The Alpha's Hidden Flame

Chapter Nine

VIVI

Blood under my fingernails. I scrub harder, but the rust-brown crescents remain, stubborn evidence of what I've done. The water runs scalding—hot enough to hurt anyone else, but my skin barely registers it. After this morning, after what poured out of me in waves of heat and light, ordinary fire feels like a memory of warmth.

Three bodies. Three wolves who would have torn Jamie apart, who would have shattered Maya's small bones. I tell myself this as I scrub. Tell myself they chose their deaths when they came for children. But my hands won't stop shaking.

The mirror fogs with steam. I wipe it clear and meet my own eyes—still amber-flecked, still wrong. The suppressants sit in their neat row on the counter. White pills that cage the fire. Green pills that muzzle the wolf. Blue pills that steal dreams and replace them with chemical emptiness.

My fingers hover over the bottles. Four hours since dawn, and I haven't taken them.

"You planning to stare at those all day?"

Ruby's voice makes me jump. Tom's wife leans in my doorway—I'd forgotten to lock it after she treated my hands earlier. The pack's nurse watches me with eyes that miss nothing.

"I was thinking about flushing them."

"Were you now?" She steps inside, closes the door with practiced quiet. "And did you think about what happens to a body after twenty-plus years of chemical dependency?"

"I—no."

"Withdrawal from suppressants isn't pretty. Fever, hallucinations, uncontrolled manifestation." She settles on my bed like she belongs there. "Your fire could spike without warning. Burn through your control faster than you can rebuild it."

"So I keep taking them? Keep drowning?"

"I didn't say that." Her expression softens. "But maybe we taper. Reduce the dose gradually. Give your system time to adjust."

"Every pill is a lie."

"Every pill kept you alive in a world that removes what it doesn't understand." Ruby's tone stays gentle but firm. "Don't throw away several years of survival in a moment of rebellion."

A knock interrupts. Ruby opens the door to reveal a teenager with his mother's warm brown skin and intelligent eyes.

"Mom said Ms. Silverman's tablet got fried. I can probably fix it." The boy holds up a toolkit. "I'm Donte."

"Shannon's son," Ruby explains. "Fifteen and too smart for anyone's good."

I retrieve the tablet from my desk—screen spider-webbed with cracks, edges bearing scorch marks where my hands gripped too tight. "It's probably beyond saving."

Donte examines it with professional interest. "Nah, I've seen worse. Might take a few days, but I can resurrect it. Mom brought home a cardiac monitor someone dropped in a bathtub once. That was a challenge."

"Your mom?"

"Shannon Washington. Were-raccoon, which everyone thinks is hilarious until they need an emergency paramedic who can fit through tiny spaces." Pride colors his voice. "She's on shift at County General, but she said to tell you welcome to the pack."

He leaves with my broken technology, and I'm struck again by the casual acceptance. A raccoon shifter working at a human hospital. Her son repairing electronics fried by Firewalker hands. No fear, just practical solutions.

"That's what we do here," Ruby says, reading my expression. "Find ways to make the impossible work."

She helps me count out pills—half doses that will ease the transition. The compromise tastes bitter, but the logic holds. Control through patience rather than desperation.

I dress in clothes that feel strange against hypersensitive skin. Everything's too much—the rasp of cotton, the whisper of air through windows, the distant sound of pack moving through their day.

The compound feels different in daylight. Bullet holes pepper walls. Dark stains mark dirt despite efforts to clean. But there's also—laughter? From the kitchen, the sound of normalcy asserting itself.

"There you are." A woman emerges from the kitchen wiping flour-dusted hands on her apron. "I'm Annie. I manage food inventory, make sure everyone's fed. You missed breakfast, but I saved you a plate."

She's maybe forty, built solid with laugh lines that speak of years of feeding hungry wolves. The kitchen she leads me into smells like herbs and comfort.

"Sit. Eat. You look like you're about to fall over."

The eggs are perfect. Bacon crispy. Toast buttered just right. Simple foods that taste like revelation. Annie bustles around, checking lists and rotating stock, but her attention keeps returning to me.

"Ruby says you're detoxing. You'll need extra calories. Protein especially." She slides another piece of bacon onto my plate. "Manifestation burns energy like nothing else."

"I'm not really—"

"Honey, I've been feeding wolves for twenty years. I know hungry when I see it." She pours orange juice without asking. "Besides, Maya hasn't stopped talking about how you saved them. That kind of heroics requires proper fuel."

As if summoned, the little girl rockets into the kitchen. "Annie! Is there—Oh! Hi!" She beams at me. "You're awake! I told Rosie you were probably sleeping 'cause being all glowy must be really tiring."

An older girl follows, moving with the careful quiet of someone who's learned to take up less space. Nine years old, with fading scars visible on her arms and a wariness that breaks my heart.

"This is my sister," Maya announces. "Rosie, tell her about your drawing!"

