Chapter 6
Ali
As they pulled back onto the highway, Ali tried to focus on anything other than the knowing looks from the other convoy members. They'd been driving for an hour, the convoy stretched out behind them in formation, when her phone started buzzing nonstop.
Ali was pretty sure she was going to die from embarrassment.
Not from the claiming—that had been incredible, mind-blowing, everything she'd never known she wanted. No, the embarrassment was coming from the fact that apparently every supernatural within a fifty-mile radius had been able to smell exactly what she and Tim had been doing in the sleeper berth.
"Big Timber," Luna's voice crackled over the CB with barely contained amusement, "congratulations on completing the mate bond. Your scent signature just shifted from 'desperate and territorial' to 'smug and satisfied.' The entire convoy is very happy for you both."
Ali buried her face in her hands. "Kill me now."
Tim's laugh rumbled through his chest as he pulled her closer against his side.
They were dressed now—barely—and sitting in the driver's area while the convoy regrouped at the rest stop.
Through the windshield, Ali could see other truckers giving their rig respectful distance, though several were grinning and giving Tim thumbs up.
"It's normal," Tim said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Supernatural communities celebrate successful matings. It's good news."
"Good news?" Ali's voice came out as a squeak. "They can smell that we had sex. Multiple times. With supernatural stamina."
"Legendary stamina," Bertha's voice chimed in over the radio. "Honey, that boy's been wound tighter than a spring for twenty years. Nobody's surprised he made up for lost time."
"Oh my god." Ali slid lower in the seat, wishing she could disappear entirely.
"Big Timber," came Snowman's deep voice, "we need to move. State patrol units are converging on our position, and someone called in federal backup."
Tim reached for the radio, his voice steady despite their circumstances. "Copy that, Snowman. Form up, everyone. We've got medical supplies to deliver."
As they sped along the highway, Ali tried to focus on anything other than the knowing looks from the other convoy members. Her phone had been buzzing nonstop, and when she finally checked it, her Instagram account was exploding with activity.
"What the hell?" she muttered, scrolling through notifications.
"Problem?" Tim asked, navigating through increasingly heavy traffic.
"My convoy photos are going viral." Ali stared at her phone in disbelief. "This picture of Luna's pack has been shared fifteen thousand times in two hours."
The image showed Luna's trucks maintaining perfect formation, but Ali's magical photography had captured something more—the pack bonds, the family loyalty, the way they moved as one unit despite being in separate vehicles.
The CB crackled with urgent chatter: "Big Timber, this is Luna. We've got news crews setting up at truck stops ahead. Someone leaked our route to the media."
"Shit," Tim muttered. "How much media are we talking about?"
"CNN, Fox News, local affiliates. They're calling us the 'Freedom Convoy' and asking about supernatural civil rights." Luna's voice carried a note of disbelief. "This medical run just became a national news story."
Ali scrolled through the comments on her posts, her anger building as she read the mixture of support and outrage:
"Finally someone documenting real discrimination against supernatural communities."
"My werewolf brother died because he couldn't get proper medication. Thank you for showing people this is real."
"Government corruption at its finest. These supplies belong to the communities that need them."
"Fake news. Monsters don't deserve special treatment."
But it was the call from her editor that made really pissed her off.
"Ali, what the hell have you stumbled into?" Scott Lotus's voice carried excitement and dollar signs. "I've got news outlets calling about your supernatural trucker photos. This could be career-making. But I need interviews, documentation, evidence of systematic discrimination."
"It's not about my career, Marcus."
"Medical discrimination, government corruption, civil rights violations—this is Pulitzer territory. But social media posts aren't enough. I need the real story."
Ali looked at Tim, whose jaw had tightened at the words "interviews" and "evidence." These communities had spent decades staying hidden for their own protection. Her photos had just blown that apart.
"I'll call you back," she said, ending the call.
"Second thoughts?" Tim asked.
"About the mate bond? Never." Ali reached over to touch his thigh, feeling the solid reassurance of him. "About accidentally turning your medical run into a media circus? Maybe a few."
Her phone buzzed again. Sheriff Cottonmouth.
"Don't answer it," Tim said.
"He'll just keep calling." Ali put it on speaker. "Hello, Sheriff."
"Alison, what in the hell do you think you're doing?" Cottonmouth's voice carried cold fury. "I've got news crews calling my office asking about corruption in medical supply enforcement. This is exactly the kind of attention-seeking behavior that ruins families."
"That documents the truth?" Ali interrupted.
"You're traveling with criminals, making our family look like fools on national television. That creature you're with has a history of violence."
"His name is Tim, and he's never hurt anyone." Ali's magic crackled around her with protective anger.
"He's a seven-foot cryptid who refuses to register with authorities. That makes him dangerous."
"Registration isn't required," Tim said calmly. "Supernatural citizens have constitutional rights."
"Stay out of this, McGraw. I'm talking to my stepdaughter."
"Actually," Ali said, surprising herself with her boldness, "anything you want to say to me, you can say in front of my mate."
The word hung in the air like a declaration of war. Tim's surprise and pleasure flooded through their new bond, making Ali's magic purr with satisfaction.
"Mate?" Cottonmouth's voice dropped to dangerous levels. "Alison, your mother would be horrified."
