The Runaway Alpha's Feral Mate

Dr. Liam Blackwood's lecture on "Cryptozoological Anomalies in North American Wilderness Areas" had the packed auditorium hanging on his every word. Not just because Pacific Northwest University's star crypto-biologist had a voice that commanded attention, but because everyone suspected he knew more than he was telling. "Consider the consistent witness reports from the Olympic Peninsula," Liam said, clicking to a slide showing thermal imaging patterns. "These heat signatures don't match any known predator species. Too large for wolves, movement patterns inconsistent with bears." He paused, scanning the audience with eyes that seemed to catch the light strangely – a trick of the auditorium's poor lighting, students often said, though none could explain the momentary gold flicker that sometimes appeared when he grew passionate about a topic. "The scientific community's dismissal of these accounts as 'mass hallucination' or 'tourist hysteria' fails to explain why isolated witnesses, separated by decades, describe identical behavioral patterns and vocalizations." In the back row, Agent Peterson from the Office of Otherkind Affairs scribbled notes furiously. Three months of surveillance, and he still couldn't decide if Dr. Blackwood was deliberately skirting classified information or merely an academic with dangerous curiosity. "Questions?" Liam's casual lean against the podium was practiced nonchalance – eight years of perfecting his human mannerisms, of burying the Alpha werewolf beneath tweed jackets with leather elbow patches and carefully tousled hair that suggested intellectual distraction rather than predatory awareness. A hand shot up from the third row. Megan Winters – painfully earnest, relentlessly inquisitive, and blessed with the unfortunate ability to always ask the one question Liam least wanted to answer. "Dr. Blackwood, you've documented similarities between these unidentified predators and regulated Otherkind species, specifically Class Three werewolves. Are you suggesting there might be unregistered werewolf populations in protected wilderness?" The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees. Agent Peterson's pen stopped mid-stroke, eyes narrowing as he waited for the response. Suggesting unregistered Otherkind populations was dangerously close to implying government containment failures – a topic that had ended more than one academic career. Liam's smile never faltered, though something ancient and feral stirred behind his carefully maintained expression. "An excellent question deserving of a nuanced answer," he replied, slipping into what students called his 'Professor Voice' – authoritative yet conversational, designed to feel intimate even in a room of hundreds. "The morphological similarities are undeniable, but the documented abilities exceed anything in the official Otherkind classification system. My hypothesis leans toward either an undocumented subspecies or evolutionary adaptations in isolated populations." He glanced at his watch, expression apologetic. "That's all we have time for today. Readings are posted online. Don't forget your analysis papers are due Friday." As students filed out, chattering excitedly about cryptids and government cover-ups, Department Chair Helen Zhao appeared in the doorway, arms crossed over her impeccable pantsuit. "Walking the line again, I see," she said, once they were alone. "Peterson's eye was twitching throughout that werewolf exchange." Liam shrugged, gathering his materials. "I stayed firmly within academic speculation. Nothing I said contradicts official records." "It's what you implied that has the Dean fielding calls from the OOA again." Helen's sigh carried the weight of administrative battles fought on his behalf. "They're concerned about the 'potentially destabilizing implications' of your research." "Facts don't care about political implications," Liam countered, though he appreciated Helen's warnings. She was one of the few humans he almost trusted – a fierce defender of academic freedom who had no idea she was protecting a werewolf hiding in plain sight. His phone vibrated – unknown Alaskan number. He frowned, immediately alert. His carefully constructed identity meant few unexpected calls came his way. "Need to take this," he told Helen, already moving toward privacy. "Just... be careful, Liam," she said, concern evident in her voice. "You're irreplaceable to this department." Once alone in his office, he answered, tension coiling between his shoulders. "Dr. Blackwood speaking." "Liam. Thank God." The voice sent a jolt of recognition – Dr. Eleanor Voss, former colleague who'd vanished into a classified government position two years ago. "I need your expertise immediately. How soon can you get to the Arctic Research Facility in Utqiagvik?" Liam's grip tightened on the phone. Eleanor was brilliant but conventional – her abrupt departure for government work had raised questions she'd deflected with practiced vagueness about "unique research opportunities." "I'm mid-semester, Eleanor. Whatever you've found—" "We've captured something impossible," she interrupted, voice dropping to a whisper that vibrated with poorly concealed excitement. "Female, canid morphology when shifted, but unlike any documented werewolf species. Four times normal size in wolf form. Genetic markers completely anomalous." Every muscle in Liam's body locked in place as ancient knowledge stirred in his bones. Four times normal size. His grandfather's stories around pack fires danced through his memory – legends older than written history, dismissed as myths even among werewolves. Direwolf. "There's more," Eleanor continued, tension evident despite her hushed tone. "Temperature anomalies whenever she's agitated. Localized freezing. The containment team is calling it cryokinesis, but that's not in