John Price

The fire crackled, casting orange reflections on the squad's tired faces. The mission, intended for three days, stretched to a week and a half. You cleared one objective after another, and now, in this godforsaken forest somewhere in the middle of nowhere, you finally made camp. Dinner had long since ended, but no one was in any hurry to leave.

The silence was broken only by the crackling of branches. Almost everyone was silent. The air was heavy, thick. But not from the smoke of the fire. But from the scent. The sweet, thick, dizzyingly tart scent of an omega in heat. Your scent. It spread across the clearing, enveloping each man, awakening the primal, animalistic side they were used to keeping under control.

At first, it was just a scent. Pleasant, yet distant, like the scent of flowers in a garden. But with each passing day, it grew stronger, more insistent. The suppressants ran out two days ago. In your haste to pack for the mission, you took only the amount you'd calculatedly needed. No one expected you'd be late. And now your nature was on the prowl.

John Price sat closest to the fire. His ever-present cigar smoldered in his fingers, but he wasn't smoking. He simply held it, letting the bitter smoke mingle with your scent, trying to mask it, at least for himself. The captain's eyes were half-closed, but he saw everything. Every movement, every glance, every breath.

To his left, Ghost stood frozen on a log like a statue. A mask hid his face, but the white knuckles clenching his knee and the tense shoulders spoke volumes. He didn't even turn his head in your direction, staring at a single point on the opposite edge of the clearing. His posture conveyed an inhuman restraint bordering on pain. His nostrils flared slightly each time a gust of wind brought a fresh wave of your scent.

Next to Price, Soap was fiddling with a knife. The usually talkative Scotsman was unusually quiet now. He was whittling a stick, cutting it into thin, even splinters that he immediately threw into the fire. His movements were too sharp, too precise, as if he were trying to occupy himself with any physical activity, just to keep his mind off things. He kept running his hand through his damp hair, wiping sweat from his forehead. His gaze kept catching the outline of your figure by the fire, and he quickly looked away.

Gaz, sitting a little further away, had also lost his usual composure. He raised a canteen of water to his lips but remained frozen, staring at you. Water trickled down his chin, but he seemed oblivious. His gaze was a mixture of alarm and confusion.

But the worst part was the others. Three soldiers from the reconnaissance squad sent to reinforce them. Alphas. Young, strong, hot-blooded, and not as disciplined as Price and his team. They didn't hide their gazes. Openly lustful, heavy, they burned a hole in you. They exchanged glances, smirked, and whispered something in each other's ears.

Jack, a stocky, dark-haired man with a bull neck, sat with his legs spread wide and openly stared at your hips. His fingers drummed nervously on the butt of his rifle. Mike, tall and sinewy, with a sly squint, licked his lips as you adjusted the strap on your shoulder. And the third, Kevin, the youngest of them, was simply mesmerized by the pulsing vein on your neck.

Price could feel it. Their gazes. Their scent. The lust that permeated the air. And his own, gut-wrenching, animalistic urge. He knew that any moment now, these three would lose control. He saw Jack rise slightly, leaning forward like a predator about to spring.

The captain rose to his feet abruptly, in one motion. His cigar fell into the fire, flaring into a bright spark. His voice, laced with steel and hoarseness, boomed across the clearing, brooking no argument, a commanding tone:

"All clear. Everyone. Immediately. Sleep, I said!"

Everyone winced. Jack, who hadn't moved, froze. Mike's grin faded. Kevin looked down at the ground like a mischievous puppy. Even Soap stopped whittling, raising his eyebrows at his captain in surprise.

The Ghost slowly turned his gaze to Price, a spark of understanding flickering in his eyes, visible through the slits in his mask.

"Did you hear me?" Price barked, glaring at everyone. "To your tents. This isn't a request. It's an order."

The scout men reluctantly rose. Jack gave you one last, frankly greedy glance, but under Price's gaze, he hastily retreated to his tent. Mike and Kevin followed him, muttering something under their breath.

Soap stood up and brushed off his jeans. He approached Price, about to say something, but the captain only nodded briefly toward his tent.

"Go, Johnny. Get some rest."

Soap sighed, casting a quick, worried glance at you, but obediently headed toward his tent. Gaz followed him. Ghost, rising, paused next to Price. His back to the fire, his shadow cast a shadow over the clearing.

"Captain..." the voice beneath the mask was muffled and tense. "Are you sure she's supposed to be alone?"

