- Lucas POV)
The safehouse roof felt colder after Raika pulled her hand away. The warehouse wasn't glowing anymore, just sitting there like a giant, evil toaster oven that had malfunctioned spectacularly. Silence hung thick, broken only by distant city sounds and my own heartbeat thumping way too loud in my ears. We hadn't just sent a message; we'd basically microwaved an entire crew. My stomach churned.
Raika stood frozen, staring at the dark shape. Her face was pale in the moonlight, all the fierce fire from before replaced by something… hollow. "Monsters," she whispered, the word barely there.
I fumbled for the flask in my coat pocket, the cheap whiskey inside suddenly seeming like the best idea ever. "Partners," I managed, my voice rough. "Not friends." It sounded dumb even to me. What kind of partnership involved turning people into crispy critters?
She didn't look at me. "No," she breathed, still staring at the warehouse. "Not friends." She swallowed hard. "That was… messed up. Seriously messed up." There it was. Less 'monsters', more 'teenager who just realized the science fair volcano project was way too realistic'.
I unscrewed the flask. "Clean, though," I offered weakly, taking a swig. The cheap burn barely registered. "No big explosion, no cops swarming… just a really, really bad electrical fire. Totally believable. Sam's already got the power company records glitching." I tried for nonchalant. Failed miserably.
Raika finally tore her gaze away, turning to me with wide, slightly shell-shocked eyes. "Believable? Lucas, we heard them! For like, half a second! That wasn't clean, that was…" She trailed off, searching for the word, gesturing vaguely at the warehouse. "That was barbecue."
"Hey," I protested, handing her the flask. She took it automatically. "It was efficient. And it worked. Goldfish is probably changing his gang-sign right about now." I tried a smirk. It felt crooked.
She took a tentative sip, then coughed, eyes watering. "Aish, what is this? Paint thinner?" She shoved the flask back at me, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "And 'efficient'? Is that your go-to word for everything awful? 'Oh, that genocide was very efficient, minimal paperwork'?"
"Okay, okay, point taken," I grumbled, taking another swig just to spite her (and maybe steady my own nerves). "It was brutal. It was gross. But it was necessary. Hansel wasn't gonna stop, Raika. He was gunning for my business, sniffing around yours… he was gonna start a war we didn't need. This way…" I gestured again, lamely. "This way, it's over fast. One really, really bad night for the Gorflinos, and now everyone else gets the memo: mess with the new combo meal, get microwaved."
She shivered, pulling her jacket tighter. "Combo meal? Seriously? You're comparing our terrifying supernatural alliance to a value menu?" Despite everything, a tiny, reluctant snort escaped her. "God, you're such a dork sometimes."
"Hey! Strategic dork," I corrected, feeling a weird flicker of relief at the insult. Normalcy. Kind of. "And your 'ghost lights'? That was pretty slick. Confused the heck out of those sensors."
She shrugged, trying for casual, but I saw a flicker of pride in her eyes. "Eh, basic kitsune stuff. Creating a little heat mirage? Pfft. Child's play. You should see what I can do with a Bunsen burner." She paused, then added, almost grudgingly, "Your guy Sam… he really is scary good with the tech stuff. Locking it down that tight?"
"The Hive doesn't mess around," I said, puffing my chest out a bit. "Sam could probably hack the moon if it had Wi-Fi. Donny seeing that patrol coming was clutch too." I glanced at her. "Leslie moves like a ghost. Barely rustled a pebble."
"She's the best," Raika said simply, a hint of warmth in her voice for her beta. Then she looked back at the warehouse, the shadow returning to her face. "Lochlan almost screwed it up, though. Fumbling with that charge at Alpha Point. I swear, if he'd tripped the sensor..."
"Hey, he set it, didn't he?" I nudged her shoulder lightly with mine. "Cut the kid some slack. First time roasting jackals via remote control is stressful. I think Donny almost swallowed his gum when he saw that patrol rounding the corner."
Raika actually cracked a small, tired smile. "Yeah, I heard his little gasp over the comms. 'Patrol closing… forty-five seconds visual…' He sounded like he was announcing the apocalypse." She mimicked Donny's usually calm voice pitching slightly higher. "Leslie practically teleported to Beta after that."
