Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
LOGAN
The sun is high when I finally manage to let her out of my arms long enough to deal with the supplies Mae brought. My wolf is settled for now, satisfied, but the protective instincts are still running high.
Mira's attempting to make coffee, wearing nothing but my flannel shirt, her hair a mess from my hands. She keeps trying to sneak peeks at her notebook while the coffee brews.
"Sit," I growl softly, taking the coffee from her. "Let me."
"I'm perfectly capable of-"
"Sit." I guide her to one of the kitchen chairs. "You've taken care of me through two fever waves. My turn."
I wet a cloth with warm water, grateful that the power's stayed on through the storm. When I return, she's perched carefully on the chair, trying to hide her discomfort.
"Here." I kneel beside her, gentle despite my wolf's continued possessive urges.
Her sigh of relief as I tend to her makes my chest tight with guilt, even as my alpha instincts flare with satisfaction at taking care of her.
"Better?" I ask, voice rougher than intended.
She nods, color rising in her cheeks. "You don't have to-"
"Let me provide for you." I press a kiss to her temple before moving to unpack the food Sarah sent. "Just this once."
I unpack the bags, grateful for Sarah's understanding of wolf appetites. Fresh biscuits, still warm in their container, eggs, bacon, fruit. The need to feed her, to ensure she's cared for, burns almost as strong as the fever did.
"You don't have to watch me like I might disappear," Mira says softly, but she doesn't stop me when I break off a piece of warm biscuit and hold it to her lips.
"Humor me." My voice is gruff with emotion I'm not ready to examine. "My wolf needs this."
She takes the offering, and something primal in me settles at watching her eat from my hand. But after a few bites, I notice her frowning.
"What?"
"You haven't eaten anything." She reaches for a piece of bacon. "And don't tell me you're not hungry. I can hear your stomach growling."
"I'm fine. You need-"
"Logan." She holds the bacon up, mimicking my earlier gesture. "Your wolf isn't the only one with needs."
The simple admission - that her wolf has needs, that she's acknowledging it - hits me harder than expected. When I don't move, she presses the bacon against my lips.
"Let me provide for you too," she whispers, echoing my words. "Just this once."
Her fingers brush my lips as she offers another bite of biscuit, and I catch her wrist gently, press a kiss to her palm. She shivers, but not from cold - her scent shifts subtly, and my wolf stirs with interest.
My wolf practically purrs as I accept the food from her fingers. We continue like that, trading bites, neither of us mentioning how domestic it feels, how right.
How much like mates.
"We should eat first," she says, but her voice has gone breathy. "The fever-"
"Is quiet right now." I nuzzle her wrist. "For the moment."
She tugs her hand free, but only to offer me more food. "Then we should take advantage of the lucid time. I need to record observations about-"
"If you reach for that notebook right now..." I growl but can't help smiling at her scientist's instincts.
"Data is important." But she's smiling too, soft and unguarded in a way I haven't seen before. "Though I suppose some observations can wait."
I feed her another piece of fruit, watching as juice stains her lips. "What observations?"
"Like how pack dynamics might influence fever symptoms. Or why contact helps moderate the effects. Or..." She hesitates, then offers me the last bite of biscuit. "Or why my wolf feels stronger when you're close."
The admission hangs between us, heavy with implications neither of us is ready to face. I accept the food from her fingers, letting my lips linger against her skin.
"Maybe," I say carefully, "some things don't need scientific explanation."
Her scent spikes with anxiety. "Everything has an explanation."
"Like why you're still wearing my shirt?"
Her cheeks pink. "That's just practical. My clothes are-"
"Mine now." The words come out more possessive than intended. "They smell like both of us."
"Logan..."
"Too much?" I force myself to lean back, give her space. "Sorry. The fever might be quiet, but my wolf is still..."
"Protective?" She reaches for her coffee, but her hand shakes slightly. "It's fascinating how the claiming bite seems to enhance pack bonding responses even in non-shifting wolves. I should really document-"
"Mira." I catch her fidgeting hands in mine. "Stop hiding behind science."
She stares at our joined hands, and I can practically see her mind working, trying to categorize this moment into something safe and clinical.
"I'm not hiding," she says finally. "I'm trying to understand."
"What's there to understand?" But I keep my voice gentle, sensing how close she is to retreating behind her walls again.
"Everything." She pulls one hand free to gesture vaguely between us. "The fever response was expected. The claiming bite's effects on neurochemical bonds, that's documented. But this..." She touches her chest, right over her heart. "This feeling like my wolf is finally awake after years of sleeping? That's not in any research."
The vulnerability in her voice makes my alpha instincts surge. I want to gather her close, to protect her from whatever put that uncertainty in her scent. Instead, I reach for more fruit.
"Maybe," I say, offering her a strawberry, "some things are meant to be experienced, not studied."
She takes the bite, but her eyes are serious. "Experience without understanding is-"
"Is sometimes exactly what we need." I brush my thumb across her lower lip, cleaning away fruit juice. "Your wolf knows that, even if the scientist in you doesn't."
"My wolf doesn't usually get a vote."
"She's voting now." I tap her chest where her hand had been. "Maybe it's time to listen."
Her breath catches. "I don't know how."
The simple admission costs her something - I can smell the fear under her words. Fear of losing control, of letting go, of trusting something she can't quantify.
"I could show you." I offer another bite of fruit. "If you let me."
She accepts the fruit but doesn't immediately eat it, holding it between us like a question. "How exactly would that work? Teaching someone to listen to a wolf they can't shift into?"
"The same way you've been teaching me to control the fever." I brush her hair back from her face, letting my fingers trail over the claiming mark. Her slight shiver doesn't escape my notice. "Through trust. Through contact. Through letting go of what you think should happen and accepting what is happening."
