The Alpha's Hidden Flame

Chapter Twelve

VIVI

Dawn filters through cheap curtains, painting everything the color of old bruises. Luka's arm anchors me against his chest, heavy with sleep and trust I haven't earned. His heartbeat drums steady against my spine—sixty-two beats per minute, the rhythm I've been chasing with pills for twenty years.

My internal temperature reads 99.8. Lower than yesterday's spike but still elevated. The suppressants sit on my nightstand in their color-coded formation, and for the first time in memory, I consider flushing them entirely.

"Your brain's loud." Luka's voice carries sleep-rough edges. "Hear you thinking from here."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." His hand splays across my stomach, thumb tracing lazy circles that make my nerve endings sing. "What's the verdict?"

"Half dose. Ruby's orders."

"Ruby's orders, or yours?"

The question hits deeper than intended. I extract myself from his warmth, pad to the nightstand. The white pills—two instead of four—go down bitter. Green next, cutting the wolf suppressant in half. The blue dream-killers I skip entirely. Two nights without them, and the only dreams I've had involved fire that didn't destroy.

"Compromise." I return to bed, let him pull me back into the furnace of his body. "I'm not ready to free-fall yet."

"Fair enough." His lips find my shoulder, trace the ridge of collarbone. Heat pools low in my belly, remembering his hands last night, the way he learned my body with patient thoroughness that left me gasping. "How do you feel?"

"Sore. Good sore." My face heats. "Is that—am I supposed to—"

"Yeah." His laugh vibrates through me. "Means I did my job right."

My phone buzzes, shattering the moment. Mother's name illuminates the screen like a summons from the underworld. I stare at it, watching it ring through to voicemail, then immediately start again.

"Council?" Luka's gone tense behind me.

"Parents."

"Want me to—"

"No. Stay." I answer on the fourth ring. "Mother."

"Vivian." Her voice could freeze summer. "You've been difficult to reach."

"The situation here required my full attention. I filed my preliminary report yesterday." Lies taste easier than expected. "Did you receive it?"

"Anderson forwarded it. Very thorough documentation of territorial disputes and defensive preparations." Papers rustle. "Though notably absent any mention of the incident."

My blood pressure spikes. "Which incident?"

"Don't insult my intelligence. Three Cascade wolves dead on Ironwood property. Richard Henley is demanding Council intervention. He claims his son is being held against his will and that the pack is harboring dangerous elements."

Luka's hand tightens on my hip. I keep my voice clinical, detached. "James Riley claimed sanctuary under subsection 7.4 of territorial law. The Cascade wolves were killed in legitimate defense when they attempted forced retrieval of a minor. Local law enforcement closed the case as justified use of force."

"Local law enforcement doesn't understand pack dynamics. Richard wants blood. The territorial alliance is growing. This could escalate into regional war." She pauses. "I need you to understand the gravity of what's happening. These rogues aren't worth the trouble they're causing."

"They protected a child from conversion therapy."

Silence stretches. When she speaks again, her tone drops ten degrees. "We've discussed this. You're there to observe, not advocate. Your role is assessment, not—"

"I'm assessing that traditional pack structures enable systematic abuse." The words flow smooth, academic. Everything she trained me to be. "My dissertation research supports this conclusion. If the Council continues sanctioning packs that torture cubs for s****l orientation, it undermines credibility."

"Your dissertation." She says it like a diagnosis. "Your father warned me this would happen. Too much time in academic circles, absorbing their liberal propaganda."

Luka's thumb strokes my hip, grounding. I watch sunrise paint his arm gold and remember how those hands felt mapping my body.

"I'm documenting everything objectively. The final report will be comprehensive." Another lie, smooth as the first. "But I need more time. One hundred seventy-two days isn't sufficient for proper assessment."

"You have what you've been given. Anderson will visit today to review your progress. He's concerned about your isolation affecting judgment."

"Anderson." My handler. Lovely.

"Be available. And Vivian?" Her voice softens fractionally. "Remember why you're there. What you're protecting."

The threat lands clear—she means protecting myself, my secret, the carefully constructed fiction of my existence. "Understood."

I disconnect, let the phone drop to tangled sheets. Luka's quiet behind me, reading the tension in my shoulders.

"You lied to her. Smooth as silk."

"Twenty years of practice." Bitterness coats my tongue. "They trained me well."

"Anderson. That your handler?"

"Council liaison for observer operations. He'll inspect the compound, interview pack members, verify my work." I turn in his arms, meet green eyes gone hard. "He'll be contemptuous. Dismissive. It's his nature."

"And if he tries that dismissive s**t with my pack?"

"Let him." I press my palm to his chest, feel his heart rate elevate. "His contempt is data. The more he reveals, the more ammunition I have."