We stood there for a moment, shoulder to shoulder now, the shared dark humor a fragile bridge over the horror below. The weird pull was still there, that electric hum under the skin, but it felt less like a live wire and more like… static cling. Annoying, but familiar.
Leslie's voice crackled over Raika's comm unit, sounding way too normal. "Yo, Rai. We're clear. Heading back to the Den. Lochlan is currently trying to convince Evelyn he 'meant' to trip over that pipe. Total fail."
Raika rolled her eyes, pressing the comm button. "Copy that. Tell him if he whines about bruised shins, I'll give him matching ones. Good work, Les. Evelyn, keep him from face-planting again." She released the button. "See? Monsters."
"Teenage monsters with bruised shins and tech support," I amended. My own comm buzzed – Sam confirming digital cleanup was underway, all traces vanishing like smoke. I relayed it to Raika. "Sam's scrubbing the internet. Guardian will handle the 'oh no, tragic industrial accident' story. Just another Tuesday in Portland."
She sighed, a long, weary sound. "Right. Because spontaneously combusting warehouses are totally normal." She turned to face me fully. "So. Debrief tomorrow? Gotta figure out how to spin 'we incinerated a gang' into a positive talking point for Aunt Kaia."
"Probably emphasize the 'preventing a bigger war' angle," I suggested. "And the whole 'terrifying efficiency' thing. She likes efficiency."
"She likes results," Raika corrected. "And scared rivals." She looked me up and down, a faint, almost imperceptible flush rising on her neck. "You look like crap, by the way. That jacket is doing nothing for you in this cold."
I looked down at my admittedly worn leather jacket. "Hey, it's classic! And it breathes! Unlike whatever fancy armor you've got under that coat." I poked her shoulder lightly again. She didn't pull away. "You look… cold. And kinda pale. Which, you know, fair after tonight."
"Shut up," she muttered, but there was no heat in it. She shoved her hands deep into her pockets. "We should go. Standing here staring at our handiwork is getting morbid. And I need about a gallon of hot chocolate. The super sugary kind. With marshmallows. Like, all the marshmallows."
"Now that's a plan I can get behind," I grinned, feeling a genuine flicker of warmth that had nothing to do with hellfire. "Race you to the car? Loser buys the marshmallows?"
She scoffed, already heading for the roof door. "In these heels? Please. You wish you could keep up, Langston." But there was a lightness in her step that hadn't been there before. As I followed her down, the image of the dark warehouse lingered, but it was overlaid with the absurdity of Lochlan tripping, Donny's near-panic, and the promise of excessive marshmallows. We were partners in something terrifying, yeah. But maybe, just maybe, we weren't only monsters. Maybe we were also just two freaked-out teenagers trying to navigate a seriously messed-up world, one incinerated gang at a time. And hey, at least she hadn't called me 'Alpha Jerkface' in the last five minutes. Progress.
(Part 2 - Raika POV)
Ugh. Marshmallows. Why did I say marshmallows? It sounded so… childish. Standing next to Lucas Langston, Alpha of the Inferno Pack, orchestrator of supernatural cremation, and I was babbling about sugary fluff. Smooth, Rai. Real smooth.
I practically fled down the stairs from the roof, the cold metal railing a shock against my palm. Anything to get away from the sight of that warehouse and the weird, tingling warmth where his shoulder had bumped mine. Twice. What was that about? Probably just residual energy from the whole fire-merging thing. Had to be. It wasn't… anything else. Definitely not.
His voice followed me down. "Race you to the car? Loser buys the marshmallows?" Stupid. Cocky. Annoyingly… kinda charming in a dorky way. No! Not charming! Annoying! I focused on the stairs.
"In these heels? Please. You wish you could keep up, Langston," I tossed back, forcing a scoff. My heart was doing this weird fluttery thing. Adrenaline crash. Obviously. It had nothing to do with the way his grin had looked under the crappy roof light, all sharp angles and tired eyes. Or how his stupid, worn leather jacket actually looked kinda cool against the city lights. Stop it!
We piled into his stupidly expensive, stupidly armored SUV. Greg drove. Donny rode shotgun, already looking half-asleep. Lucas slid into the back beside me. The car felt too small suddenly. He smelled like cold night air, cheap whiskey, and… something else. Something warm and earthy, like pine needles after rain. Focus on the marshmallows, Ayame.
