Chapter One
CHAPTER ONE
MIRA
The massive alpha has been skulking behind me for twenty minutes, and if he thinks I can't sense him, he's seriously underestimating my nose. Sure, I can't shift, but my senses work just fine, thanks. Better than fine when it comes to plants, which is why I'm here in the first place, crouched in the snow examining the most perfect cluster of purple moon flowers I've ever seen.
"You're not supposed to remove anything from the preserve." His voice rumbles through the clearing like distant thunder.
I keep my hands steady as I ease my collection kit from my pack, though my fingertips tingle at his proximity. Pine smoke and winter air cling to him, along with something wilder that makes my teeth ache with the phantom need to shift.
"I have permits." I focus on the delicate purple petals instead of the way he's looming over me. The flowers are practically humming with energy, their scent sharp and sweet in the frigid air. "They're in my car if you'd like to see them."
Snow starts to fall, fat flakes catching in my eyelashes. Perfect timing - these flowers only bloom for a few precious hours when the first real snow of winter starts. Not that I can tell Officer Grumpy that. The fewer people who know about these flowers' true nature, the better.
He moves closer, and the air between us thickens. "It's going to be a bad storm. You shouldn't be out here alone."
Now I do look up, right into eyes the color of aged brandy. He fills out his ranger jacket unfairly well, all broad shoulders and barely contained power. His dark hair is windswept, and there's a muscle ticking in his jaw that suggests I'm really getting under his skin.
Good. The feeling's mutual.
"I'll be fine," I say, carefully lifting the first flower. Its energy pulses against my palm like a tiny heartbeat. "I know exactly what I'm doing."
He makes a sound that's more wolf than man. "At least tell me how long you plan to be out here. I have actual work to do besides babysitting botanical researchers."
I hide my smile and the sudden ache it causes. Being underestimated is an old friend by now. "Just another hour," I lie, watching the snow fall faster. "These samples are time sensitive."
He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like "stubborn scientist" before taking up position against a nearby pine. The tree looks about as unyielding as he does.
That's fine. I have samples to collect, a job to do, and one grumpy alpha isn't going to stop me. Even if his presence is making every non-shifting nerve in my body sing like those damn flowers.
The snow falls harder, thick flakes swirling between us as I work. Each flower goes into my collection box with practiced care, but I can't help noticing how my hands are starting to shake. Not from the cold - I run as hot as any shifter - but from the way the alpha's energy is pressing against my awareness.
He hasn't moved from his tree, but his attention feels like a physical touch.
"That's the sixth flower," he says suddenly. "How many samples do you need?"
I pause, surprised he's been counting. "Twelve. Why, getting bored?"
"Getting concerned." There's an edge to his voice now. "The temperature's dropping fast."
He's right. The storm is intensifying quicker than my research suggested it would. Already the wind is picking up, driving the snow sideways and carrying with it the sharp scent of the flowers. I catch a hint of something else too - a change in his scent that makes me frown.
"I'm almost done," I say, but when I reach for the next flower, he moves suddenly, crossing the space between us in two long strides.
"Something's wrong." His voice is rougher now, almost hoarse. "These flowers... what are they?"
I look up at him, really look, and my heart stutters. His pupils are blown wide, and there's a flush creeping up his neck that has nothing to do with the cold. Oh no. No, no, no. The texts mentioned this was possible, but the probability was so low...
"We need to get you inside," I say, scrambling to my feet. "Now."
He sways slightly, reaching out to steady himself against a tree. "What did you do?"
"I didn't- it wasn't supposed to-" I swallow hard, watching as he drags in a ragged breath. "Look, your cabin. Is it close?"
His laugh is more of a growl. "You want me to take you to my den? Now?"
"Trust me," I say, already packing up my samples with shaking hands. "You really don't want to be out here when this hits fully."
The look he gives me is all alpha - dangerous and wild and barely contained. "When what hits?"
But I can smell it on him, the way the flowers' magic is already working through his system. We have maybe twenty minutes before...
"I'll explain everything," I promise, reaching for his arm. The contact sends a jolt through us both. "But first, we need to get somewhere safe. Please."
For a long moment he just stares at me, and I watch the internal battle play across his features. His control is impressive - most alphas would be well past rational thought by now.
"North," he finally growls, grabbing my pack before I can protest. "Ten minutes if we hurry."
I clutch my sample box close and follow him into the thickening storm. The wind whips snow into our faces, but I barely notice the cold. My attention is locked on his increasingly unsteady movements, the way his shoulders bunch with tension beneath his jacket.
"Hey," I say softly, knowing he can hear me even over the wind. "What's your name? I should probably know that, considering..."
"Logan." He doesn't look back. "And you're the mysterious Dr. Parker who got permission to poke around my territory without actually consulting me."
"Mira," I correct. "And I did consult the proper channels."
"The council," he bites out. "Not the alpha. There's a difference."
A particularly strong gust of wind hits us, and Logan stumbles. I reach for him instinctively, my free hand catching his arm. The heat of him burns through his jacket, and he jerks away like I've shocked him.
"Don't," he warns, voice raw. "Just... don't touch me right now."
"The cabin?" I press, trying to ignore the way my palm tingles where I touched him.
"Close." He points to where a dark shape is just visible through the swirling snow. "But you're not coming in."
I actually laugh at that, though it comes out a bit hysterical. "You really think you can handle this alone?"
