Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
MIRA
Alphas run hot. It's a documented physiological trait; one I've studied extensively. But knowing the science doesn't prepare me for waking up practically melting, wrapped in Logan's arms, his body curled protectively around mine.
My hand drifts to the mark on my neck before I can stop it. The claiming bite throbs gently under my fingers, and my inner wolf - usually so distant - stirs at the touch. The reaction startles me. I've never felt her this clearly before.
I try to slip into research mode, to catalog the changes: elevated body temperature, increased sensitivity to his scent, the strange new awareness of my wolf. But it's hard to maintain scientific distance when his breath is warm against my neck and his arm is locked around my waist like he's afraid I'll disappear.
"Stop thinking so loud," Logan mumbles against my skin, and I feel him press closer to the bite mark. "It's too early for science."
"It's never too early for science." But my voice comes out embarrassingly breathy as his lips brush the claiming mark. "And we need to document the effects of-"
His growl cuts me off. "If you reach for that notebook right now..."
"I wasn't-" I pause, realizing I actually was trying to locate my pack. "Okay, maybe I was. But this is important data. The fever's effects, the claiming bite's influence on my non-shifting status, the way my wolf feels more..."
I trail off as his hand splays possessively across my stomach. "More what?"
"Present," I whisper, then immediately try to backtrack into safer, more clinical territory. "Though that could be a temporary side effect of-"
His grip tightens, and I feel him inhale deeply against my neck. "Nothing about this feels temporary."
The raw certainty in his voice makes something flutter in my chest. I need to maintain perspective, keep my scientific distance. This is just biology, just the flowers' effects and pack dynamics and...
"Your heart's racing," he murmurs, and his hand slides up to rest over it. "What are you afraid of?"
"I'm not afraid." But I can't quite keep the tremor out of my voice. "I'm just trying to maintain professional objectivity."
He actually laughs at that, the sound rumbling through both our bodies. "After last night, I don't think professional objectivity is an option anymore."
Heat floods my face as memories surface - his hands, his mouth, the way he'd practically howled when he marked me. The way I'd begged him to.
"That was just the fever," I say, but even I can hear the lie in it.
Logan shifts, rolling me beneath him in one smooth motion. His eyes are clear this morning, no sign of the fever's gold, but the intensity in them pins me in place just as effectively.
"Want to try that again?" He drops his head to nose at the claiming mark, and my whole body shivers. "Because your scent says otherwise."
"The fever will come back." I mean it as a scientific observation, but it comes out more like a plea. "We should prepare. We need supplies, and I should check my notes about the duration-"
"Mira." The way he says my name should be illegal. "Look at me."
I force myself to meet his gaze, trying to ignore how right this feels, how perfectly we fit together.
"What are you really afraid of?"
The question hangs between us, too honest, too raw. I swallow hard, trying to find safer ground.
"We should call the diner in town," I deflect. "Before the next wave hits. We'll need food, and-"
"Answer the question." His voice is gentle but firm, pure alpha authority wrapped in something softer. "What are you running from?"
"I'm not running." But my hands betray me, coming up to push against his chest even as my wolf whines at the thought of creating distance. "I'm being practical. This is a temporary biological response to the flowers, complicated by unexpected pack dynamics and-"
He catches my hands, presses them back into the mattress. "Try again."
"Logan-"
"Your heart's still racing." He leans down, rests his forehead against mine. "And you smell like fear. Not of me. Of this."
"Because this isn't real." The words burst out before I can stop them. "The fever, the claiming bite, the way my wolf feels stronger - it's all just chemical reactions and pack instincts and-"
"And what if it's not?" His thumbs trace circles on my wrists, gentling even as he holds me in place. "What if this is exactly what it feels like?"
"What it feels like," I whisper, "is impossible."
"Why?"
"Because-" My voice cracks. "Because I'm broken. I can't shift. I'm not supposed to have this. To have a m-"
I cut myself off, but his sharp intake of breath tells me he heard the word I almost said.
"Mate?" he finishes softly.
"We need food," I say firmly, turning my head away. "And you need to let me up before the next wave hits."
He's quiet for a long moment, and I feel the tension in his body - the alpha in him wanting to push, to demand answers. But then he exhales slowly and rolls away, giving me space.
"The diner opens at six," he says, voice carefully neutral. "Sarah makes the best breakfast in three counties."