"For what?"

"For the report I'm actually writing."

His expression shifts—surprise, calculation, heat. "You're going rogue on the Council."

"I'm documenting truth. If that's rogue..." I trace his jaw, learning angles in better light than last night allowed. "Then maybe I've been rogue since I arrived."

He kisses me then, hard and claiming, tasting like sleep and promises we haven't made. When we break apart, his pupils have blown wide.

"Your handler shows up, I'm staying close. Don't care if he objects."

"Alpha instincts?"

"Mate instincts." He says it casual, but the word detonates between us.

"We haven't—I mean, is that—" Eloquence abandons me entirely.

"Yeah. You are." He brushes hair from my face, thumb tracing my cheekbone. "Have been since you stepped off that SUV. Didn't think I'd ever claim another omega after—" He stops. "Doesn't matter. You're mine now. If you want to be."

Twenty years of isolation, and he offers belonging like it's simple. "I don't know how."

"So learn." Another kiss, softer. "We've got time."

"One hundred seventy-two days."

"Then we make them count."

***

Anderson arrives at noon in a black sedan that screams federal budget, accompanied by two Council enforcers built like brick walls. I meet them at the gate dressed in my observer uniform—charcoal slacks, cream blouse, hair scraped into submission. Playing the role they expect.

"Vivian." Anderson exits the vehicle, surveys the compound with thinly veiled disgust. Mid-forties, expensive suit, the kind of smile that never reaches his eyes. "Colorful setup they have here."

"Functional." I lead them through the gate. "Population of eighty-three, primarily adult wolves with sixteen cubs under eighteen. Mixed heritage, diverse skill sets. They run legitimate businesses—"

"I read your report." He stops in the center of the compound, turning slowly. "Impressive fortifications for rogues. Almost like they're expecting trouble."

"Cascade Pack attacked three days ago. They're expecting retaliation."

"After killing three of Richard's wolves." Anderson shakes his head. "Tell me, have you verified the minor actually wanted sanctuary? Or did they simply see opportunity to steal another pack's property?"

Heat flares beneath my skin. "James Riley is sixteen years old. Not property. And yes, I've interviewed him extensively. He's documented extensive abuse—"

"Allegations." Anderson waves dismissively. "Without Council investigation, it's simply one story against another."

"The scars on his forearms tell a different story."

"Children hurt themselves seeking attention." He spots Luka emerging from the garage, grease-stained and watchful. "That the alpha?"

"Luka Wakefield."

Anderson doesn't bother masking his disdain. "Mongrel lineage. Mixed heritage. No pure bloodline. Typical rogue recruitment."

Luka approaches with that predator's grace, stopping just outside comfortable distance. "You must be the oversight."

"Council Liaison Anderson." No offered handshake. "I'm here to verify Observer Silverman's work and assess your pack's petition for recognition."

"Assess away." Luka's voice stays level, but his eyes promise violence. "We've got nothing to hide."

"Of course." Anderson's smile sharpens. "Then you won't mind if I inspect your facilities. Starting with where you're keeping the Henley boy."

"Riley." I correct. "He changed his name upon reaching the compound."

Anderson ignores me. "Well?"

"Building D." Luka doesn't move to lead him there. "But he's in class right now. We don't interrupt education."

"Class." Anderson laughs. "You're playing school with stolen children. How progressive."

"We're teaching pack cubs math and literature alongside defensive tactics. Same as any traditional pack." Luka's control impresses me. "Unless the Council objects to education?"

"The Council doesn't object to anything you do here." Anderson's tone turns patronizing. "You're not under Council jurisdiction. That's rather the point of being rogues, isn't it? You want the benefits of recognition—welfare programs, territorial protection, legal standing—but you've spent years thumbing your nose at Council authority."

"We've spent years surviving what Council authority abandoned." Luka's jaw tightens. "The wolves here came to us because traditional packs failed them. Beat them. Tortured them. Cast them out for loving wrong or being born wrong. So yeah, we built something better. Now we're asking for legitimacy so we can keep doing it without fighting off kill squads."

"How dramatic." Anderson starts walking, forcing us to follow. "Show me this educational marvel."

We find them in what used to be a storage container. Twenty cubs ranging from seven to seventeen, clustered around mismatched desks while Holly—one of the younger wolves who teaches in exchange for mechanical training—explains trigonometry on a whiteboard. She looks up as we enter, chalk dust on her hands.

"Can I help you?"

"Council inspection." Anderson scans the room, cataloging everything. His lip curls when he spots Ernie, caught mid-shift between forms. "You allow halflings in mixed classes?"

"Ernie's pack." Holly's voice goes cold. "He learns with everyone else."