"That's not very scientific," she mutters, but finally takes the bite of fruit.
"No," I agree, watching juice stain her lips again. "It's instinct. It's pack. It's-"
I cut myself off before that dangerous word can slip out. Mate. We're not ready for that conversation.
"It's what?" Her eyes narrow. The scientist in her never misses details.
"It's time for more coffee," I deflect, reaching for her mug. Her hand on my arm stops me.
"You're avoiding something." Her grip tightens slightly. "I can smell it."
That pulls me up short. "You can smell my emotions now?"
Color floods her cheeks. "I... maybe? Everything's more intense since..." She touches the claiming mark unconsciously. "But that's probably just elevated hormone levels from the fever bond causing increased sensitivity to pheromonal markers and-"
"Mira." I catch her hand, press my lips to her palm. "Stop analyzing and just feel it."
"I'm trying." Her voice cracks slightly. "But feeling things without understanding them is..."
"Scary?" I offer when she trails off.
She nods, looking almost ashamed of the admission.
"Good thing you're not alone then." I pull her into my lap, ignoring her small sound of surprise. "We can be scared together."
"That's not very alpha of you," she says, but she's melting against me, her head tucking perfectly under my chin.
"Good thing you're not taking notes then."
Her laugh vibrates through both our bodies, and for just a moment, everything feels simple. Right.
Then the fever starts to stir again.
Her body tenses against mine, and at first, I think it's just the fever she's sensing. But her scent has shifted to something sharper - anxiety, resignation.
"We should clean up," she says, voice suddenly professional as she tries to slip off my lap. "The fever's building again, and according to my research, we're approaching the median duration for these effects."
I tighten my hold slightly. "What does that mean?"
"The flowers' influence typically lasts thirty-six to forty-eight hours." She's using her scientist voice now, the one that tries to hide emotion behind data. "After that, everything returns to baseline. Normal pack dynamics resume."
Something in my chest goes cold. "Normal pack dynamics?"
"Once the fever breaks completely." She won't meet my eyes, staring instead at where her hands rest on my chest. "The claiming bite will fade. The enhanced connection will dissipate. Your wolf won't feel this... protective anymore."
"You've seen this happen?" My voice comes out rougher than intended.
"There are documented cases." Now she does pull away, and this time I let her. Watch her retreat to where her notebook waits. "The subjects all reported a return to previous behavioral patterns within seventy-two hours of initial exposure."
"Subjects," I repeat, hating the clinical distance in her tone. "Is that what we are?"
"It's easier," she whispers, more to herself than me. "If we remember this is temporary. Just biology. Just-"
The fever spikes, sharp and sudden, cutting off her attempts to rationalize this away. But for the first time, I wonder if the pain in my chest is from the fever at all.
I stand, needing to move, to do something with this building energy that isn't grabbing her and proving how wrong she is about "temporary."
"Your research." My voice sounds strange even to my own ears. "These documented cases. Were any of them-"
"Don't." She clutches her notebook like a shield. "Please don't ask me that."
"Why not?"
"Because the data is conclusive." Her voice wavers slightly. "And because your fever is rising, which means your emotional responses are compromised. We shouldn't discuss long-term implications when you're not..."
"When I'm not what?" I stalk closer, watch her pulse jump. "When I'm not thinking clearly? When all I can think about is how wrong you smell right now? How much my wolf hates that you're already preparing to walk away?"
"Logan-"
"Tell me about these documented cases." I cage her against the counter, careful not to touch despite every instinct screaming to grab, to hold, to keep. "Tell me about how many of them involved claiming bites. How many showed enhanced pack bonds with non-shifting wolves. How many-"
"Stop." She presses her hands against my chest but doesn't push me away. "The fever's making you-"
"Making me what? Care? Want to keep you? Need you?" Each word comes out more growl than speech. "Pretty sure that started before the fever, doctor."
Her breath catches, and I smell salt - tears she's fighting back. "That's not possible."
"Why? Because it's not in your research?"
"Because things like this don't happen to wolves who can't shift!" The words burst out of her like she's been holding them back forever. "Because in seventy-two hours you'll remember I'm broken, and your wolf will-"
I kiss her before she can finish that thought, pouring everything I can't say into it. When I pull back, her eyes are wide.
"That wasn't the fever," I tell her roughly. "And you're not broken."
She blinks rapidly, and I catch the scent of her tears before she can turn away. "You don't understand. I've seen what happens when the fever breaks. How alphas react when they realize they've been influenced by the flowers to form connections that aren't... that couldn't naturally..."
"Look at me." When she doesn't, I cup her face gently, turn her back. "What aren't you telling me about these cases?"
Her laugh is bitter. "You mean besides the fact that I was there for three of them? Documenting how quickly pack bonds dissolved once the fever cleared? How the claiming bites faded like they never existed? How-"
She cuts off as I growl, the sound rumbling up from deep in my chest.
"Other alphas claimed you?"
"What? No!" Her hands fist in my shirt. "I was the researcher. Observing. Recording. Watching wolves like me hope that maybe the flowers could fix them, could make them whole enough to keep. And then watching them realize that temporary magic isn't enough to overcome what we are."
"What you are," I say carefully, fighting back another growl, "is mine."
"For another thirty-six hours, maybe."
"Try again."
"Logan." Her voice cracks on my name. "Don't make promises the fever is forcing you to-"
The wave hits fully then, but it's different this time. Sharper. More focused. My wolf isn't wild with it - he's determined.
"The fever isn't forcing anything," I manage, even as heat races through my blood. "It's just making it harder to pretend I didn't want you the moment you walked into my territory with your notebooks and your science and your wolf that calls to mine even if she can't shift."
"That's not..."
"Possible?" I nose at the claiming mark, feel her shiver. "Documented? Maybe you need new research methods, doctor."