I sit up, gathering the sheet around me, grateful for the change of subject. "You trust her?"
"She's pack adjacent. Married to one of our elders." He reaches for his phone on the nightstand. "She'll be discrete."
I nod, already cataloging what we need. "Coffee. Lots of it. And protein - the fever burns through energy fast."
"Already texting her." He glances at me, and something softens in his expression. "Go shower. I'll handle this."
"I can-"
"Let someone help you for once." There's a hint of growl in his voice. "Just with breakfast. Nothing more complicated than that."
I want to argue, but I can feel the ghost of last night's fever starting to build in him - his scent changing subtly, his muscles tensing. We don't have time for debates about independence.
"Fine." I stand, keeping the sheet wrapped around me. "But I'm paying."
His laugh follows me to the bathroom. "We'll see about that, doctor."
Under the spray of hot water, I press my hand to the claiming mark and try not to think about how right it feels.
Just breakfast. Focus on that. Nothing more complicated than that.
For now.
By the time I emerge from the bathroom, wearing another borrowed flannel shirt, Logan's tension is visible. He's pacing, muscles rigid, though he's clearly trying to hide it.
"Sarah's sending Billy with supplies in twenty minutes," he says without looking at me. His voice is rougher than before. "I'll meet him at the end of the drive."
"You're not going anywhere alone like this." I start gathering my scattered notes, trying to ignore how his eyes track my every movement. "The fever's building again."
"I can handle a five-minute walk."
"The same way you handled following me in the woods yesterday?" I arch an eyebrow at him. "How did that work out?"
He growls, but there's no real heat in it. "You're not going to let that go, are you?"
"Not likely." I flip through my notebook, forcing myself to focus on the pages and not the way he's slowly stalking closer. "Besides, I need to document the timing between waves, the intensity-"
"Mira." He's right behind me now, his heat seeping through the thin flannel. "Put down the notebook."
"But-"
His hands settle on my hips, and my wolf surges forward so strongly I actually gasp. "The fever's affecting you too, isn't it?"
"That's not possible." But my voice shakes as he noses at the claiming mark. "The flowers only trigger alphas. The research is very clear about-"
"The research," he rumbles against my neck, "didn't account for this." His teeth graze the mark, and my knees actually buckle.
He catches me easily, turns me to face him. His eyes are starting to shine gold again, but there's still enough clarity in them to make me nervous.
"We should wait," I manage. "The supplies-"
A knock at the door cuts me off. We both freeze.
"That's not twenty minutes," Logan growls.
"And that's not Billy's scent," I add, then immediately regret drawing attention to my enhanced senses.
Logan's eyes narrow. "We'll discuss that later." He moves toward the door, keeping me behind him. "Much later."
The knock comes again, more insistent. Logan's growl deepens, and I feel the protective alpha energy rolling off him in waves.
"Sarah sent me instead of Billy!" A woman's voice calls through the door. "I've got your supplies, and Logan, you better open this door because it's freezing out here."
"Mae," Logan mutters, tension easing slightly. "Sarah's daughter."
But he doesn't move to open the door, and I realize he's waiting for my consent. The gesture makes my wolf practically preen, even as I try to squash the reaction.
"We need those supplies," I remind him, tugging the flannel shirt lower on my thighs. "And you need to step back before you scare her with..." I gesture vaguely at his current state, the fever-gold eyes and barely contained energy.
He backs up exactly one step, which is apparently all I'm getting. "Open it."
I have to squeeze past him to reach the door, and the contact makes us both shiver. Focus, Mira. Supplies now, fever later.
The blast of cold air when I open the door helps clear my head. Mae is bundled up against the snow, holding two large bags and wearing an expression that's far too knowing for comfort.
"Well," she says, looking between us. "This explains a few things."
"It's not-" I start, but Logan's hand settling possessively on my hip cuts me off.
"Thanks for the delivery," he says, voice rough. "Put it on my tab."
Mae's eyes widen slightly at his tone, but she just hands me the bags with a smile. "Mom sent extra coffee and those protein bars you like. And..." She pauses, sniffing delicately. "Oh. Oh. I'll tell her to send more supplies this evening."
I feel my face heat. "That's not-"
"Goodbye, Mae," Logan growls, and the door closes firmly.