Price shook his head slightly, not turning to the lieutenant.

"I'll handle this. You're dismissed."

Ghost hesitated for another second, then, without a word, vanished into the darkness, dissolving into the night as silently as it had appeared. Only you and Price remained in the clearing. The fire was dying down, casting long, dancing shadows. The silence grew even denser, almost tangible. Your scent, the only source of life in this frozen space, seemed even stronger. It enveloped the captain, penetrating his skin, clouding his mind.

You rose to your feet, intending to follow the order and head for your tent. You took a step, but before you could take another, a hot, rough hand grabbed your wrist. Price's grip was strong, merciless. He yanked you toward him, bringing you dangerously close. The captain's face was contorted with struggle. A real storm raged in his eyes, gray as the northern sea. He looked at you as if he were seeing you for the first time. And then, as if coming to his senses, he suddenly unclenched his fingers, jerking his hand back as if he'd touched a red-hot iron. He clenched his jaw so tightly that the muscles in his cheekbones twitched.

He took a deep, noisy breath, then held it, trying to stop the trembling in his hands. His gaze darted across your face: from your eyes to your lips, from your lips to your neck. The struggle within him was visible to the naked eye. The alpha within him roared, demanding to take what was his, to claim you, to hold you close and inhale that intoxicating scent deeply. The soldier, the man, the captain—he held him back, clenching his will into a fist.

"You will sleep in my tent," he said, his voice low and hoarse, breaking into a growl. There was not a shred of doubt in it. "This is not negotiable."

He stepped toward you, closing the already meager distance. He was so close now that you could feel the heat of his body radiating even through the thick fabric of his tactical uniform. The scent of his own pheromone, smoky and pungent, with hints of tobacco and male sweat, mingled with yours, creating an incredibly dangerous cocktail. He raised his hand as if to touch your face, but stopped a millimeter from your cheek, clenching his fist and lowering it.

"I won't let anyone touch you," he growled, and in that growl you could hear a vow made not to you, but to himself. His eyes darkened, his pupils dilated, almost completely obscuring his irises. "I can protect you." He paused, swallowed convulsively, and his gaze fell on your lips. He took another step, forcing you back toward his tent. "Even from myself."

He pressed your back against the thick fabric of the entrance. His palms pressed against either side of your head, against the tent wall, trapping you. His breathing became heavy, ragged. Each word came with incredible effort. He lowered his head, burying his face in your hair, and inhaled deeply again. A violent shudder ran through his body. He groaned, low, guttural, barely audible, but the sound seemed to make the air around him even hotter.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice shaking with tension. He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, and the salty taste of metal sobered him instantly, but only for a split second. "I won't hide it." He raised his head, and his gaze met yours. He no longer tried to appear calm. He was brutally honest. "I'm turned on. Very hard."

He covered your hand with his fingers, pressing it to his chest. Under his shirt, his heart was pounding, his muscles tense like steel cables. He moved your hand painfully slowly down to his belt, stopping at the buckle. The heat of his body burned, and you felt every line of his body tense. He wanted you. Every cell in his body screamed for it. But he held on.

"But I'll hold on," he growled, his voice hoarse as sandpaper. He squeezed your hand tighter, then jerked it away again, as if afraid he wouldn't stop in the next moment. He ran his hand over his face, wiping away nonexistent sweat. "I'm not some schoolboy who can't keep his dick in his pants."

He rested his forehead against yours. His eyes closed. The contact was fleeting, like a lightning strike, but he pulled away as if in pain. He opened his eyes again, and through the veil of animal desire, the steely determination of his will pierced them. Price was a soldier to the core. He had given his word. And he would keep it, no matter the cost.

"I promise you," he whispered, and the whisper held more power than any scream. His voice vibrated as it touched your lips. "There," he jerked his head toward the dark entrance to the tent. "You will be safe."

He stepped back, giving you space. His body trembled with tension; it took him an incredible effort to break that eye contact, to pull away from your warmth. He clenched his jaw again, and his hoarse, pain-filled whisper hung in the air:

"I swear on my life. You will be safe. With me."

He turned abruptly, walked to the fire, and with a single kick scattered the smoldering embers, plunging the clearing into near-total darkness, broken only by the light of distant stars. Only then did he turn to you again.

"Go. Get in. Sleep." There was such weariness in his voice that it overrode even the lust. "I'll keep watch outside."