Rosie flushes, eyes fixed on the floor. When she speaks, her voice barely carries. "I drew you. From last night. When you were protecting us."

She produces a sketch—me wreathed in light, standing between danger and children. It's beautiful and terrible and far too accurate.

"Rosie's the best artist," Maya informs me. "Even though Jeremy says she's just a human 'cause she can't shift. But Jeremy's stupid and his wolf looks like a mangy coyote anyway."

"Maya," Ruby appears in the doorway. "What have we said about calling people stupid?"

"Only if they really are?"

"Try again."

"Sorry, Mama." Maya doesn't look particularly sorry. "But he makes Rosie cry."

Rosie shrinks further, clearly wishing to be anywhere else. I recognize the posture—trying to become invisible, to avoid notice and the pain it brings.

"Your drawing is wonderful." I keep my voice soft, non-threatening. "Would you like to see something?"

She peeks up through her hair. I hold out my hand, palm up, and let a small flame dance across my fingertips. Controlled. Careful. Beautiful rather than dangerous.

Rosie's eyes go wide. "It's like captured sunset."

"That's perfect." I let the flame fade. "Captured sunset. I might steal that description."

She smiles—tiny but real—and something in my chest unclenches.

"Okay, my turn!" Maya bounces. "Can you make shapes? Like animals? Oh! Can you write words?"

"Maya, let Ms. Silverman finish her breakfast," Ruby intervenes. "You can interrogate her later."

The girls leave with promises to show me more drawings later. Annie continues her kitchen dance while I eat, and slowly the space fills with others seeking food or company or both.

"Hey, Council chick." Donte reappears, tools in hand. "Good news—the memory's intact. Just need to replace the screen and some fried circuits. Bad news—it recorded everything right up until it died, including some really interesting thermal readings."

My stomach drops. "Thermal readings?"

"Yeah, temperature spiked to about 600 degrees in the seconds before shutdown. That's like, surface-of-Venus hot." He grins at my expression. "Don't worry, I'm not gonna snitch. Just maybe next time use an external keyboard?"

He disappears again, leaving me to process how many people know exactly what I am. The answer seems to be everyone, and they're all acting like it's normal.

"Is everyone here..."

"That's because it is normal. For us." Luka's voice comes from directly behind me. I didn't hear him approach—predator's stealth combined with my distraction.

"Reading my mind now?"

"Your face. You've got no poker face at all." He claims the seat beside me, careful not to crowd but close enough that I feel his heat. "How are you doing? Really?"

"Ruby convinced me to taper instead of going cold turkey on the suppressants. Apparently withdrawal could make me spontaneously combust."

"That would complicate things." His fingers brush mine on the table—casual to any observer, but the contact sends electricity racing up my arm. "Though we did just upgrade our fire suppression system."

"That's not funny."

"It's a little funny."

"—telling you, that cop knew something was off." Conversations flow around us as more pack members filter in. "Did you see how she kept looking at the scorch marks?"

"Holland's solid. She won't dig if we don't give her reason—"

"Pass the salt—"

Normal pack chatter washing over me like warm water. No one mentions the killing directly, though I catch sidelong glances and quick assessments.

"Walk with me?" Luka stands, extends a hand.

I take it without thinking, then marvel at the simple contact. His palm against mine, warm and calloused and perfectly normal. No burning. No pain. Just touch.

He leads me outside where afternoon sun slants gold through the trees. The compound shows its scars but also its resilience—wolves working together to rebuild what violence tried to tear down.

"I need to tell you something." The words tumble out as we walk. "About what that wolf said. About what I am."

"The last Firewalker." He says it simple, matter-of-fact. "I figured that part out."

"The last that anyone knows of." I correct automatically. "The Council ordered the extermination when I was six months old. My parents—my adoptive parents—found me in the aftermath. They were supposed to kill me too."

"But they didn't."

"No. They took me home. Started the suppressants immediately. Told me I was special but dangerous, that the pills kept everyone safe." My free hand clenches. "Twenty-three years of swallowing their fear disguised as love."

We reach the training ground where Diana runs a group through combat drills. She nods at us but doesn't interrupt our path.

"They were probably terrified." Luka's thumb strokes across my knuckles. "Raising something they'd been taught to fear, never knowing if the chemistry would hold."

"They were right to be afraid. I burned my nanny when I was four. Gave my mother second-degree burns at fifteen. Set our vacation house on fire in my sleep."

"And saved our cubs this morning."

"By killing."

"By choosing who deserved the flame."

We circle back toward the main compound. Pack members nod as we pass, and I realize we're still holding hands. In full view. Making some kind of statement I don't fully understand.

"What happens when Cascade comes back? When the Council finds out what I am?"

"We handle it. Like we always do."

"That's not a plan."

"Sure it is. The plan is we don't let them take you. We don't let them hurt our pack. Everything else is just details."

His certainty should frustrate me. Instead, it settles something anxious in my chest. Not my burden to carry alone anymore.