I clutch the supply bags, trying to maintain some dignity. "Well, that was-"
His arms wrap around me from behind, and coherent thought becomes significantly more difficult.
"They're going to know," I whisper.
"They already know." His lips find the claiming mark again. "Your scientific objectivity going to survive that?"
"I hate you a little right now."
His laugh vibrates against my skin. "No, you don't."
And that, unfortunately, is the problem.
I set the bags on the counter, wincing slightly as I move. Logan notices immediately - of course he does.
"You're hurting." It's not a question, and his scent shifts with concern, temporarily overwhelming the fever.
"I'm fine." I reach for my notebook, trying to ignore how he's already moving toward me. "Actually, this is perfect timing. We should document how you experience the fever when you're actively fighting it."
"Mira." His voice is strained. "Now isn't the time for-"
"Please." I meet his eyes, keeping my voice steady despite the way my wolf whines at denying him. "This could help others. And..." I hesitate. "And I could use a break."
The admission costs me something, but the way his expression softens makes it worth it.
"You'd have to stay close," he says after a moment. "Contact helps control it."
"I know." I flip to a fresh page, already settling into research mode. "We can establish a baseline of minimal contact necessary to maintain clarity while monitoring the progression of symptoms."
His laugh sounds pained. "Only you would make this sound like a lab experiment."
"That's exactly what it is." I pat the couch. "Now sit down and let me work."
Logan sits with careful control, but I can see the tension thrumming through him. I perch on the opposite end of the couch, notebook ready, trying to ignore how wrong it feels to have this much space between us.
"Baseline readings first," I say, keeping my voice clinical. "Rate your fever symptoms on a scale of one to ten."
"Eleven." His hands clench on his thighs. "And you're too far away."
"That's not a scientific measurement." But I slide closer, until our knees touch. "Better?"
He exhales sharply. "Seven maybe. Your scent helps."
I make a note, trying to keep my handwriting steady despite the way my skin prickles with awareness. "Physical manifestations include elevated body temperature, muscle tension, pupil dilation..." I look up to check his eyes and find him staring at me with an intensity that makes my breath catch.
"Your heart rate just spiked," he observes roughly.
"I'm not the subject here." I press on, though my cheeks heat. "Are you experiencing the same level of aggressive territorial response as the first wave?"
"No." His hand slides to my knee, and I tell myself I allow it for science. "Different now. Less frenzied. More..."
"More what?"
"Focused." His thumb traces circles on my skin. "I know exactly what I want. I'm just not taking it."
I swallow hard. "And the claiming instinct?"
"Mira." There's a warning in his voice.
"It's important data." I force myself to meet his eyes. "Is the urge to mark stronger or weaker than initial exposure?"
"Stronger." His grip tightens briefly. "But I can control it. For you."
Something warm unfurls in my chest at those last two words, and I quickly look down at my notes. "And the contact helps maintain that control?"
"You know it does." He shifts closer, and I feel his fever heat like a physical touch. "But you're going to have to stop smelling like that if you want me to keep fighting this."
"Smelling like what?"
His growl makes me shiver. "Like you want me to stop fighting it."
I snap my notebook shut. "That's not a valid observation. Scent markers are subjective and-"
"Nothing subjective about it." He leans closer, inhaling deeply. "Your wolf wants this as much as mine does."
"My wolf doesn't get a vote." But even I can hear the tremor in my voice. "This is a scientific study of fever progression under controlled conditions."
Logan's laugh is strained. "Controlled conditions?" His hand slides up from my knee, and I barely bite back a whimper. "Is that what you call this?"
"I call this you not following protocols." I clutch my notebook like a shield. "Rate your symptoms again."
"Eight." He noses at my neck, carefully avoiding the claiming mark. "Nine when you try to sound professional while your scent gives you away."
"Logan-"
"Ten when you say my name like that." His breath fans hot against my skin. "But I'm being good. I'm fighting it. For you."
The last words are almost a growl, and I feel him trembling with the effort of restraint. I should move away. Should maintain experimental integrity. Should...
"Your pulse is racing," he murmurs. "Note that in your research, doctor."
"Proximity effect," I manage. "A natural response to-"
His fingers trace the claiming mark, and my words dissolve into a gasp.
"Natural response?" Now there's a dangerous edge of satisfaction in his voice. "Should we document exactly how your body responds to my touch? For science?"
