know some of these cubs might not see sunset. But they'll die as pack. As family. That's more than the Council ever offered them."

Heat crawls up my spine—not embarrassment, something else. Something that makes my fingers itch and my careful control fracture. "The Council—"

"The Council sent you here to watch us bleed." He plants one hand on the wall beside my head, still not touching, still honoring my distance even as he destroys it. "Question is, when the bleeding starts, what will you do?"

"Observe. Document. Report."

"Bullshit." His free hand moves toward my face, stops just short of contact. I can feel the heat of his palm, the almost-touch that makes my skin ache. "I saw you at the lake last night."

Everything stops. My heart. My breath. The careful lies I tell myself about control and distance and chemical solutions to burning blood.

"I don't know what you think—"

"I think you walked into water cold enough to kill and came out steaming. I think you glowed under the surface like a goddamn star. I think those pills you swallow are chains, and something in you is fighting to break free."

My hands shake. The tablet cracks under my grip, spiderwebs spreading across the screen. "You're mistaken."

"Am I?" He leans closer, still not touching, but I feel him everywhere. "Your skin's hot right now. Hot enough I can feel it from here. What are you so afraid of, Vivi?"

"I'm not—"

"Incoming!" someone shouts. "North perimeter!"

He's gone between one heartbeat and the next, transformed from predator to protector in an instant. I stay pressed against the wall, tablet cracked, skin burning where he almost touched, trying to remember how to breathe.

The compound erupts into organized motion. Wolves take defensive positions. Weapons appear from hidden caches. The air fills with the metallic song of bullets being chambered, safeties clicking off.

"Observatory, you might want to get inside." Park jogs past, rifle ready. "Or at least find cover. They're sending a messenger."

I follow the flow of bodies to the main gate. Through the reinforced fence, I see them—five Cascade wolves in full combat gear. The one in front removes his helmet, and my stomach drops.

Kyle Henley. Richard's second son. We played together at Council gatherings when we were cubs, before he learned to see omega girls as prizes to be won.

"Ironwood Pack!" His voice carries clear and cold. "By order of Cascade Pack and the territorial alliance, you have one hour to surrender the minor James Henley and all humans being harbored within your borders. Comply, and the rest of you may disperse peacefully."

Luka steps forward. No weapons visible, but violence radiates from every line of his body. "Jamie Riley stays. He claimed sanctuary, and we granted it. As for humans—they're pack. You want them, you go through us."

"Riley?" Kyle laughs. "The boy's name is Henley. He belongs to his father, regardless of what delusions you've fed him."

"He belongs to himself."

"Council law says otherwise." Kyle's eyes scan the compound, find me standing behind the fence. His smile turns sharp. "Vivian. Lovely to see you. Your parents must be so proud, their daughter documenting rogues who corrupt minors."

Heat flares in my chest. Not embarrassment. Not fear. Something older and infinitely more dangerous. My cracked tablet grows hot in my hands.

"Miss Silverman is here as neutral observer." Luka's voice could freeze flame. "You'll address her with respect, or not at all."

"Respect?" Kyle steps closer to the fence. "For David and Esther's pet project? Everyone knows what she is. What she's hiding under all those pills."

The tablet screen cracks completely. Pieces fall like sharp rain.

"That's enough." Diana appears at Luka's shoulder, pistol casual at her side. "Deliver your message and go, before we decide to send Richard a different kind of answer."

Kyle retreats a step, but his smile remains. "One hour. After that, we take what's ours. And Observer? When the shooting starts, remember—the Council protects those who uphold its laws. Not those who stand with degenerates."

They melt back into the trees. The compound exhales collectively, but tension ratchets higher. An hour. Sixty minutes before hell arrives wearing familiar faces.

"Positions!" Luka's voice cuts through the murmur. "Diana, take the cubs to the safe room. Park, distribute the rest of the ammunition. Everyone else—you know your jobs."

The pack scatters with purpose. I stand there with a destroyed tablet and Kyle's words echoing: Everyone knows what she is.

"Hey." Leo appears at my elbow, careful not to touch. "That asshole's full of s**t. Whatever he thinks he knows—"

"He's right." The words escape before I can stop them. "I am hiding something."

Leo shrugs. "So? We all are. That's what makes us pack."

"I'm not pack."

"No?" He gestures at my broken tablet. "Then why'd you crush Council property when he threatened us?"

He leaves me with that question and no good answer. Around me, final preparations take violent shape. Holly shows the younger wolves how to load magazines with shaking hands. Ruby distributes Molotov cocktails with grim efficiency. Someone—Wyatt, I think—sprays something on the bullets that makes them gleam silver-bright.

I climb to my roof perch, needing distance from the controlled chaos. But even here, I can't escape the pull of what's coming. Below, Luka coordinates defenses with an efficiency that speaks of too much practice. How many times has he done this? How many times has he stood between his pack and annihilation?

"Thirty minutes!" someone calls.

