5. Chapter 5 #2
"And the defensive positions?" Suzuki asked. "The anti-air emplacements, the reserve force?"
"Implement them. You and Tucker coordinate. Rivera provides intelligence support. I want defensive positions fortified within forty-eight hours."
Tucker nodded. "Sir."
Suzuki's eyes held Gunner's. Professional. Controlled. But her scent was screaming—arousal, submission, the biological need for alpha approval. Her nipples were hard under the tactical vest. Her breathing had changed, faster and shallower.
She was fighting it. Losing.
Isabella saw everything. Her expression was unreadable, but Gunner could smell her assessment. Pack Second, cataloguing threats and opportunities. Suzuki was both.
"Dismissed," Gunner said. "Forty-eight hours. Make it count."
The room emptied. Commanders dispersing to implement orders. Suzuki was the last to leave, gathering her tablet, movements precise and controlled.
When she passed Gunner, close enough to touch, her scent spiked. Sharp. Desperate.
She kept walking. Didn't look back.
But her body had already made its choice.
1147 HOURS — COMMAND CENTE
Isabella stayed after everyone else left. Storm was with Emma, giving Isabella tactical freedom.
She stood at the window, watching Suzuki cross the yard below. The commander moved with military efficiency, spine straight, shoulders back. Professional from the outside.
But Isabella could see the tension. The way Suzuki's hands kept clenching. The way she walked just slightly faster than necessary, like she was trying to outrun something.
"She wants you," Isabella said quietly.
Gunner joined her at the window. "I know."
"Her body's fighting her brain. She's losing." Isabella turned to face him. "I give her three days. Maybe four. Then she'll break. She'll find a reason to be alone with you, and her control will snap."
"We might not have three days."
"Then you take her sooner." Isabella's expression was unreadable. "But when you do, there are rules."
"Rules?"
"Pack rules." Isabella's voice was flat. Serious. "Suzuki's not Gabriela. She's not broken and desperate. She's not grateful for rescue. She's a commander. Military. Used to control. When you claim her—not if, when—it has to be complete submission. No negotiation. No compromise."
Gunner studied her. "You're worried she'll try to join halfway."
"I've seen women try it before. Want the protection and breeding without surrendering authority.
It fractures hierarchy. Makes everyone uncertain of their place.
" Isabella stepped closer. "She's valuable tactically.
I know that. But valuable doesn't mean she gets special rules.
She submits to you completely, accepts pack hierarchy, answers to Tasha and me as her superiors, or she stays a military ally and nothing more. "
"You want to establish dominance before I claim her."
"I want her to understand what she's asking for when her body finally wins.
" Isabella's eyes were hard. "Because it will win.
Biology always does. And when she comes to you—and she will come to you—I want her begging.
I want her desperate. I want her so far past her control that she accepts every condition without question. "
Gunner's mouth curved slightly. "You're enjoying this."
"I'm protecting pack structure." Isabella's voice softened just slightly.
"But yes. I'm enjoying watching an Air Force commander discover that military discipline doesn't mean shit when you're standing next to an apex male.
She's been fighting it since she walked through the gate.
Thighs pressed together, nipples hard, pulse racing.
I can smell how wet she is from across the room. "
"So can I."
"Then you know she's close." Isabella looked back out the window. Suzuki had stopped to talk with Tucker, posture perfect, voice probably controlled and professional. "Three days. Maybe less. Her cycle's shifting toward fertile—I can smell it. Spring's coming early for her."
She paused. Turned back to Gunner.
"When you take her, I want to watch. Not the whole thing. Just enough to make sure she understands pack dynamics. Make sure she knows I'm Pack Second and she answers to me." Isabella's smile was predatory. "And because I want to see what breaks first—her Air Force discipline or her pussy."
"My money's on her pussy," Gunner said.
"Mine too." Isabella walked past him toward the door.
Stopped. Looked back. Isabella's expression shifted.
Softer. Almost affectionate. "She'll be good for us.
Once she breaks. Air Force tactical thinking, pilot reflexes, command experience.
Pack Sixth will strengthen the hierarchy, not weaken it. But only if she submits completely."
"She will."
"I know." Isabella opened the door. "Because you're the apex. And biology doesn't negotiate."
She left.
Gunner stayed at the window, watching the settlement below. Twelve hundred people. Four hundred fighters. Ten days until Voss arrived.
And a commander whose body was three days away from complete surrender.
The equation was changing.
The question was whether they'd survive long enough to solve it.