"That's not..." I lose my train of thought as his lips replace his fingers on the mark. "Not part of the control group parameters."
"Then maybe," he growls against my skin, "we need a new experiment."
I'm about to argue - about protocols, about scientific method, about anything to maintain some semblance of professional distance - when I feel him shudder. The tremor runs through his whole body, and suddenly I remember why we're doing this.
"Logan." I pull back, really look at him. His eyes are almost completely gold now, but there's pain in them too. "How bad is it really?"
"I can handle it." But his voice is raw, strained.
"That's not what I asked." I set the notebook aside, press my palm to his chest where his heart races. "Give me real data. No alpha posturing."
He catches my wrist but doesn't pull my hand away. "Like fire under my skin. Like my wolf is trying to claw his way out. Like every instinct I have is screaming at me to..." He cuts off, breathing hard.
"To what?"
"To claim you again. To make sure everyone knows you're..." Another shudder runs through him. "But you needed a break. Needed me to fight it."
The simple admission - his willingness to endure this for me - cracks something in my chest.
"New hypothesis," I say softly.
His laugh is more of a growl. "Still taking notes?"
"Mental ones." I slide closer, until I'm practically in his lap. "Perhaps fighting natural biological responses causes more harm than benefit."
"Doctor Parker," he manages, though his hands flex on my hips. "Are you suggesting we abandon the controlled study?"
"I'm suggesting..." I brush my lips against his, feel him tremble. "That sometimes the best data comes from letting go."
His control snaps like a bowstring. "Last chance to maintain your scientific distance."
I thread my fingers into his hair and pull him closer. "I think we're past that."
His answering growl vibrates through us both.
His mouth claims mine in a searing kiss, all heat and hunger and desperation. I meet him with equal fervor, my wolf surging forward, reveling in his touch. The notebook falls forgotten to the floor as he lays me back on the couch, his body covering mine, the full weight of him pressing me into the cushions.
"Tell me to stop," he growls against my lips. "Tell me you don't want this."
In answer, I arch into him, nipping at his bottom lip. He groans, the sound vibrating through us both, and his hand slides under the flannel to splay across my ribs.
"Mira..." My name is a plea and a prayer and a warning all at once.
"The data is clear," I manage, though my voice shakes. "Resistance is futile."
His laugh is strained. "Only you would quote Star Trek right now."
"I thought you appreciated my scientific approach." I gasp as his thumb brushes the underside of my breast.
"I appreciate every damn thing about you." He kisses along my jaw, teeth grazing sensitive skin. "Even when you're driving me crazy."
"The feeling is mutual." The words come out breathy, my hands sliding under his shirt, tracing the hard planes of his back. "But right now, I need..."
"What?" His voice is rough, almost feral. "Tell me what you need."
"You." I tug at his shirt, desperate for more contact. "This. Us."
He sits up just long enough to yank the shirt over his head, then he's back, skin to skin, the heat of him searing me in the best way. I fumble with the buttons of the flannel I'm wearing, but he growls and simply rips it open, sending buttons flying.
"I liked that shirt," I protest, but it's halfhearted at best.
"I'll buy you a dozen more." He kisses down my throat, pausing to lave attention on the claiming mark. "I'll buy you anything you want, as long as you keep making that sound."
I hadn't even realized I was making a sound, but now I hear it - a needy whimper that would embarrass me if I had any pride left. But pride seems very distant right now, overwhelmed by the feel of him, the scent of him, the need to be as close to him as possible.
His hands map my body like he's committing every curve and plane to memory. I arch into his touch, gasping as his fingers find sensitive spots, I didn't even know I had. When his mouth closes over my nipple, I actually cry out, my fingers tangling in his hair to hold him in place.
"Logan, please..." I'm not even sure what I'm begging for, but he seems to understand.
He kisses his way down my stomach, pausing to nip at my hipbone, then lower still. I feel his breath against my core, and my whole body quivers with anticipation.
"Look at me," he commands, his voice rough with need.
I force my eyes open, meet his molten gaze. The gold in them is practically glowing now, the fever and the wolf blending into something wild and beautiful.
"I want to watch you," he growls. "Want to see your face when I make you come."
