I pointed up at the small, overly proportional flying woman, my eyes narrowing as I turned to Steve for confirmation.

“Am I seeing things, or is that a fairy?” I asked, my voice laced with incredulity.

Steve, equally baffled, squinted at the hovering figure. “I… uh… I’m not sure?”

“I am not a fucking fairy!” the woman snapped, her voice ringing out like a sweet yet dangerously sharp bell. “Those rat bastards do nothing but cause havoc and destruction!”

Her quick shift from charming to enraged caught me off guard. Despite the sour look twisting her otherwise stunning features, she was undeniably gorgeous. Her bright blond hair was cropped into a perfect pixie cut that accentuated her angular face and pointed ears. Her large blue eyes, currently narrowed in a scowl, gave her an almost ethereal quality, even as her thin arms crossed over her ample chest, and her translucent wings fluttered with irritation.

I turned back to Steve, hoping for some clarity, but all I got was the slack-jawed expression of a man completely entranced. His eyes gleamed with a hunger that made me roll mine in exasperation. Great, typical Steve—useless when there’s a pretty face involved.

“So, if you’re not a fairy… what are you?” I asked, refocusing on the petite woman now standing before me. She was even shorter than me, which was saying something.

“I am Major Catalina A. Pixiewolf of the 3rd Infantry Division, based out of Fort Moore, Georgia,” she declared, her voice swelling with pride as she spoke.

“You must be our military liaison,” I responded, trying to keep my tone neutral.

“That’s correct,” she confirmed, her smile fleeting before her expression hardened again. “And I am a pixie, you uneducated furball.”

The insult made my eyes narrow, my teeth baring instinctively. Did she just call me stupid? I took a deep breath, pushing down the growl building in my chest. Before I could respond, she turned her attention to Steve, who still hadn’t closed his mouth.

“Let’s keep this shut, so a fly doesn’t make a home in there, Mr. Amarok,” she said sweetly, using one finger to nudge his jaw closed.

Steve swallowed hard, his eyes wide as he nodded obediently, keeping his mouth clamped shut. Typical beta behavior around a pretty woman.

Rolling my eyes and letting out a sigh of exasperation, I began to walk towards the MCV. Major Pixiewolf craned her neck back and looked at me and Mac.

“Bring the flaming fireball with you too…” she announced.

The noise that I heard coming from Mac was nearly indescribable. It was a cross between a screech and a growl of anger. It could give a werewolf’s growl a run for its money. Together, Mac and I walked towards the MCV. I swear I could feel heat radiating off my mechanic. She was pissed, and the continuous growling and grinding of her teeth made that very apparent. The little pixie had thoroughly ruffled her feathers.

Inside the MCV, we found Major Pixiewolf bent over one of the workstations, typing away. Her chest pressed against the desk as she leaned in, her hips swaying slightly in her tight uniform pants. Steve was transfixed, his eyes glued to her backside as if in a trance. If he were in wolf form, his tail would undoubtedly be wagging.

I couldn’t help but facepalm. Typical. With a snap of my fingers, I signaled Mac, who didn’t hesitate. Marching up to Steve, she delivered a sharp smack to the back of his head that echoed through the trailer.

“Snap out of it, man. We’re not here to chase tail,” Mac barked, her voice cutting through the tension.

Steve blinked, rubbing the back of his head as he glared at Mac, clearly ready to snap back. I cleared my throat, drawing his attention. The moment our eyes met, his defiance evaporated, replaced by the recognition that he was toeing a very dangerous line.

“Steve, pull your head out of the gutter. She’s a pixie, they thrive on causing mischief,” I said, my tone sharp, eyes flicking toward Major Pixiewolf.

Major Pixiewolf straightened up, her fingers stilling on the keyboard as she flashed me a devious grin, followed by a wink that set my nerves on edge. Oh, she was going to be trouble, I could feel it in my bones. I narrowed my eyes at her, my glare hardening.

“Major, I’m not sure what the military’s stance on sexual harassment is, but I’m pretty certain you’re walking a thin line. One phone call is all it takes to clarify,” I growled, letting the warning hang in the air.

“It’s only harassment if it’s unwelcome,” she retorted smoothly, her voice laced with sass. “And judging by Mr. Amarok’s reaction, I’d say he’s quite enjoying the view. So, you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

I ground my teeth, biting back the snarl that threatened to escape. This woman was going to be a headache.

“Aren’t you, like, eighteen or nineteen? Steve’s in his mid-thirties. That’s fucking creepy,” Mac snapped, stepping up beside me, her voice dripping with disgust.

Major Pixiewolf rolled her eyes, exasperation clear on her face. “I knew the fur ball was uneducated, but I didn’t think the flaming fireball was too!” she exclaimed, pointing between me and Mac. “I’m thirty-four, thank you very much!”

“That’s it! I’m going to roast her on a spit now!” Mac screeched, her temper boiling over.

I grabbed Mac by the arms, pulling her back just as she tried to lunge at the irritating pixie. Steve quickly stepped in between them, acting as a human shield. Dragging the furious phoenix out of the MCV before she could set the place—or all of us—on fire, I managed to get her outside, her body radiating heat like an oven. Sparks flickered at the tips of her flame-red hair as she growled and ground her teeth, clearly ready to incinerate the pixie.

“Eesh, Mac, she really got under your skin,” I said, trying to soothe her fiery temper.

“She called me stupid!” she huffed loudly, her eyes blazing.

“She called us both stupid, Mac,” I replied, trying to calm her.

