The Alpha's Hidden Flame

Chapter Ten

LUKA

The compound settles into uneasy quiet after dinner. Wolves drift to their posts or their beds, exhaustion written in every line of their bodies. Three days of preparation, one morning of violence, and now the aftermath—checking weapons, reinforcing positions, pretending normalcy while Cascade regroups somewhere in the dark.

I find Vivi on the roof of Building C again. She gravitates to high places like she's trying to get closer to the sky, away from the weight of earth and expectation. Her silhouette cuts sharp against the stars, and even from here I catch the faint shimmer around her edges. Heat distortion. The suppressants losing their stranglehold inch by chemical inch.

"You planning to sleep up here?"

She doesn't startle. Good. "Considering it. Better vantage point."

"Also metal gets cold as hell after midnight." I climb up beside her, settle close enough our shoulders almost touch. "Plus Ruby will hunt you down if you skip your check-in."

"Already done. Temperature stable. Pulse elevated but within acceptable range. No spontaneous combustion." Her fingers drum against the roof, leaving warm prints that fade slowly. "She's very thorough."

"She kept Tom alive after his pack broke three ribs and punctured a lung. Thorough saves lives."

We sit in comfortable silence broken only by distant sounds—Holly on patrol, someone's radio crackling, the low hum of the generator. The compound breathes around us, familiar rhythms that usually soothe. But with Vivi beside me radiating heat I can feel through the space between us, soothing's the last thing on my mind.

"Thank you." She says it quiet. "For earlier. At the lake. For not—"

"For not what? Freaking out when you glowed like a nuclear reactor?"

"For touching me anyway."

The vulnerability in those words hits harder than Cascade's assault. Twenty years of chemical isolation, convinced her skin carried poison. And now she's sitting here in the dark, learning that contact doesn't equal catastrophe.

"You want to try again?" I extend my hand palm-up between us. Invitation, not demand.

She stares at my hand like it's a test she might fail. Then slowly, carefully, she slides her fingers through mine. The heat's immediate—not burning, just intense. Like holding sunbaked stone or the metal handle of a door that's caught full afternoon light. Her skin feels smoother than it should, almost sleek, like fire's worn away anything unnecessary.

"It's not hurting you." Wonder threads through her voice.

"Feels good. You run hot naturally?"

"I don't know. The pills started when I was six months old. I have no baseline for normal." She flexes her fingers, testing. "Ruby says my core temperature's running 101 right now. Should drop as I adjust, or spike higher. Fifty-fifty odds."

"Vegas would take those odds."

"Vegas wouldn't let me through the door." But she's smiling, and her hand relaxes in mine. "I should go inside. You need rest. The pack needs—"

"The pack needs their alpha not to collapse from exhaustion, yeah. So do I." I stand, pull her up with me. She rises fluid, and for a second we're chest to chest, close enough I see gold flecks swimming in her irises. "But first I'm walking you down before you break your neck on these stairs."

"I have excellent night vision."

"Humor me."

We descend in tandem, her hand still locked in mine. The physical connection grounds something restless in my wolf. Mate. Safe. Mine. The instincts prowl satisfied for the first time since she arrived wearing Council armor and chemical emptiness.

At her door, she hesitates. Keys in her free hand, but not moving to unlock anything.

"Stay." The word escapes before I can stop it.

Her pulse jumps visible in her throat. "Stay."

"Nothing has to happen. But I sleep better knowing you're close, and you'll sleep better not alone." I release her hand, step back to give her space. "Your call. Always your call."

The lock clicks open. She stands in the doorway, backlit by the single lamp she leaves burning, and I can see her deciding. Whatever internal calculation she runs comes out in my favor because she opens the door wider.

"Just sleeping."

"Just sleeping," I agree, and follow her into the small space she's been occupying like a guest instead of pack.

The room smells like her now—smoke and minerals and underneath, something floral I can't place. Her pills sit in formation on the nightstand, fewer than before. The half-doses Ruby prescribed, cutting chains link by link. Her laptop's closed, tablet still with Donte for repairs. No work to hide behind.

"I don't have—" She gestures vaguely at the narrow bed. "This wasn't designed for two people."

"We'll make it work."

I toe off my boots while she disappears into the bathroom. Water runs. The domestic normalcy of it punches through me—this woman who killed three wolves this morning now brushing her teeth, washing her face, doing the small human rituals that keep us sane.

She emerges in sleep clothes that hang loose. Grey cotton pants, black tank top. No armor, no professional distance. Just Vivi, stripped down to essentials, looking at me like I might vanish.