"Inefficient. Traditional packs separate by capability—"

"Traditional packs cast out anyone who doesn't fit their narrow definitions." I step forward before Luka can respond. "This pack adapts. It's documented in my assessment."

Anderson turns that flat gaze on me. "Your assessment has become notably sympathetic."

"My assessment is data-driven. If the data supports integrated education producing well-rounded pack members, I report it."

"We'll see." He raises his voice. "Where's the Riley boy?"

Jamie raises his hand from the back row, face carefully neutral. Anderson approaches him, circling like a predator assessing prey.

"You're the reason for all this drama. Your father misses you. Says you're confused, need help."

"My father tortured me for two years." Jamie's voice doesn't shake. "I'm not confused about that."

"Teenagers often misinterpret discipline—"

"I have scars from silver burns. Medical documentation. Testimony from three witnesses." Jamie stands, and I see Ricky shift protectively in the next seat. "The Council investigated twice. Both times they sided with my father because he's wealthy and connected and I'm just—"

"That's enough." Anderson cuts him off. "You're clearly being coached to present a particular narrative—"

"He's telling the truth." I produce my tablet. "I've documented everything. Including the Council's failure to act on substantiated abuse claims."

Anderson's expression goes arctic. "A word. Outside. Now."

I follow him into the compound's center, Luka shadowing three steps behind. The enforcers flank Anderson, hands resting on concealed weapons.

"You've lost all objectivity." Anderson spits it like an accusation. "I can see it in every line of your body. You're defending them. Advocating for them."

"I'm reporting what I observe—"

"You're supposed to observe whether they're capable of Council standards. Protection of vulnerable members. Respect for territorial law. Proper hierarchy." His eyes narrow. "Instead you're documenting Council failures. Writing academic papers about systematic abuse. This isn't what you were sent to do."

"I was sent to assess their viability for recognition. That requires understanding why they exist. What need they fill that traditional packs don't."

"They exist because they're too broken or too radical to function in normal pack structures." Anderson steps closer. "Your job is to determine if giving them legitimacy solves more problems than it creates. So far, all I see is a powder keg waiting to explode. Three dead Cascade wolves. Territorial alliances forming against them. A stolen minor they're using as propaganda. This pack is a liability."

"This pack is a sanctuary."

"Your opinion is noted. And ignored." Anderson signals his enforcers. "You have seventy-two hours to submit a revised report. I want detailed documentation of their deficiencies. Their inability to maintain proper security—they were attacked, after all. Their questionable educational methods. Their harboring of a minor against his legal guardian's wishes. Give me enough to justify denial of recognition."

"No."

The word hangs crystalline. Anderson's expression shifts through surprise to rage.

"Excuse me?"

"I said no. My assessment stands. This pack deserves recognition. They protect cubs your system abandons. They've built something functional, and I won't sabotage it to maintain comfortable fictions."

"Then I'll recommend you be removed from observation duty. Stripped of your credentials." His smile turns vicious. "And your parents—your very influential, very concerned parents—will be informed that their daughter has gone native. Formed inappropriate attachments. Compromised her position beyond recovery."

Ice slides through my veins. He doesn't know about the suppressants, doesn't know what I am. But he knows enough to destroy my career, to strip away the thin protections that keep me safe from deeper Council scrutiny.

"Do what you have to do." My voice stays steady. "I'm filing my report as written."

Anderson stalks toward his sedan, enforcers following. At the gate, he turns back.

"You've just ended your career. Hope these rogues are worth it."

The sedan tears out, gravel spraying. Silence falls across the compound. Wolves emerge from buildings, drawn by the confrontation's echo.

Luka stands beside me, solid as mountain stone. "That went well."

"I just declared war on my own career."

"Yeah." His hand finds mine, laces fingers through fire and flesh. "How's it feel?"

I test the sensation—no pills masking it, no distance diluting it. Just truth burning clear. "Terrifying. Perfect."

Diana approaches, rifle slung casual. "So. We getting recognition or not?"

"Probably not. Not through Council channels." I meet her eyes. "I'm sorry. I've made this harder—"

"We were always fighting uphill." Park joins us, tobacco juice darkening dirt. "At least now we know where you stand."

More pack members gather. Ruby with Maya on her hip. Shannon still in scrubs from her hospital shift. Donte carrying my repaired tablet. Annie wiping flour from her hands. All of them choosing to stand here, knowing what's coming.

"There might be another way." The voice comes from Building E, scratchy with age and smoke. An elderly woman emerges, hunched with arthritis but eyes sharp as broken glass. I've seen her around—ancient, mostly silent, tends the herb gardens. "You young fools going about this all wrong."