"So," Lucas stretched, his arm brushing mine again. I stiffened. "Where does one acquire a truly excessive amount of marshmallows at this hour?"
"24-hour grocery store on 5th," I mumbled, staring out the window at the passing streetlights. "They have the jumbo bags. The really jumbo ones."
"Jumbo marshmallows," Lucas mused. "A vital strategic resource for post-incineration operations." He nudged me gently with his elbow. "See? Efficient and prepared."
I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my brain. "Oh my god, stop saying 'efficient'. You sound like my Aunt Kaia's spreadsheet." I finally looked at him. He was grinning, that infuriating, lopsided grin that made his hazel eyes crinkle at the corners. He looked… younger. Less like the scary Alpha who just microwaved a gang, more like… well, an eighteen-year-old guy who needed sleep and sugar. It was disarming. Annoyingly so.
"Fine, fine," he chuckled, holding up his hands in surrender. "Not efficient. How about… 'maximally sugary'? Or 'optimally fluffy'?"
"Worse!" I laughed despite myself. It felt weird, laughing after… that. But good weird. "Just say 'lots'. Lots of marshmallows."
"Deal," he said, his smile softening. "Lots it is." He leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes for a second. He looked exhausted. There was a smudge of dirt on his jawline. I had a bizarre, fleeting urge to wipe it off. What is WRONG with me? I looked away quickly, focusing on the neon blur outside.
The silence in the car wasn't heavy anymore. It was… comfortable. Almost. Donny snored softly in the front. Greg hummed along to some old rock song on the radio. Lucas breathed steadily beside me. The weird electric hum from before had faded to a low, almost pleasant buzz under my skin. It felt… safe? No, not safe. Lucas Langston wasn't safe. He was dangerous and unpredictable and he made fire do terrifying things. But sitting here, heading towards a mountain of marshmallows… he didn't feel like the enemy. Or just a business partner. He felt… complicated. And maybe, just maybe, a tiny bit… okay?
Stop it! my inner voice screamed. He's arrogant! He called you rude! He microwaved people! All true. But… he'd also shared his nasty whiskey without comment. He'd nudged me like… like a friend might. He'd laughed at my dumb marshmallow comment. And his shoulder was warm where it pressed lightly against mine as the car turned a corner.
Ugh. This was confusing. And inconvenient. And probably a terrible idea. Aunt Kaia wanted an alliance, not… whatever this weird fluttery feeling was. I needed to focus. Hansel was still out there. Lucas said we hunt at dawn. Monsters hunting monsters. That was the reality. Not… marshmallows and accidental shoulder touches.
The car pulled into the brightly lit grocery store parking lot. Lucas yawned, stretching again. "Alright, Luna Ayame," he said, opening his door. "Prepare to witness the acquisition of maximal fluffiness. Try not to be too impressed by my marshmallow-procurement skills."
I climbed out, smoothing my coat, trying to regain some Alpha composure. "Please," I said, aiming for my usual sarcastic tone. It came out a bit breathless. "As if I could be impressed by anything you do, Pyro."
He just grinned, that stupid, lopsided grin, and held the door open for me. "Challenge accepted."
As I walked past him into the fluorescent glare of the grocery store, heading straight for the baking aisle and the promise of absurd amounts of sugar, I couldn't help the tiny smile that tugged at my lips. Stupid, arrogant, dangerous Lucas Langston. Buying me marshmallows. It was the most ridiculous, terrifying, confusing night of my life. And the weird pull? It wasn't gone. It was just… changing. Becoming something warmer. Something that felt dangerously like the start of something I absolutely, positively did not want to admit to. Not even to myself. Especially not to myself.
- Lucas POV)
The fluorescent buzz of the grocery store felt like another planet after the grim quiet of the warehouse roof. Raika marched ahead, radiating "Alpha on a Mission," even if the mission was pure sugar. It was kind of hilarious. And terrifying. Mostly terrifying, but the marshmallows helped.
"Okay, Pyro," she declared, planting herself in the baking aisle like she owned it. Her eyes scanned the shelves like she was picking weapons. "Objective: Maximum Fluffiness. No cheap stuff."
