Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
MIRA
The power flickers for the third time this morning, and my pen skids across the page. I should be documenting the decreasing intervals between fever waves, the gradual reduction in symptoms that all my previous research shows should be starting by now.
Instead, I'm writing about how his scent has become as necessary as air.
I scratch out the personal observation, trying to focus on clinical data. Time elapsed since exposure: twenty-four hours. Fever episodes: maintaining intensity with no signs of diminishing. Subject shows stronger pack response than any previously documented case...
The lights flicker again, and I smell Logan before I hear him come up behind me.
"The storm's getting worse," he says, setting a cup of coffee by my hand. He doesn't mention how my notes are more crossed out sections than actual data. "We should bring in more firewood before it gets too bad."
"In a minute." I try to ignore how he lingers, how his presence makes my wolf stretch lazily beneath my skin. After just twenty-four hours, the connection should be starting to fade, not growing stronger. "I need to record the baseline readings for-"
His hand covers my notebook. "Your hands are cold."
"That's not relevant to-"
"It is to me." He pulls me up from the chair, and I let him because fighting the instinct to lean into his heat takes more energy than I have. "Come help me with the wood. Your research can wait."
"The previous cases all showed marked decrease in protective behaviors by this point in the fever cycle," I mutter, even as I find myself reaching for his coat instead of mine.
"Previous cases didn't have you." His voice is soft but certain as he helps me into the coat, and I pretend not to notice him inhaling deeply, satisfying something primal in his wolf at seeing me in his clothes.
I pretend even harder not to notice how much my own wolf preens at his reaction.
This isn't following any of my documented patterns, and that terrifies me almost as much as the hope trying to crack through my scientific walls.
I follow him to the door, already missing his warmth as he steps onto the small, covered porch. The storm has transformed the world into sheets of white, the wind driving snow sideways. His woodpile sits against the cabin wall, partially covered but already dusted with fresh powder.
"Stay under the overhang," he says, but there's no alpha command in it, just concern. "I'll hand you the logs."
"I can help carry-"
"You can help by staying warm." He steps into the storm, and my wolf whines at the separation. "Besides, I like watching you in my coat."
The simple admission makes my cheeks heat. "That's just biological imperative. Pack dynamics responding to shared scent markers."
His laugh carries over the wind. "Is that what you're calling it in your notes?"
No. In my notes, I'm calling it impossible. None of my previous subjects maintained this level of possessive behavior past the first twenty-four hours. None of them looked at their research partners like...
Like they might keep them.
"Here." Logan's voice pulls me from my thoughts as he hands me an armload of wood. Our fingers brush, and even that slight contact sends warmth through my entire body. "You're thinking too hard again."
"I'm thinking exactly the right amount." But I clutch the wood closer, letting his scent wrap around me. "Someone has to maintain objectivity."
"How's that working out for you?" He loads my arms with more wood, then pauses, nostrils flaring. "Your scent changed. What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong." I turn quickly toward the door. "The temperature's dropping. We should hurry."
His hand catches my arm before I can escape inside. "Mira."
"Don't." My voice cracks slightly. "Don't say my name like that. Like you'll still want to say it tomorrow, or the next day, or-"
A particularly strong gust of wind hits us, and I stumble. Logan steadies me, wood forgotten as he pulls me against his chest.
"Twenty-four hours," I whisper into his shirt. "We're at twenty-four hours and nothing is happening the way it should."
"Good." His arms tighten around me. "Maybe it's time to stop waiting for things to go wrong."
"That's not how science works."
"Maybe," he says softly, "it's time to stop treating this like science."
The wind howls between us, driving snow under the porch overhang, but I barely feel the cold. His words echo in my head: stop treating this like science. As if it's that simple. As if I haven't spent years learning exactly what happens when you let hope override data.
"The wood," I manage, pulling back. "We should..."
"It can wait." His thumb brushes my cheek, and I realize there are tears there. "Tell me about the other cases."
"Logan-"
"The real story. Not the clinical notes."
I close my eyes, but that just makes his scent stronger, more consuming. "Three cases. All non-shifting wolves like me. All hoping the flowers might..." I swallow hard. "Might make them whole enough to keep."
"And?"
"And nothing. By this point - twenty-four hours in - the fever was already fading. The pack bonds were weakening. Everything was returning to normal, just like it should be, just like-"
His growl cuts me off. "Stop saying should."
"But-"
"No." He tilts my chin up, forces me to meet his eyes. They're clear - no fever gold in sight despite the last wave being less than an hour ago. "Tell me what's different."
"Everything," I whisper, and the admission feels like falling. "The fever isn't fading. The claiming bite isn't losing intensity. My wolf is getting stronger instead of retreating, and you're still looking at me like..."