Time moves like honey and lightning both. I watch wolves say goodbye without words—touches that linger, looks that hold entire conversations. Watch mothers kiss cubs they're sending to hide. Watch lovers exchange weapons like wedding rings, promises of violence in place of vows.

My skin prickles with wrong heat. The place where Luka almost touched burns like a brand. I press my palms flat on the metal roof, trying to ground myself, but the metal warms beneath my touch.

"Twenty minutes!"

More movement at the tree line. Not five wolves now—dozens. They don't hide their numbers anymore, spreading out to show the futility of resistance. I recognize faces from Council gatherings, from formal dinners where they smiled and called me promising.

Now they've come to water the earth with blood because a boy kissed another boy. Because humans married wolves. Because some people refuse to fit the shapes the world demands.

"Ten minutes!"

I should go inside. Should find a defensible position to observe from. Should maintain the distance that keeps everyone safe from what burns beneath my skin. Instead, I watch Luka gather his pack one last time.

"They expect us to run or surrender." His voice carries clear. "They expect fear to break us before the first shot. They're wrong." He looks at each face, and I swear his gaze finds mine on the roof. "We are Ironwood. We are the unwanted who found each other. The broken who built something whole. And today, we remind them why rogues survive when perfect packs fall."

A howl rises from his throat—not mournful but defiant. Others join, creating a harmony that makes my chest ache and my wolf keen against her chains. Even the humans add their voices, screaming their existence to the sky.

The sound cuts off as one.

Silence falls like a blade.

"Positions."

They scatter to their posts. Weapons ready. Hearts racing. Fear transformed into something sharper, more useful.

"Five minutes!"

I stand on my roof, hands leaving heat-marks on the railing, and make a decision that tastes like burning bridges. My fingers find my phone, thumb hovering over Mother's number. One call. One word to the Council that Cascade Pack threatens a neutral observer. They'd have to intervene. Would have to stop this before—

"Don't."

Luka stands at the base of my building, looking up. "Whatever you're thinking, don't."

"I could stop this." My voice cracks. "One call—"

"Would bring the Council here. You think they'd side with us? Think they'd care about Jamie or Leo or any of them?" His eyes burn into mine. "They'd finish what Cascade starts. At least this way, we die fighting."

"You don't have to die at all!"

"No?" He laughs, bitter as burnt coffee. "Tell me another way. Tell me how we save everyone without bleeding."

I can't. There is no other way. Not in the world the Council built, where loving wrong means dying right.

"One minute!"

Cascade Pack emerges from the trees in force. A hundred wolves, maybe more, spreading out to encircle us completely. Richard at their head, playing the grieving father, the righteous alpha reclaiming what's his.

"Time's up!" Kyle's voice, amplified by megaphone. "Surrender the boy and the humans, or—"

The shot comes from our side. Diana, probably, tired of speeches when bullets say more. Kyle drops the megaphone, clutching his shoulder.

For a heartbeat, everything holds. The moment before storm breaks, before careful plans dissolve into chaos and blood.

Then the world explodes.

Gunfire erupts from both sides. Wolves shift mid-run, clothes shredding as bodies reshape. The morning fills with snarls and screams and the wet sound of teeth finding flesh.

I drop flat on the roof as bullets whine overhead. Below, the compound transforms into a battlefield. Our fortifications hold—barely. Concrete chips under automatic fire. Bodies slam into hastily strung wire.

Through it all, Luka moves like controlled destruction. Still in human form but deadlier than any shifted wolf, coordinating defense, plugging gaps, keeping his pack alive by will alone.

A Molotov cocktail arcs through the air, explodes against an advancing group. The screams that follow make my stomach heave, but it buys seconds. In battle, seconds are lifetimes.

"The cubs!" Someone screams. "They found the safe room!"

My body moves before my mind catches up. Off the roof, feet hitting ground hard enough to jar teeth. Running toward Building D where the youngest hide, where monsters in familiar faces hunt children for the crime of existing.

I round the corner to find three Cascade wolves tearing at reinforced doors. The metal buckles under their assault. Inside, I hear Maya crying, hear Jamie trying to sound brave.

"Hey!"

They turn. Three sets of eyes that see Council observer. See omega. See prey.

They charge.

Time slows. My hand moves to the small of my back, finds the Glock I didn't realize I'd taken from the weapons cache. Father's voice in my head: Breathe. Squeeze. Follow through.

Three shots. Three bodies hit dirt.

But more come. Always more. And the door splinters, and the cubs scream, and something inside me cracks like lake ice in spring.

Heat floods my veins. Not gentle warmth—inferno. The gun in my hand glows cherry-red, bullets cooking off in the magazine. I drop it before it burns through my palm, but the heat just spreads. Builds. Searches for release.

A Cascade wolf rounds the corner, sees me standing there with smoke rising from my skin. His eyes widen. He knows. Kyle was right—everyone knows what hides beneath the pills and proper behavior.

"Firewalker," he breathes.

Then I burn.