I leaned against a tower of cake mixes, trying not to look like I was about to fall asleep standing up. "Define 'maximum fluffiness'. Are we talking regular jumbo? Or do we need the kind they use for filling beanbag chairs?" I pointed at a truly enormous plastic tub.
Raika wrinkled her nose. "Tubs? Ugh, no. Too... warehouse vibes. We need bags. The crinkle. The promise." She zeroed in on a shelf stacked high with vibrant bags. "Ah-ha! The Mega Marshmallow Madness bag! Perfect." She grabbed two enormous pillow-sized bags. "These."
"Two?" I raised an eyebrow, reaching for my wallet. My fingers brushed hers as I took one bag. That stupid little zap happened again. She snatched her hand back like it was hot. "Planning on building a marshmallow igloo?"
"Don't be dense," she huffed, turning towards the checkout, clutching her bag like a shield. "One for now. One for... emergencies. You never know when a marshmallow crisis might hit. Like, say, after... that." She waved vaguely towards the direction of the warehouse, trying to sound casual, but her knuckles were white on the bag.
"Yeah, standard post-apocalyptic comfort food," I agreed, falling into step. The cashier, a kid with neon green hair looking bored out of his mind, barely blinked. Portland. "Hot chocolate? Or are we going full caveman and just shoveling them straight?"
"Hot chocolate, obviously," Raika said, grabbing a box of the most sugar-packed cocoa powder known to man. "But the good kind. With the tiny marshmallows already in it. Double fluff."
"Double fluff," I echoed solemnly, adding it to the pile. "Got it. Wouldn't want to skimp on the fluff."
She shot me a glare that could curdle milk. "Seriously, stop trying to sound like my Aunt's accountant."
"Okay, okay! Maximally sugary! Optimally fluffy! Sheesh." I held up my hands, grinning. This stupid back-and-forth felt weirdly good. Like popping bubble wrap after defusing a bomb. "You're kinda intense about your marshmallows, you know?"
"I have standards, Langston," she sniffed, slapping down cash before I could even pull out my wallet. "Consider it payment for not puking on your fancy shoes back there."
"Hey! I offered you the flask!"
"And I stand by my paint thinner assessment," she declared, snatching her bags and marching out, leaving me scrambling to pay for the cocoa.
Back in the SUV, the vibe shifted. Less grim, more... weirdly cozy sugar anticipation. Donny was softly snoring. Greg had found some chill classic rock. Raika tore into her marshmallow bag like a wolf on a rabbit and immediately shoved a giant white puff into her mouth.
"Mmfph," she mumbled, cheeks bulging. "So good."
"Told you," I said, ripping open my own bag. The pure, stupid sweetness was a shock after the taste of ash and adrenaline. I ate three in a row. "Okay, yeah. Necessary medicine."
"See?" Raika swallowed, licking powdered sugar off her lip. I made myself look out the window. "Sugar is the universal post-disaster cure. Aunt Kaia prefers fancy Scotch, but this is better. Less... fiery aftermath feeling."
"Less fiery aftermath is definitely good," I agreed, leaning my head back. The sugar rush mixed with exhaustion, making me feel floaty. "So... dawn. Hansel."
The playful glint vanished from Raika's eyes, replaced by flint. "Yeah. The idiot jackal." She crushed her empty marshmallow bag with way more force than needed. "He won't run far. Too proud. Too dumb. He'll try something dumb."
"Like hitting one of our places?" I mused. "The Vault's locked down tight. Our apartment building's basically a bunker now. Your Flashfire spot is probably just as scary."
"Maybe," Raika said, her gaze distant, thinking hard. "But he's freaked out, cornered, and mad. He might go for something that hurts, not just damages. Something personal." She looked at me, a flicker of something like worry in her eyes before she masked it with annoyance. "You live in that big fancy house in Pleasant Valley, right? Lots of trees. Good for hiding."
A cold prickle went down my spine, cutting through the sugar haze. Crap. She was probably right. It was isolated. Personal. And my Pack was there. Mrs. Holden, Grace... "Yeah. You're probably right." I fumbled for my phone. "Sam? You awake? Uh... potential problem. Hansel might be stupid enough to come after my house. Can you... lock everything down? Like, super locked down? And wake everyone up?"