"Like what?"
"Like you might want to keep me."
The words hang between us, as heavy as the storm clouds above. Logan's hand slides to the claiming mark, and my whole-body shivers at the contact.
"Maybe," he says roughly, "that's because I do."
I step back, and something in my chest aches when he lets me go without fighting it. His eyes are sad but understanding, and somehow that's worse than if he'd grabbed me, tried to hold on.
"We should get the wood inside," I say, voice carefully professional. "The temperature's still dropping."
He nods, giving me the space I've created. "Take what you're holding in. I'll get the rest."
The distance between us feels like miles instead of feet as I carry the wood inside. My wolf paces beneath my skin, unhappy with the separation, but I force myself to focus on practical things. Stack the wood. Check the fire. Document the weather conditions.
Don't think about how he's letting me retreat because he knows I need it. Don't think about how that kind of understanding shouldn't exist after only twenty-four hours.
Don't think about keeping at all.
I've nearly gotten my breathing under control when he comes back in, arms full of wood and snow caught in his hair. He deposits the logs by the fireplace without commenting on how I've moved to the far side of the room.
"Storm's getting worse," he says, careful to maintain the distance I've put between us. "Might lose power completely."
I nod, grabbing my notebook like armor. "We should inventory the supplies. Calculate how long we can maintain adequate temperature if-"
"Mira." His voice is gentle. "Come here."
"I can't." The words catch in my throat. "If I come closer right now, I'll..."
"You'll what?"
"I'll believe you," I whisper. "About keeping me. And in forty-eight hours when the fever breaks completely..."
He takes a step toward me, then stops when I tense. "What if I still want to keep you then?"
"That's not how it works." I grip my notebook tighter. "The research-"
"Fuck the research."
"You don't mean that." I press back against the wall, needing its solidity. "The fever's making you-"
"The fever isn't making me anything right now." He runs a hand through his snow-damp hair in frustration. "Look at me, doctor. Really look. Are my eyes gold? Is my wolf out of control? Am I showing any of your documented fever symptoms right this moment?"
I force myself to observe clinically. His eyes are their normal amber, his stance relaxed despite the tension between us. No visible fever indicators at all.
"That's not..." I swallow hard. "That's not possible. We're only twenty-four hours in. The fever cycles shouldn't be allowing this much clarity yet."
"Add it to your data then." His voice is rough with emotion I refuse to name. "Add how I'm completely clear-headed while telling you I want you. Add how my wolf recognizes yours even when you can't shift. Add how every instinct I have is screaming to close this distance while I'm standing here letting you have it because I know you need it."
"Stop." My voice cracks. "Please stop."
He does. Just like that. Goes completely still except for his breathing, watching me with those too-understanding eyes.
The fire crackles in the silence between us. Outside, the storm wails, a counter-rhythm to my pounding heart.
"Tell me what you need," he says finally, so quietly I almost miss it. "Not what your research says should happen. Not what you're afraid of happening. What do you need right now?"
"Time," I whisper. "I need... I need time to think. To process. To..."
"To find a scientific explanation?"
A laugh bubbles up, slightly hysterical. "Yes. No. I don't know."
He nods slowly. "Okay. I'll get more wood from the shed before the storm gets worse. Give you some space to think."
"Logan..."
"I'll come back." The simple promise holds more weight than it should. "Whether you want me to or not, I'll always come back."
The door closes behind him, and I slide down the wall, clutching my notebook to my chest.
How do you document the feeling of falling when all your research says you should be letting go?
His scent hasn't even faded from the room when it hits - sudden and violent enough to make my knees buckle. Not my fever. His. The distance magnifying it somehow, making it worse than any wave before.
I feel it like it's my own body burning, sense his wolf's panic at the separation. The notebook falls from my numb fingers as I stumble toward the door.
"Logan!"
The wind nearly drowns my cry, but I hear his answering growl - pain and need tangled together. He's halfway to the woodshed, barely visible through the snow, doubled over against the fever's onslaught.
I don't remember moving. One moment I'm in the doorway, the next I'm running through knee-deep snow, wearing only his shirt, bare feet burning with cold I barely register.
"Inside," he snarls when I reach him, even as his arms pull me close. "You'll freeze."
"Shut up." I press against him, feeling the fever rage through his body. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have let you- we shouldn't have separated-"
"Worth it." His voice is more wolf than human now. "Needed... needed to give you space..."
"Space is overrated." I tug at him, trying to get him moving toward the cabin. "Come back inside. Please."
"Can't..." He shudders violently. "Can't control it this time. Don't want to hurt-"
"You won't." I grab his face, force him to look at me. "I trust you. Now come inside before we both freeze to death and render all my research meaningless."