He rounds on me so fast I nearly run into his chest. "Handle what, exactly?" His eyes are almost all pupil now, and I can see the slight tremor in his hands. "What's happening to me?"
The cabin is right there. Just a few more steps. I take a breath, trying to find the right words that won't send him running - or worse, trigger a shift when he's this compromised.
"Remember those flowers?" I say carefully. "They're... well, they're having an effect on your system. A temporary one," I add quickly. "But you're going to need help managing it. And since I'm the one who exposed you, I'm not leaving you alone to suffer through it."
His nostrils flare, and I know he's picking up on my anxiety, my guilt, and probably a dozen other emotions I'm trying to keep contained.
"Inside," he finally grounds out. "Now."
The cabin door nearly splinters under Logan's force as he shoulders it open. He drops my pack just inside, bracing himself against the doorframe as I hurry in after him. The space is small but neat - one room with a bed against the far wall, a kitchenette, and a wood stove pumping out blessed heat.
"Lock it," he orders, voice strangled. He's already moving away from me, putting the small table between us like a barrier. "Then start explaining. Fast."
My fingers fumble with the deadbolt as I watch him grip the back of a chair, knuckles white. The wood creaks ominously under his strength.
"The flowers are called Luna's Kiss," I say, keeping my voice steady despite my racing heart. "They react to shifter chemistry, especially alphas. They're not dangerous, but-"
"But they're turning me feral?" He laughs, a harsh sound that's more wolf than human. When he looks at me again, his eyes have a golden sheen. "Because that's what this feels like."
"Not feral." I clutch my sample box closer, cursing myself for not being more careful. "More like... well, it mimics certain biological responses. Specifically, um, mating responses."
The chair splinters in his grip.
"Get out," he growls, but his body is already swaying toward mine, drawn by whatever instinct the flowers have triggered. "Mira. Get out while I can still let you."
I set my box down carefully and take a step toward him instead. "No."
"I can't-" He shudders, and I catch a flash of fang. "You don't understand what's happening."
"I understand better than you think," I say softly, taking another step. "And I'm not leaving you alone like this."
His growl reverberates through the small space, raising goosebumps along my arms. "You can't even shift. How do you expect to handle an alpha in this state?"
I meet his gaze steadily, refusing to back down even as the last rays of sunlight fade outside, leaving us in the flickering glow of the wood stove.
"I guess we're both about to find out."
The moment the words leave my mouth, Logan's eyes flash gold. His muscles bunch like he's physically restraining himself from moving toward me. I should be terrified - everything I know about alphas in this state suggests I should be. Instead, I find myself cataloging his symptoms with almost clinical fascination.
Dilated pupils. Elevated body temperature evident from here. Increased respiratory rate. The tremor in his hands has intensified.
"Stop that," he growls.
"Stop what?"
"Taking mental notes. I can see you doing it." He pushes away from the splintered remains of the chair, drawing himself to his full height. "I'm not one of your specimens."
I force myself to hold still as he stalks closer, fighting my instinct to step back. "Observation is how I solve problems. And right now, we have a significant problem."
"We?" His laugh is dark, dangerous. "The only problem I see is a scientist who came into my territory and-" He cuts off suddenly, nostrils flaring.
"And what?" I press, but then I smell it too. The sharp sweet scent of the flowers, rising from my coat where their pollen must have settled.
Logan moves faster than I can track. One moment he's across the room, the next he has my coat in his hands, yanking it off my shoulders. The motion pulls me against his chest, and for a split second, I forget how to breathe.
"You're covered in it," he rasps, and then he's burying his face in my hair, inhaling deeply.
"Logan-"
"You need to shower." He's already pushing me toward what must be the bathroom door, though his hands linger longer than necessary. "Get their scent off you. Now."
"My notes-"
"Will be here when you're done." His voice brooks no argument, pure alpha authority. "Shower. Please."
That please sounds like it cost him something. I look up at him, really look, and see the war being waged behind his eyes. He's fighting this so hard, trying to protect me even as the flowers' magic works through his system.
"Okay," I say softly. "I'll shower. But first..." I reach for my pack, ignoring his warning growl, and pull out my notebook. "I need to document the progression of-"
The notebook disappears from my hands. Logan holds it over his head, and despite the severity of our situation, there's a glint of something almost playful in his eyes.
"Shower," he repeats. "Science later."
"That's not-" I reach for the notebook, which is ridiculous given our height difference. He uses his free hand to steady me when I sway, and the contact sends a jolt through us both.
"Mira." My name sounds different in his mouth now, rougher. His thumb brushes my wrist where he's holding me, and I feel my pulse jump. "Please."
The way he's looking at me makes it hard to remember why I needed the notebook in the first place. "Fine. But we're documenting everything later. For science."
"For science," he echoes, and I swear there's a hint of a real smile before another wave of whatever's happening hits him. His grip tightens briefly before he forces himself to let go. "Go. Before I..."
He doesn't finish the sentence. He doesn't have to.
I grab my pack and retreat to the bathroom, very aware of his eyes tracking my movement. Just before I close the door, I hear the distinct sound of him scent marking my notebook.
So much for scientific objectivity.
The last thing I see is Logan pressing his forehead against the cool window glass, his reflection ghostly in the gathering storm, looking every bit like a man about to lose a battle with himself.
I close the door and lean against it, heart pounding. What have I gotten us into?