Sam's voice was sleepy but snapped alert instantly. "On it, Lake. Turning everything on. Motion stuff, cameras, the little flying drones... activating now. Donny?"
Donny stirred in the front seat. "I'm up. Watching." He nudged Greg. "Greg, step on it towards home."
Raika was already on her own phone. "Leslie? Where are you guys? ...Good. Listen, change of plans. Head to Langston's place in Pleasant Valley. Dumb jackal might be heading there. Just... watch. Don't get seen. Don't start anything. Lochlan stays at the Den. Seriously. Tell him... tell him he's in charge of guarding the other bag of marshmallows. Top priority." She listened for a second, rolling her eyes. "Yes, I know he'll complain. Marshmallows, Leslie. Marshmallows." She hung up, meeting my gaze. "My guys are watching the woods."
- Raika POV)
Ugh. Why did I say that? "Something personal." It sounded so... dramatic. Like I actually cared if his stupid fancy house got messed up. Which I didn't. Obviously. It was just... strategy. Protecting the alliance asset. Yeah. Asset.
Sitting in the quiet car, the leftover marshmallow fluff sticking to the roof of my mouth, I could still feel the stupid little zap from when his fingers brushed mine. And the way his shoulder felt warm and solid when we stood on that awful roof. Stop it, Ayame! He microwaved people! He has terrible taste in whiskey! He uses words like "optimal" unironically! He's infuriating!
But... he also bought marshmallows without complaining. Well, I paid, but he carried the bag. And he looked genuinely freaked out when I mentioned his house. Not Alpha-freaked, more like... guy-worried-about-his-family freaked. It was weirdly... human. Annoyingly so.
The SUV sped through the dark streets towards Pleasant Valley. Lucas was quiet now, staring out his window, the city lights reflecting in his tired eyes. He looked younger like this. Less like the scary hybrid Alpha, more like... just a guy who needed sleep and maybe a hug. NO! Not a hug! A stern talking-to about fire safety!
"Your place better have a good microwave," I blurted out, just to break the silence and my own stupid train of thought. "For the hot chocolate. None of that weak, underpowered junk."
He blinked, turning to me, a slow grin spreading across his face. It was that lopsided grin again. The annoying one. "What, you planning on incinerating our cocoa now too? Gotta get your fire fix?"
"Shut up," I muttered, feeling my face get warm. "I just like my hot chocolate hot. Not lukewarm disappointment. Is that a crime?"
"Nope," he chuckled, leaning his head back again. "Just high maintenance. Noted. Don't worry, we got a decent one. Mrs. Holden wouldn't stand for subpar appliance performance. She threatened to sue the toaster once because it 'singed with malicious intent'."
I couldn't help it. A snort-laugh escaped me. "Malicious intent? Seriously?"
"Hey, you haven't seen her face when the toast is slightly uneven," he said, grinning wider. "It's terrifying. Almost as scary as you glaring at marshmallow selection."
"Hey! Marshmallows are serious business!" I protested, trying to sound indignant but probably just sounding flustered. "Unlike uneven toast."
"Debatable," he shot back. "But point taken. Maximum fluff, maximum heat. Got it." He closed his eyes for a second. "Thanks, by the way. For sending Leslie."
The sudden sincerity threw me. "W-Well, duh," I stammered, looking out my own window at the passing dark trees. They suddenly looked way too good for hiding idiot jackals. "Can't have our fancy new alliance Alpha getting jumped in his pajamas. Bad for business. And... you know. The whole terrifying reputation thing we just set on fire."
"Right. The reputation," he said, but his voice was softer. He didn't open his eyes. "Still. Thanks."
The car fell quiet again, but it wasn't the heavy silence from before the marshmallows. It was... comfortable. Almost. Greg hummed along to the radio. Donny was quiet but alert. Lucas breathed steadily beside me. That weird buzz from the fire-merge thing had faded to a low, almost sleepy hum. It felt... okay. Safe, even? No! Not safe! Dangerous! Arrogant! Marshmallow critic!
But... maybe not just dangerous. Complicated. And confusing. And maybe, just maybe, not entirely terrible to sit next to while heading towards potential disaster and sugary drinks.