"Which side?" I'm already pulling off my shirt because sleeping in leather sounds miserable.

Her eyes track the movement, catch on scars mapping my ribs. Old fights, old losses, the history written in scar tissue and ink. "I don't—left? I don't know. I've never—"

"Left it is." I claim the right side, closest to the door. Old habit. Alpha sleeps between his pack and danger.

The bed protests when I settle. Springs that have seen better years, mattress thin enough I feel every coil. But when Vivi slides in beside me, careful to maintain a sliver of space, nothing else matters.

"You can touch me." I say it into the dark. "Won't break. Won't burn. Just flesh and bad decisions."

She shifts incrementally closer. Her hand finds my ribs, fingers splaying across old scars. The heat of her palm sinks deep, releases tension I didn't realize I carried.

"This one." She traces a long mark under my left lung. "Knife or claws?"

"Broken bottle. Bar fight in Reno, back when I thought drowning problems in whiskey solved anything."

"Did it?"

"Made new problems. Better at math, worse at solutions." I cover her hand with mine, hold her against my skin. "What about you? Those scars on your arm."

She goes still. "Medical. They tried bloodletting when I was twelve. Theory was if they drained enough, the fire would weaken."

Rage ignites cold and clean. "Your parents did that?"

"A doctor they hired. They watched." Her voice stays flat, reporting facts without feeling. "It didn't work. Just made me weak enough I couldn't fight when they increased the dosage."

I turn toward her, and the bed's narrowness forces us closer. Her face is inches from mine, eyes reflecting what little light bleeds through the curtains.

"They were terrified." She continues before I can speak. "I understand that now. A six-month-old who could burn down hospitals, who shouldn't exist according to every Council record. They did what they thought necessary."

"Doesn't make it right."

"No. But it kept me alive." Her free hand comes up, touches my jaw tentative. Learning the geography of another person after years of enforced distance. "I'm angry. But I'm also here. Alive. That's worth something."

I catch her wrist gentle, turn my head to press a kiss to her palm. She inhales sharp.

"Sorry. Too much?"

"No. Not enough." And then she's kissing me, all the hesitation burned away by want and wonder and the simple fact that she can.

Her mouth tastes like mint toothpaste and suppressed hunger. I let her control the pace, the pressure, the depth. She explores careful at first—testing, learning—then bolder as I respond without pulling away. When her tongue slides against mine, the sound she makes goes straight to my c**k.

I roll us until she's beneath me, weight braced on my forearms so I'm hovering instead of crushing. She arches up into the space between us, seeking contact, and the heat radiating from her skin kicks up several degrees.

"Vivi." Her name comes out rough. "Tell me to stop if—"

"Don't stop." She pulls me down into another kiss, and this time there's nothing careful about it. This is teeth and demand and twenty years of touch starvation meeting desire that's been building since she first stepped onto my land wearing Council clothes and chemical lies.

My hand finds her hip, slides under the loose tank top to bare skin that's fever-hot and silk-smooth. She gasps into my mouth, nails digging into my shoulders. Not burning. Just holding on while I map the curve of her waist, the ladder of her ribs, the swell of her breast.

When my thumb grazes her n****e through the thin fabric, she breaks the kiss. "I've never—no one's ever—"

I still immediately. "We can stop."

"I didn't say stop." Her eyes are pure molten gold now, the last traces of brown consumed by fire. "I said no one's ever touched me like this. There's a difference."

"Tell me what you want."

"Everything." Her hands slide down my chest, tracing muscle and scars with fingers that leave warm trails. "But I don't know how. Don't know what to do."

"You're doing fine." I capture her mouth again, softer this time. "Let me show you."

I kiss down her jaw, her throat, pausing to feel her pulse hammering against my lips. She tilts her head back, offering more, and I scrape teeth over the sensitive tendon. The moan that escapes her rewrites something fundamental in my brain.

My hand slides higher under her shirt, cupping her breast properly. She's perfect—firm and responsive, n****e hardening against my palm. I roll it between my fingers and her hips buck up involuntarily, seeking friction.

"Luka—"

"I know." I grind down against her, let her feel how hard I am through the layers between us. "Feel what you do to me?"

She nods, wordless, and her hands fumble for my belt. I catch her wrists gently.

"Not yet. Let me touch you first."

"Why?"

"Because you've been alone twenty years, and I'm not rushing this." I release her wrists, slide my hand down her stomach to the waistband of her sleep pants. "This okay?"