"Granny Susan." Luka's voice carries respect. "What are you thinking?"

"Thinking the Council ain't the only game." She shuffles closer, leaning heavy on a gnarled walking stick. "Been around longer than most of you been breathing. Back before the Council consolidated power, there was the Consortium. Shifter Consortium. International body, sits above regional councils. Handles disputes, protects persecuted populations, investigates corruption."

"I've heard of them." My academic brain kicks in. "They're mostly inactive now. The regional councils handle day-to-day

governance."

"Inactive don't mean powerless." Granny Susan's smile shows teeth gone yellow with age. "They still exist. Still have authority. And they don't take kindly to councils enabling abuse or refusing legitimate sanctuary claims. You want recognition? Go over the Council's head. File with the Consortium."

"That'll piss off every Council member from here to the Atlantic." Luka's grinning now. "I like it."

"It'll take months." I'm already calculating timelines. "International review, investigative teams, political maneuvering—"

"So we buy time." Granny Susan taps her stick against dirt. "We survive. We document. We build a case they can't ignore. And when the Consortium shows up, we show them what the Council tried to bury."

Diana laughs, sharp and hungry. "Old woman, you're brilliant."

"Old woman's survived seventy years by being smarter than the bastards trying to kill her." Granny Susan fixes me with those sharp eyes. "You got the academic credentials. You write it up proper. Make it legal, make it thorough, make it something they can't dismiss as rogue whining."

"I can do that." The pieces slot together in my mind—documentation, witness statements, medical records, everything I've gathered. "It'll be comprehensive. Damning."

"Good." Granny Susan turns to shuffle back to her gardens. "Now someone get this old woman some tea. Speechmaking's thirsty work."

The compound erupts into motion. Wolves discussing strategy, calling contacts, planning for the siege mentality we'll need. Luka pulls me aside, into the shadow between buildings.

"You're sure? Once you file with the Consortium, there's no walking back. Your parents, the Council—they'll know you've turned."

"I turned the moment I stopped lying to myself about what I was seeing here." I press against him, seeking his solid heat. "Besides, I'm already ruined in their eyes. Might as well make it count."

He kisses me then, thorough and claiming, and I taste the promise in it. When we break apart, his eyes have gone amber at the edges.

"Mine." He says it like a vow.

"Yours." I answer, and mean it.

Fire licks behind my sternum, warming from within. The suppressants still work, still keep me caged. But the bars feel thinner now. More temporary.

Ruby appears with her medical bag. "Midday check. How are you feeling?"

"Stable. Temperature's been consistent."

"Good. Keep hydrating. The next spike could come anytime." She glances between us, reads the situation instantly. "Also, use protection. Last thing we need is pregnancy hormones destabilizing your system."

My face goes nuclear. Luka chokes on air. Ruby just grins and walks away.

"We haven't—" I start.

"Not yet." Luka's voice drops low, intimate. "But when we do, I'm taking my time. Learning every inch. Making you burn for reasons that have nothing to do with fire."

Heat floods through me, pooling low and insistent. "That's—you can't just say—"

"Can't I?" He traces my jaw, thumb brushing my lower lip. "You taste like smoke and want. Makes me wonder what else I could make you taste like."

Someone wolf-whistles. We break apart to find half the pack pretending not to watch. Luka flips them off good-naturedly, and laughter ripples through the group.

"Get to work," he calls. "Consortium application isn't writing itself."

The compound settles into purposeful chaos. I claim desk space in the library, spread out my documentation. Months of observations, interviews, evidence. Everything the Council ignored, everything that matters.

The application takes shape under my fingers. Clinical language wrapped around damning truths. By sunset, I have a draft. By midnight, it's polished to academic perfection.

Luka finds me still typing, brings coffee and the kind of sandwich that speaks of Annie's worry. "You need sleep."

"I need this finished." But I accept the coffee, let him pull me from the chair and onto his lap. "It's almost done. Tomorrow I'll have Donte help me submit it through encrypted channels."

"And then?"

"Then we wait. And survive." I lean into his warmth. "And hope the Consortium moves faster than Cascade's alliance."

Outside, the compound settles into night watch. Guards walking perimeters. Wolves checking weapons. Cubs sleeping in reinforced rooms. Everything normal, everything dangerous.

I should be terrified. Career destroyed, parents disappointed, Council wrath incoming. Instead, I sit in an alpha's arms while fire crawls beneath my skin, and feel more real than I have in twenty years.

"Come to bed." Luka stands, pulling me with him. "Application can wait till morning."

"Just sleeping?"

His smile promises sin. "Maybe not just sleeping."

We walk through the compound toward Building C, and I burn standing in their center.

Nothing hurts.