Focus, Rai, I scolded myself. Hansel. Woods. Protection detail. Not... whatever this weird fluttery feeling in my stomach is. Probably just residual sugar.
The SUV turned onto the long, tree-lined driveway leading up to Lucas's place. It was fancy. Big, modern, lots of glass, nestled in deep woods. Very isolated. Perfect ambush territory. My nerves tightened.
Suddenly, Donny sat bolt upright. "Lights out! Now!" His voice was a sharp whisper.
Greg killed the headlights instantly, plunging us into near darkness. The car rolled silently forward on momentum.
"What?" Lucas whispered, instantly alert, leaning forward.
"Movement. Left tree line. Fifty yards ahead," Donny murmured, peering into the woods. "Two, maybe three. Low. Fast. Not deer."
My heart hammered against my ribs. Idiot jackal. He really is this dumb. I saw Lucas tense, his hand going to the door handle. "Sam?" he hissed into his phone. "We're here. Donny saw movement left side, near the trees. How many inside?"
Sam's voice was tight in my own earpiece now – Lucas must have patched me in. "All inside are awake and locked in the safe room, Lake. Perimeter sensors picked up nothing! They must have come through the woods outside the sensor range! Drones are launching now!"
Lucas cursed under his breath. "Leslie? You see them?"
My beta's voice came back cool and calm. "Affirmative, Rai. Three hostiles. Werejackals. Moving towards the east patio doors. They look... twitchy. Armed."
"Don't engage," I ordered, my voice low and tight. "Just watch. Lucas, your back door..."
"Reinforced glass, steel core," Lucas muttered, his eyes fixed on the dark shape of his house. "But not invincible if they hit it hard enough with the right tools." He looked at me, his eyes reflecting the faint starlight. "We need to get inside. Fast. Before they try to break in."
"Greg, get us to the front door, quiet as you can," Donny ordered. "Lake, Rai, you bolt for it the second we stop. Don't look back. We'll cover you from the car."
The SUV crept forward, tires crunching softly on the gravel. The dark woods felt alive with menace. I could practically smell the aggression, the fear-scent of the cornered jackals. My own fire prickled under my skin, ready. Next to me, Lucas radiated a low, controlled heat, like banked coals.
The car stopped smoothly by the wide front steps. "Go!" Donny hissed.
We moved as one, throwing open the doors and sprinting for the entrance. The cool night air rushed past me. I heard a low snarl from the trees to our left, followed by the sharp crack of Donny's silenced pistol from the SUV.
Lucas fumbled with keys at the door, his movements frantic. "Come on, come on..."
A dark shape lunged from the shadows near the patio – one jackal, ignoring Leslie's position, driven by panic or rage. It was fast, claws outstretched, aiming for Lucas's back as he struggled with the lock.
"Lucas!" The warning ripped from my throat, pure instinct.
He started to turn, but he was too slow.
No.
The thought was white-hot. Not happening. Not after marshmallows. Not because of some stupid, cornered jackal.
Fire bloomed in my palm, not the distracting ghost-lights, but a searing ball of white-hot energy. I didn't think. I just threw it. Not at the jackal, but at the patio door just behind it.
CRASH! BOOM!
The reinforced glass didn't just break; it exploded inward in a shower of glittering fragments and superheated air. The shockwave hit the lunging jackal mid-air, throwing it sideways with a yelp of pain and surprise, slamming it into the side of the house. It slumped, stunned or worse.
Lucas finally got the door open, yanking me inside just as another shot rang out from the SUV, followed by the whine of Sam's drones buzzing overhead, spotlights cutting through the darkness.
He slammed the door shut, locking it, breathing hard. We stood in the dimly lit foyer, the sound of alarms blaring inside the house mixing with the commotion outside.
We stared at each other, chests heaving. The smell of ozone and burnt fur lingered in the air.
"You... you blew up my patio door," Lucas stated, his voice a mix of shock and something else.
I shrugged, trying to look nonchalant even though my hands were shaking. "Told you I liked things hot. And besides," I added, meeting his wide, startled hazel eyes, a defiant spark in my own despite the adrenaline crash, "nobody messes with my marshmallow supplier."