"You can't promise that."

"Watch me." He stops walking, turns to face me fully. "You're pack now. Mine to protect. Mine to—" He cuts himself off, jaw tight.

"Yours to what?"

"That depends on you." His free hand comes up to cup my cheek, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "On what you want. What you're ready for."

Heat pools low in my belly that has nothing to do with supernatural fire. "I've been isolated for twenty years. I don't know how to do this."

"Neither do I. Not really." His smile turns rueful. "Been keeping my distance from omegas since I was eighteen. Old wounds, old fears. But with you..."

"With me?"

"With you, distance feels like dying."

The kiss comes soft, questioning. I answer by pressing closer, letting his warmth surround me. He tastes like coffee and promise and everything I've denied myself.

When we break apart, several pack members quickly pretend they weren't watching. Someone whistles. Someone else tells them to shut up.

"Subtle," I manage.

"Wolves. We're not known for subtlety." But he's grinning, and I realize I am too.

The moment breaks as motorcycles roar through the gates. The patrol returns, faces grim.

"Cascade's pulled back to their territory," Park reports, dismounting. "But they're not dispersing. Saw at least three other packs' colors. They're building an alliance."

The good mood evaporates. Luka shifts into alpha mode, all business and sharp focus.

"How long before they move?"

"Few days. Maybe a week." Park spits tobacco juice. "They'll want numbers. Might petition the Council for official sanction."

"Let them try." Diana joins us, fresh from training. "Council won't move that fast. Bureaucracy might actually help us for once."

They continue strategizing, and I drift to the edge of the group. Not excluded, just processing. The pills in my pocket feel heavier with each passing hour. Half doses. Compromise. Controlled fall rather than free descent.

"Hey." Ruby appears beside me. "First dose adjustment will hit in about an hour. You'll want to be somewhere safe when it does."

"Define safe."

"Preferably not near anything flammable." Her smile takes the edge off the warning. "I'll check on you. Bring water, make sure you're stable."

She moves off to wrangle her daughters, and I'm struck again by the casual competence of this pack. Everyone has a role. Everyone contributes. Even the human nurse married to a wolf, raising children who may or may not shift, dealing with whatever strangeness walks through their gates.

As evening approaches, I help with dinner prep. Annie shows me how she tracks inventory, ensuring everyone's fed despite limited resources. It's complex and vital and grounding in ways I didn't expect.

"Here." She hands me a knife and cutting board. "Dice these onions. Knife skills translate across all cooking."

The work steadies my hands, gives me focus as the half-dose of suppressants starts to fade. Heat builds under my skin—not painful, just present. Alive.

"Looking a little flushed there." Shannon appears, just off shift and still in scrubs. "Donte says your tablet should be fixed by tomorrow. Kid loves a challenge."

She's comfortable in her dual nature, switching between forms with the ease of long practice. No shame in being a raccoon instead of a wolf. No apology for existing.

"Thank you. For letting him help."

"Please. He'd have snuck in and fixed it anyway. At least this way I know what he's up to." She snags a carrot from Annie's prep station. "Besides, pack helps pack. That's the rule."

The rule. So simple. So impossible in the outside world.

Dinner becomes a production with eighty-plus wolves to feed. I find myself beside Rosie, who silently shows me more drawings. Her talent is remarkable—capturing moments and emotions with an economy of lines.

"These are beautiful."

She ducks her head but shifts incrementally closer. Maya chatters enough for three people, filling any silence with observations and questions and boundless energy.

"—and then we'll build a fireproof house just for you! With special windows that won't melt and a pool for when you get too hot—"

"Maya," Tom laughs. "Let her breathe."

"But she needs somewhere safe! She can burn her trailer down even though it's made of tin and ooh! We can put in sprinklers!"

The casual acceptance undoes me. A seven-year-old planning architecture around my flames. Her scarred sister offering silent companionship. Their parents treating me like family despite knowing I killed three wolves this morning.

"Excuse me." I manage to get outside before the tears come.

Not sadness. Overwhelm. Twenty years of isolation cracking apart, leaving me raw and grateful and terrified in equal measure.

"Hey." Luka finds me on the kitchen steps. "Withdrawal hitting?"

"Reality hitting." I wipe my eyes. "They're planning fireproof houses. Your pack is planning infrastructure around my instability."

"That's what we do. Adapt. Survive. Protect each other."

"I don't know how to be protected."

"So learn." He settles beside me, thigh pressed against mine. "Same as you're learning everything else."

We sit as darkness falls, watching the compound settle into evening routines. The pills in my pocket remind me of chemical chains loosening link by link. Tomorrow will bring new challenges—Cascade regrouping, Council questions, withdrawal symptoms I can't predict.

But tonight, I sit beside an alpha who looks at me like I'm worth burning for, surrounded by a pack that sees my fire as feature rather than flaw.

It's terrifying.

It's perfect.