The words alone almost send me over the edge. Then his mouth is on me, and the world fractures into sensation. He licks and sucks and nibbles, learning my body with single-minded intensity. I fist my hands in his hair, holding him in place as he drives me higher and higher. Just when I think I can't take any more, he slips one finger inside me, then two, curling them just right to send me flying apart.
I shatter with a cry that's half howl, my body arching off the couch as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over me. Logan works me through it, his mouth and hands gentling as I come down from the high.
When I finally manage to open my eyes, he's hovering over me, his expression a mix of satisfaction and raw hunger.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my inner thigh. "Absolutely beautiful."
I tug at his hair, urging him up until he's stretched out over me again, the hard length of him pressing insistently against my hip. I roll my hips, delighting in his sharp intake of breath.
"Your turn," I whisper against his lips. "Let me feel you."
His answering growl vibrates through me as he settles between my thighs. I reach down to guide him, but he catches my wrist, pinning it above my head.
"Not yet," he grits out, though I can feel him trembling with restraint. "I need to make sure you're ready."
"I am." I buck up against him, reveling in his sharp hiss of pleasure. "I'm so ready, Logan. Please."
He releases my wrist to grip my hip, holding me still as he notches himself at my entrance. For a breathless moment, we're both frozen, teetering on the edge of something momentous. Then he flexes his hips and slides home in one smooth thrust.
We groan in unison as he fills me, stretching me, the exquisite mix of pleasure and pain making my toes curl. He stills, giving me a moment to adjust, his forehead pressed against mine as we share ragged breaths.
"You feel..." His voice is strained, awed. "God, Mira. You feel like heaven."
I roll my hips experimentally and we both gasp. He's so deep, hitting places I didn't even know I had. The stretch is just on the edge of too much, but it only makes me want him more.
"Move," I demand, wrapping my legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. "Please, Logan..."
He obeys with a growl, withdrawing almost completely before slamming back in. I cry out at the exquisite fullness, my nails digging into his shoulders as he sets a relentless pace. Each powerful thrust sends sparks of pleasure zinging through my body, coiling tighter and tighter in my core.
His lips find mine in a searing kiss, swallowing my moans as he drives into me again and again. I can feel every inch of him, hot and hard and perfect, hitting that spot inside me that makes stars explode behind my eyelids.
"That's it," he rasps against my mouth. "Take what you need. Take everything."
I do, meeting him thrust for thrust, our bodies moving in perfect sync. The couch creaks beneath us, but neither of us care, lost in the slick slide of skin on skin, the building pressure of our releases.
Logan shifts, changing the angle, and suddenly everything is more - more intense, more intimate, more overwhelming. I throw my head back on a silent scream as he pounds into me, hitting that perfect spot inside me with every thrust. I'm close, teetering on the brink, my body taut as a bowstring.
"Let go," Logan growls, his hand sliding between us to circle my clit. "Come for me, Mira. Now."
His command is my undoing. I shatter with a wordless cry, my release crashing over me in waves of ecstasy. I feel Logan tense above me, his rhythm faltering as my inner muscles clench around him. With a guttural groan, he buries himself to the hilt and finds his own release, my name a reverent chant on his lips.
We collapse together, sweat-slicked and sated, our hearts pounding in sync. Logan gathers me close, pressing soft kisses to my hair, my cheeks, my lips. I burrow into his embrace, luxuriating in the afterglow, the fever temporarily banked by the force of our lovemaking.
"You okay?" he murmurs after a long moment, his hand stroking soothingly down my back.
"Mmm..." It's the most coherent response I can manage, my body languid and boneless in his arms. I feel him smile against my hair.
"Good." His voice is a deep rumble I feel in my bones. "Because we're just getting started."
I tilt my head back to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? What happened to giving me a break?"
His grin turns wolfish. "You started it this time."
I huff a laugh but can't really argue. My body is already stirring again, responding to his closeness, his scent, the delicious ache of well-used muscles.
"The supplies," I murmur, making a halfhearted attempt at responsibility. "We should eat something."
"Mm. You're right." But he makes no move to let me go, his hands sliding possessively over my skin. "Supplies first. Then round two."
"Oh? What makes you think there'll be a round two?" I aim for coy, but it comes out breathier than intended when his fingers dip teasingly between my thighs.
"Call it a hunch." He nips playfully at my ear. "Or maybe it's just wishful thinking."