"Yes. God, yes."

I slip beneath elastic and cotton, fingers finding slick heat that makes us both groan. She's drenched, ready, and when I circle her c**t with gentle pressure she nearly comes off the bed.

"Sensitive." I file that information away for future reference. "Good sensitive?"

"Don't stop." Her hips roll into my touch, seeking more. "Please don't stop."

I work her slow, learning what makes her gasp versus moan, what pressure draws those desperate little sounds from her throat. When I slide one finger inside, her body clamps down like a vice.

"Breathe." I kiss her jaw, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. "Just breathe and feel."

She does, chest heaving, and gradually the tension releases enough for me to move. The angle's awkward given the narrow bed and our positions, but I make it work. Add a second finger and find the spot inside that makes her back arch and her eyes squeeze shut.

"Look at me."

Her lids flutter open. Gold eyes meeting mine, vulnerability and trust and hunger written in equal measure.

"That's it. Stay with me." I increase the pace, thumb working her c**t while my fingers stroke deep. "Let me see you come apart."

She fractures beautifully. Head thrown back, spine bowed, hands fisting in the sheets as orgasm crashes through her. The heat pulsing off her skin spikes so high the air shimmers, and for a second I swear I see flames dancing across her shoulders before they fade.

When the aftershocks quiet, she collapses boneless against the mattress. I withdraw carefully, bring my fingers to my mouth to taste her. Salt and copper and something uniquely Vivi.

"Holy—" She stares at me. "That was—I didn't know it could—"

"That was just the beginning." I roll off her, adjusting myself because my c**k's screaming protest at being ignored. "Rest a minute."

"What about you?" Her hand reaches for my belt again, determined this time.

"Later. We have time."

"Do we?" She props herself on one elbow, flushed and tousled and absolutely devastating. "Cascade's regrouping. The Council will find out. How much time do we really have?"

"Enough for this." I pull her against my chest, let her feel my heart pounding. "Enough to learn each other. Enough to not rush something worth savoring."

She's quiet for a long moment, hand splayed over my heart. Then: "I want to touch you too. Show me?"

And because I've never been good at denying this woman anything, I do.

---

Somewhere past midnight, wrapped around each other in a bed too small for two people, I feel her temperature spike. Not arousal this time—something else. Her skin goes from warm to scalding in seconds, and she jerks awake with a gasp that's half panic.

"Ruby." I'm already moving, grabbing my phone. "Withdrawal symptom. She warned us."

Vivi's curled on her side now, shaking. "Cold. Why am I cold when I'm burning?"

"Body confusion. Your thermostat's recalibrating." I fire off a text while pulling the blanket around her shoulders. "She's coming. Hang on."

The spike lasts maybe ninety seconds before breaking. Sweat soaks her shirt, hair plastered to her forehead, but the dangerous heat recedes to merely elevated. By the time Ruby arrives with her medical bag, Vivi's breathing has steadied.

"Temperature?" Ruby's all business, thermometer already out.

"103.7. Dropping now." I hover useless while she works.

"Pulse is fast but strong. Pupils responsive." Ruby makes notes, checks vitals with practiced efficiency. "Classic adjustment reaction. Should smooth out over the next few days as your body relearns its own regulation. You might spike a few more times. Nothing dangerous unless you hit 106."

"And if I hit 106?" Vivi asks.

"Ice bath and probably a hospital. But I don't think you will. Your system's resilient." She packs up her supplies, gives me a knowing look. "Keep her hydrated. If she spikes again, text me. Otherwise I'll check in tomorrow morning."

After she leaves, Vivi slumps back against the pillows. "Sexy."

"Still sexy." I hand her water from the nightstand. "Drink."

She obeys, draining half the glass. "You don't have to stay. I'm sure you have better things—"

"Best thing I can do right now is right here." I slide back into bed, pull her against my chest despite the residual heat pouring off her. "Sleep. I've got you."

"Luka?" Her voice already blurring with exhaustion.

"Yeah?"

"When this is over—when Cascade's handled and the Council's satisfied—what happens to us?"

I press a kiss to her damp hair. "We figure it out. Same as everything else."

She falls asleep before I can say the rest: that mate bonds don't dissolve, that pack's forever, that I'd burn down the Council myself before letting them take her. Some truths can wait for morning.

For now, I hold my Firewalker while she sleeps, and listen to Cascade scouts prowling the perimeter, and calculate how many wolves I'll have to kill to keep her safe.

The answer might be all of them.

I'm good with that.