any Otherkind classification." Frost abilities. The most distinctive direwolf trait in all the old legends – command over winter itself. "I'll be on the next flight," Liam heard himself say, mind already calculating what he would need. "Send facility details to this number. And Eleanor?" "Yes?" "Don't tell anyone else you've contacted me. Say you're bringing in an outside consultant with relevant expertise, but keep my name out of it until I arrive." "That's... irregular protocol," she said slowly. "So is discovering an undocumented canid subspecies with cryokinetic capabilities," he countered smoothly. "I need to examine your findings without preconceptions from other researchers." The real reason churned in his gut: if this creature was what he suspected, every government agency with an interest in Otherkind would descend on that facility like vultures. He needed to get there first. After ending the call, Liam stood motionless, the façade of his carefully constructed human life suddenly suffocating. Eight years of meticulous distance from Otherkind politics. Eight years of burying his wolf so deeply that some days he almost forgot the monster lurking beneath his skin. Eight years of purposeful isolation from anything that might reopen the wound where his mate-bond had been violently severed. All potentially undone by a single phone call. His phone buzzed again—a text from Eleanor with flight details and a heavily redacted facility overview. One line sent ice through his veins: "Subject currently restrained with silver-alloy containment system due to extreme aggression and unusual abilities." They had her in silver – the most painful substance for any werewolf, causing burns on contact and agony with prolonged exposure. Worse for Alphas, nearly unbearable for a creature of legend. Within thirty minutes, Liam had cancelled his classes, packed a single carry-on, and composed an email to Helen citing a family emergency. The lies came easily after years of practice. The difficult part was suppressing the howl building in his chest—the first stirring of his wolf in nearly a decade. As his rideshare pulled away from faculty housing, he caught a glimpse of himself in the rearview mirror. For a split second, his eyes flashed gold – the unmistakable sign of an Alpha responding to a threat or challenge. He blinked, and they were back to ordinary hazel, but the message was clear. His wolf, long dormant, was waking up. *** The Arctic Research Facility squatted on the tundra like a massive steel tick—all angles and reinforced walls with few windows, surrounded by security fences topped with silver-infused razor wire. Liam felt the metal's presence as a vague discomfort even from the military helicopter that delivered him from Utqiagvik's small airport. "Impressive setup," he remarked to the stone-faced security officer who'd greeted him. The wind whipped across the open ground, carrying scents of machinery, humans, and something else—something wild and cold and ancient that made his nostrils flare involuntarily. "Newest containment technology," the officer replied with rehearsed pride. "Silver-core infrastructure with electromagnetic pulse capabilities. Nothing walks out of here without authorization." We'll see about that, Liam thought grimly, following the man through a series of security checkpoints. Each one included silver-detection technology—ostensibly to prevent weapons from entering, but equally effective at identifying any werewolf carrying trace silver poisoning. Liam had been careful to avoid all contact with the metal for months, knowing his academic work might eventually lead him to restricted facilities. Eleanor was waiting in a sterile conference room, pacing with nervous energy. The past two years had aged her a decade—deep shadows beneath her eyes, premature gray threading through her dark hair, and the slightly too-rapid heartbeat of someone living on caffeine and stress. "Liam," she breathed, relief evident in her voice. "Thank you for coming so quickly." He set down his bag, studying her with narrowed eyes. "Where is she?" Eleanor blinked at his directness. "Don't you want to review the data first? We have extensive scans, tissue samples, behavioral observations—" "I want to see her," Liam interrupted, keeping his voice gentle but firm. "Everything else can wait." Something flickered across Eleanor's face—hesitation, perhaps, or concern. She stepped closer, lowering her voice despite the room's supposed security. "She's not what any of us expected, Liam. Highly aggressive. Unresponsive to standard communication protocols. We've had to keep her partially sedated to prevent self-injury from fighting the restraints." The wolf inside him growled. Silver restraints and sedatives—a combination that could kill even the strongest of his kind over time. "How long have you had her?" "Three days. A military patrol found her caught in a silver trap in sector seven—restricted wilderness where unauthorized Otherkind activity had been reported." Eleanor led him into the hallway, swiping her access card at a heavy security door. "She was already injured when they found her—extensive silver poisoning from the trap. But her healing abilities are... remarkable. Unlike anything in our database." They descended in an elevator marked for sublevel containment—maximum security for the most dangerous subjects. The scent grew stronger with each floor they descended: pine and frost and something electric, like the air before a lightning strike. Beneath it all, unmistakable pain. Eleanor kept glancing at him, a furrow between her brows. Finally, she spoke, voice hesitant. "Liam, may I ask you something... unusual?" He maintained his neutral expression. "Of course." "Have you ever been tested for Otherkind sensitivity?" The question carried dangerous implications. Some humans possessed genetic markers