We barely make it through the door before another wave hits him. But this one feels different - less painful desperation and more primal need. His eyes flash gold as he kicks the door shut, and something about his stance makes my breath catch.
"You ran from me." His voice is pure growl, but there's a playful edge to it that makes my wolf stir with interest. "Out into a storm. Barefoot."
I back up slowly, suddenly very aware of how little I'm wearing. "I came to help you."
"You ran." He stalks forward, all predatory grace. "What kind of alpha would I be if I didn't chase?"
Understanding hits just as a smile tugs at his lips. This is play - the kind of wolf behavior I've only read about, never experienced. My pulse quickens.
"Pretty poor specimen for your research notes," he continues, matching my retreat step for step. "If I just let my mate run around in the snow without consequences."
The word 'mate' sends heat through my body, but I manage to keep my voice steady. "And what consequences did you have in mind?"
His grin is all fang. "Why don't you run and find out?"
"In this tiny cabin?" But I'm already moving, wolf instincts I didn't know I had taking over. "Not very sporting of you."
"I'll give you a head start." His eyes track my movement, hungry but playful. "Three seconds. One..."
I dart for the bedroom, his laugh following me like a caress.
"Two..."
I make it three steps into the bedroom before his growl sends shivers down my spine.
"Three."
The sound of his pursuit kicks something loose in my chest - some wild, playful thing I've never let myself feel before. I dodge around the bed, laughing as he purposely misses grabbing me.
"Too slow, alpha." The taunt surprises us both, but his responding growl is delighted.
"Getting brave, doctor?" He stalks around the other side of the bed, herding me back toward the main room. "Where's your scientific objectivity now?"
"Studying wolf behavior through practical application." I dart under his reaching arm, thrilling at how he lets me escape. "Field research is very important."
"Is that what we're calling this?" He catches me around the waist but lets me slip free when I squirm. "And what conclusions are you drawing?"
I scramble over the couch, pulse racing from more than exertion. "That you're not trying very hard to catch me."
His laugh is dark honey. "Maybe I like watching you run."
"Maybe you're losing your touch."
That does it. His playful growl turns heated as he vaults the couch. I spin away, but this time when his arms wrap around me, they stay.
"Caught you," he rumbles against my neck.
"You didn't catch anything." I'm breathless, giddy with something that feels dangerously like joy. "I let you catch me."
"Did you now?" His teeth graze the claiming mark. "And why would my very scientific researcher do that?"
I shiver as his mouth traces the claiming bite. "Maybe I'm gathering data on capture responses in alpha wolves."
"Liar." His laugh vibrates against my skin. "Try again."
"Testing theories about pack dynamics?"
His hands slide lower, and my breath catches. "Keep guessing."
"I..." My scientific vocabulary deserts me as he nips gently at my neck. "I forgot the question."
"Good." He turns me in his arms, and the heat in his eyes makes my knees weak. "Now, about those consequences..."
"The fever's making you playful." I try to sound analytical, but it's hard with his scent wrapped around me, with the way my wolf is practically purring. "That's not in any of the documented cases."
"No?" He walks me backward until I hit the wall. "Maybe you need better research methods."
"Logan-"
"For instance," he continues, pressing closer, "have you documented what happens when an alpha catches his mate after she runs barefoot into a storm?"
The word 'mate' still makes my heart stutter, but this time I don't pull away. Can't pull away, not with his body caging mine, his scent making me dizzy.
"That's not... we haven't proven..."
"No more proving." He catches my hands when I reach for him, pins them above my head. "No more documenting. Just feel."
"I don't know how," I whisper.
His smile is wolf wild. "Then let me teach you."
His mouth claims mine, and it's like being consumed by flame. Every nerve ending sparks to life as he presses me into the wall, his grip on my wrists tightening when I try to touch him.
"Not yet," he growls against my lips. "You ran from me. Now you take what I give you."
A whimper escapes me at the command in his voice, the way it settles deep in my bones. He releases my wrists, but I keep them above my head, trembling with the effort of holding still as his hands skim down my arms.
"Good girl," he rumbles, and the praise makes me ache. "You're learning."
His fingers trail over my collarbone, dip beneath the collar of his shirt that I'm wearing. I arch into the touch, seeking more, but he keeps the contact maddeningly light.
"Please," I whisper, not even sure what I'm asking for.
"Please what?" His lips brush the shell of my ear. "Use your words, doctor."
"I don't... I need..."
"Yes, you do." His hands settle on my hips, thumbs stroking the bare skin above my shorts.
"Tell me." His voice is rough velvet, a command and a plea. "Tell me what you need."
"You," I manage, the admission breaking free before I can stop it. "I need you."