"My mother would be proud that I finally have someone who sees me as strong instead of broken."
"This is going to end badly. These people have made powerful enemies. Come home now, before you get hurt."
Ali looked at Tim, at the convoy around them, at the growing number of civilian vehicles joining their procession. For the first time in her life, she was exactly where she belonged.
"I am home," she said firmly.
She ended the call and immediately turned her phone off.
"You okay?" Tim asked.
"Better than okay." Ali leaned over to kiss his cheek, breathing in his pine-and-musk scent that now carried traces of her own magic. "I'm free."
The CB erupted with Luna's urgent voice: "All units, we've got a situation. Civilian supporters are organizing online. They're calling it 'Rolling Thunder for Medical Freedom.' Estimated five hundred vehicles planning to join us at the state border."
Ali stared out the windshield as their small medical convoy became something much larger. Cars, pickup trucks, and motorcycles were falling in behind them—ordinary people who understood that denying medical care was wrong, regardless of species.
"Think we're still just delivering insulin?" she asked Tim.
"No," he admitted. "But maybe it needed to be bigger."
"Big Timber," Bertha's voice crackled over the radio, "I've got my mobile kitchen fired up and three of my dragon cousins running supply support. If we're making a statement, we might as well feed everyone properly."
"Copy that, Bertha. Appreciate the support."
Ali grabbed the radio. "Bertha, what's dragon fire barbecue sauce like?"
"Honey, it'll either cure what ails you or put you in the ground. No in-between."
Tim's laughter rumbled through the cab. "Fair warning—dragon fire sauce is an experience. Most humans can't handle more than a drop."
"Most humans aren't mated to legends," Ali replied, then blushed at her own boldness.
"No," Tim agreed, his voice dropping to that possessive rumble that had her nipples hardening. "They're not."
The CB interrupted their moment: "Big Timber, this is Snowman. We've got law enforcement mobilizing across three states. Someone's coordinating a massive response to stop this convoy."
"Cottonmouth?" Tim asked.
"Bigger than Cottonmouth. This looks federal."
The truck accelerated as Tim's foot pressed harder on the accelerator. Around them, the convoy tightened formation, supernatural truckers and civilian supporters alike preparing for whatever came next.
"Any second thoughts now?" Tim asked.
Ali looked at the growing procession in her mirrors, thought about the werewolf children who needed insulin, about her Cottonmouth's corruption, about spending her whole life avoiding conflict.
"About standing up to Cottonmouth? No." She squeezed his hand. "About accidentally turning your medical run into a national incident? Maybe a few."
Tim's laugh was rough around the edges. "Too late for second thoughts now."
"Good," Ali said, surprising herself with how much she meant it. "I'm tired of playing it safe."
The CB crackled with Luna's voice, but this time it carried real urgency: "Big Timber, we've got visual on roadblocks ahead. Fairweather County Sheriff units are setting up a checkpoint at the state line. Looks like they're coordinating with federal agencies."
Tim's knuckles went white on the steering wheel. "Copy that, Luna. How many units are we talking about?"
"At least twenty patrol cars, plus what looks like federal vehicles. And Big Timber? I'm seeing someone with a bullhorn who's built like a grizzly bear and looks madder than hell."
Ali and Tim exchanged glances. Through their mate bond, she could feel his tension creep upwards.
"That would be Sheriff Grizzley T. Lawman," Tim said grimly. "Grizz is a good sheriff when he's thinking for himself, but if Cottonmouth convinced him we're criminals..."
"He'll throw everything he's got at stopping us," Ali finished.
The radio erupted with chatter as convoy members spotted the roadblock. Behind them, Rolling Thunder for Medical Freedom stretched for miles—hundreds of vehicles that had joined their cause. Ahead of them, law enforcement was preparing for what looked like the confrontation of the decade.
"Big Timber," Luna's voice cut through the chaos, "whatever we're gonna do, we better decide fast. That roadblock's got enough firepower to stop an army."
Tim reached for Ali's hand, lacing their fingers together. "You still with me?"
Before Ali could answer, a booming voice echoed across the CB frequency—loud, authoritative, and absolutely furious:
"This is Sheriff Grizzley T. Lawman, and I got myself a convoy of scum-suckin' degenerates haulin' illegal contraband through my jurisdiction.
Now you listen up, Big Timber, you hairy sumbitch—you and your gang of criminal associates got exactly five minutes to pull them rigs over and surrender yourselves for arrest. And if you think you can outrun the Fairweather County Sheriff's Department, you got another think comin', because I am gonna pursue your sorry asses from here to the Pacific Ocean if I have to.
There is no way, and I mean NO WAY, you're gonna make Sheriff Grizzley T.
Lawman look like some bush-league amateur in front of his fellow law enforcement officers.
So what's it gonna be, boy—you gonna do this the easy way, or am I gonna have to get creative with my roadblock procedures? "
As they approached Grizz's roadblock, Ali pressed her palms together and whispered a scattering hex - nothing harmful, just enough magical interference to make coordination impossible.
Radio signals would cross, deputies would suddenly needed bathroom breaks, and their engines would mysteriously stall.
Tim glanced at her, sensing the spell, and she smiled innocently.