allowing them to sense Otherkind presence—a trait the government actively recruited for security positions. It also meant Eleanor might be picking up something from him. "Standard university screening showed negative results," he lied smoothly. "Why?" "It's just..." She searched his face. "Sometimes when I'm around you, I get the same feeling I get around her. A sort of... pressure. Like standing too close to high-voltage lines." Liam raised an eyebrow, maintaining his academic demeanor despite internal alarm bells. "Fascinating. Perhaps a physiological response to individuals with certain pheromone patterns? Might explain why some researchers develop rapport with specific subjects." Eleanor didn't look convinced, but the elevator doors opened before she could press further. "The observation room is through here," she said, gesturing to a doorway. "We can monitor all vitals and—" "I need to see her directly," Liam stated, allowing a hint of authority to color his words. "That's against protocol for unclassified personnel." "Then classify me," he said simply. "Or I leave now and publish my suspicions about what you've actually found here." An empty threat—he'd never endanger a captive werewolf by exposing her existence—but Eleanor didn't know that. She wavered visibly before sighing in defeat. "You'll need to sign liability waivers. And you can't go in alone—at least two security officers must accompany any interaction." "Fine," Liam agreed, already moving toward the containment area doors. "But they keep their distance, and no weapons." The negotiation continued through more checkpoints and waivers until Eleanor led him to a heavy door marked "Primary Containment." "One more thing," she said, hand hesitating over the access panel. Her expression softened into something that surprised him—compassion. "I know most of the team views her as a specimen or potential weapon, but... there's intelligence there, Liam. Awareness. Sometimes when I'm alone in the observation room, I swear she's studying me as much as I'm studying her." This unexpected empathy from a government scientist intrigued him. "You sound like you care what happens to her." "I do," Eleanor admitted quietly. "That's why I called you instead of letting the military bring in their own experts. Your papers on ethical approaches to cryptid research... they suggest you might see her as more than just a biological anomaly." The revelation shifted his perception of Eleanor. Perhaps she wasn't merely a conventional scientist who'd taken a classified position. Perhaps she had her own agenda. The door slid open, revealing a large circular chamber divided by transparent walls—observation areas surrounding a central containment space furnished only with a simple cot and basic necessities. The silver in the walls was evident from the faint metallic sheen, a constant low-grade torture for any werewolf trapped inside. And there she was. Liam's breath caught in his throat. She sat cross-legged on the floor rather than the cot, back straight, eyes closed in apparent meditation. In human form, she appeared to be in her late twenties, with copper skin and straight black hair that fell unbound to her waist. Her features suggested Alaskan Native ancestry—high cheekbones, slightly slanted eyes, full lips pressed into a tight line of endurance. The silver collar around her neck was an abomination—a high-tech suppression device embedded with sensors and control mechanisms. Even from a distance, Liam could see the angry red burns where it contacted her skin, wounds that tried to heal and were immediately damaged again in an endless cycle of pain. She wore standard facility-issued clothing—gray sweatpants and a loose T-shirt that did little to hide her lithe, muscular physique. Her bare feet were planted firmly on the ground, as if drawing strength from the connection to earth despite the artificial flooring. Most humans would see an exotic, beautiful woman with an air of dignity despite her captivity. Liam saw something else entirely. Power. Ancient, primal power barely contained in human form, like a storm cloud compressed into a bottle. The energy radiating from her made his skin prickle and his wolf stir in recognition. "Can she hear us?" Liam asked quietly. "The chamber is soundproofed," Eleanor replied. "We can observe without—" The woman's eyes snapped open. Liam's heart stuttered in his chest. Her eyes were the silver-white of arctic frost, with pupils that contracted to vertical slits as they fixed directly on him—impossible through soundproof walls, yet undeniable in their focus. She tilted her head, nostrils flaring widely as if catching his scent despite the barriers. Her lips pulled back, not quite a smile but a predatory display of teeth. She rose in one fluid motion, approaching the glass with animal-like grace. "I need to go in there," Liam said, already moving toward the inner door. Eleanor grabbed his arm. "Liam, wait." Her eyes searched his, something like realization dawning in their depths. "Your heart rate just spiked. The monitors—" She glanced at a display showing his vitals, then back at him with growing wariness. "What's happening between you two?" For a moment, he considered maintaining the deception. But Eleanor's earlier compassion toward the captive suggested she might be an ally rather than an obstacle. "Trust me," he said simply, holding her gaze. "I can reach her in ways your researchers can't." Eleanor studied him, conflict evident on her face. Whatever she was sensing from him—whatever her Otherkind sensitivity was telling her—she was fighting against scientific protocol to believe it. "If I let you in there," she said finally, "and something happens... promise me you'll protect her as much as yourself." The request startled him with its implicit understanding. Eleanor didn't know what he was, but she suspected enough to make this specific demand. "I promise," he said, and meant it. She nodded once, then pressed her palm against the biometric scanner. The inner door slid open with a pneumatic hiss. The security officers raised tranquilizer guns, but Eleanor gestured for them to lower the weapons. "Observation only," she ordered. "No intervention unless Dr. Blackwood signals for help." The door sealed behind him, leaving Liam alone in the chamber with a creature out of legend. Up close, her presence was overwhelming—a tangible pressure against his senses that made the hair on his arms stand on end. The collar around her neck hummed with suppressive technology, yet power leaked through like light around edges of a door. The temperature in the room had dropped noticeably, frost patterns forming where her bare feet touched the floor. For several heartbeats, they simply regarded each other in silence. Then, Liam did something he hadn't done in eight years. He deliberately lowered his human defenses, allowing his Alpha nature to surface just enough to be recognizable to another of his kind. Not a shift—not even a partial one—but a subtle change in his energy signature, like a radio suddenly broadcasting on a frequency only she could hear. The woman's eyes widened, silver irises brightening until they seemed to glow from within. She inhaled deeply, a low rumbling sound emerging from her chest—not quite a growl, but primal recognition. She circled him slowly, her movements more animal than human despite her bipedal form. "Wer-ūlfaz," she growled, the ancient Proto-Germanic term sounding like it was torn from her throat. She jabbed a finger at his chest, then tapped her own. "Grah-khul." She sniffed the air again, then made a gesture of hiding or covering, followed by a questioning head tilt and a frustrated growl. Liam inclined his head slightly—not quite submission, but acknowledgment. "As do you," he said softly, gesturing to the silver collar. Her lips curled back in a snarl. She clawed at the collar, making a sound of pure hatred, then pointed toward the observation window with a vicious stabbing motion. She took a step closer, movement liquid and predatory despite her restraints. Another step. The frost patterns followed her feet, spreading across the floor between them like crystalline ferns. "Cub," she said suddenly, the word rough and accented. She made a cradling motion with her arms, then pointed at her own body. "Take." Her hands pantomimed something being ripped away. "Kova." She placed her hand over her heart, eyes fierce with maternal rage. She tilted her head, studying Liam's reaction with predatory intensity, then jabbed her finger toward him. "Help?" The single word carried the weight of a challenge. The question—direct, unadorned with pleasantries or manipulation—hit Liam like a physical blow. Eight years of careful isolation from Otherkind politics. Eight years of burying his grief beneath academic pursuits. Eight years of swearing never to risk his heart again. All undone by that single word and the memories it evoked: Victoria's eyes as she bled out in his arms. The terrible stillness where their child's heartbeat should have been. The promise he'd made to a dying woman—Protect them. Not just our pack. All of them. A promise he'd failed to keep, running from pain instead of facing it. The woman watched him with ancient eyes that seemed to read every thought crossing his face. She reached up with one graceful hand, fingers brushing the silver collar that bound her power. A low growl rumbled from her chest, then she pointed at the collar and made a crushing motion. Next, she pointed at Liam, mimicked typing on a keyboard, and made the same crushing gesture. "Small," she grunted, pinching her fingers together to illustrate. "You." She pointed at him. "Me." She tapped her chest. "Small." The pinching gesture again. Something cracked in Liam's chest—a fissure in the ice he'd packed around his heart. Before he could formulate a response, movement in the observation area caught his attention. Eleanor was watching intently, eyes wide with realization as she observed their interaction. Unlike the security officers whose hands hovered near their weapons, her expression held no fear—only wonder and confirmation of suspicions long held. Looking back at the silver-eyed woman before him, Liam made a decision that would unravel eight years of careful anonymity. "What are you?" he asked, though he already suspected the answer. Her smile was more of a predatory baring of teeth. She drew herself up, frost swirling around her feet, and placed both hands on her chest. "Akira," she said, the name carrying the weight of ancient power. She growled something in her native tongue that sounded like cracking ice, then found the English word: "Direwolf." She stalked closer, movements entirely predatory now. Her nose almost touched his as she inhaled his scent deeply. Her silver eyes locked with his, and she placed one frost-tipped finger in the center of his chest. "Mine," she growled, the single word unmistakable in its meaning. In the observation room, Eleanor's finger hovered over the security alert button. Their eyes met through the glass, an unspoken question passing between them. After a moment's hesitation, her hand moved away from the button, a deliberate choice that would change everything. The containment room door remained closed, the alarms silent. For now, they had time. But Liam barely registered this unexpected reprieve. His world had narrowed to the impossible woman before him and the single, devastating truth her presence represented: the Moon had given him a second mate. A direwolf. A creature of legend. And with her, a second chance to keep the promise he'd made eight years ago. A chance that would require him to become once more the thing he'd spent eight years denying: An Alpha.