“I know… it was uncalled for,” she fumed, the flames in her eyes refusing to die down.

“She’s a pixie. They’re known for being brash and troublesome. I’ll call Star tonight and see if we can figure something out,” I suggested, hoping to ease her frustration.

Mac let out a heavy sigh, the flames in her eyes dimming slightly. “Fine, but if she causes any more trouble, you call for me. I will flame broil her for you.”

I nodded, watching as she climbed into the FRS. I headed back into the MCV, finding Steve and the major waiting. Steve had his eyes glued to his computer monitor, while the major continued her attempts to get his attention, her behavior bordering on the absurd.

I cleared my throat, stepping loudly toward them. “What was it that you wanted to discuss, Major?” I demanded, cutting through the tension.

She straightened up, shifting into a more professional demeanor. “We need to go over the first load, the route, and what to expect en route to the first drop point,” she said, her tone all business now.

“What did you need Mac for?” I asked, suspicion lacing my words.

“To go over the terrain and what possible damages we could expect to the trucks,” she replied.

“I’ll relay that information to her,” I stated, leaving no room for argument.

She opened her mouth to protest, but I cut her off before she could get a word out. “Listen, I don’t care about military protocols. You’ve managed to piss off both me and my mechanic within ten minutes of your arrival. You’re openly flirting with my beta in front of everyone, and you’ve insinuated that both me and my mechanic are stupid. I’m this close to making a phone call and having your ass replaced. I’m in charge here, whether you like it or not. So, get your shit together and stop acting like a damn fowl. We have a job to do,” I growled, my voice low and deadly, eyes gleaming with Alpha authority.

I watched her open and close her mouth trying to come up with something to say now that I just insulted her by calling her a bird. We wolves use the word fowl like an insult because birds can be rather unintelligent. She went to the position of parade rest and nodded her head.

“Understood, Alpha Acosta,” she muttered before turning back to her workstation.

She quickly pulled up a map showing I-80 starting in Omaha, Nebraska, zooming in on Council Bluffs, Iowa. A red pin marked a location just off I-80 West. She turned to face Steve and me, her demeanor now strictly professional.

“Tomorrow morning at zero-eight-hundred, we’ll be leaving Ankeny, Iowa, and heading to this location. We’ll link up with our escorts here to go through the Omaha, Nebraska entry point. They’ll escort the convoy to the unit’s location. The unit left earlier today to push ahead and secure the route as best as possible,” she explained.

“I thought we were loading tomorrow morning?” I queried, still suspicious.

“That was the original plan, but we need to get moving sooner,” Major Pixiewolf explained, her tone serious. She glanced at her watch. “Our intel has noticed that the oppositional forces are preparing to push further into the country. Everything you’ll be hauling should arrive in… roughly an hour.”

Steve furrowed his brow. “Who is this escort team we’re meeting up with?”

“A highly trained group of special forces, capable of protecting your convoy under the most dangerous conditions,” the Major replied, her voice firm.

“What should we be expecting along the route?” I asked, already bracing myself for the answer.

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“The roads are in poor condition,” she began, zooming in on a map displayed on her monitor. “The locals in that area have reverted to survival tactics—savagery, theft. And then there are the creatures that have been left unchecked for years. It’s going to be dangerous and grueling. The lead unit will do their best to clear the way, but there’s no guarantee it’ll stay that way.”

She zoomed in further on Big Springs, Nebraska, and with a click, a path along I-80 appeared on the screen. What should have been a straightforward trip now seemed daunting, the unknowns stretching out ahead of us like dark clouds.

“The first mission will take us roughly 350 miles into Nebraska. The unit will secure Big Springs, where I-76 and I-80 meet, and barricade I-76 to prevent interference from Colorado. We’ve fortified Denver, and the I-70 corridor is sealed. That leaves I-80, I-40, and I-10 as the primary routes in and out of the country,” she continued, her tone unwavering.

“What about the I-90 corridor?” I asked, noting its absence from her plan.

“I-90 is too far north of the opposing units, and it’s severely deteriorated. Some sections are no longer passable,” she replied, her focus still on the map.

“Why aren’t the forces trying to take I-10 or I-40?” I pressed, curious about the strategic choices.

“Do you really want to fuck with Texas? Between Texas, the Arizona and New Mexico deserts, and the forces stationed there, the Chinese have no chance in hell. Their best option is to push through the mountains, where the terrain complicates warfare,” she said, a sly grin spreading across her face.

“So, what’s the goal for I-80?” Steve asked, leaning in closer to the map.

“The plan is to occupy, barricade, and use it as our pathway into the West. China thinks the mountains protect them from us and vice versa, but they’ve underestimated the advantage of playing on our home turf,” she replied, her voice brimming with confidence.

“What information do I need to relay to our mechanic?” I asked, switching gears to practical concerns.

“Tell her to be on her toes. The route is rough, and we should expect some things to break. She needs to be ready for anything,” the Major answered, her tone leaving no room for doubt.

“Alright,” I replied, turning to leave and find Mac.

I found Mac in the FRS, going over her tools and inventory, her earlier frustration with the pixie now replaced with focused determination. A thought struck me that I hadn’t considered before—what would we do if we had a major breakdown? I hadn’t seen any trailers carrying spare parts.

“Hey Mac, where are the parts we’ll need if something goes wrong?” I asked, stepping into the FRS. The setup was impressive, like a mobile mechanic’s dream. If it had to, this trailer could probably rebuild an engine from the ground up.

“They should be here soon. We’ve got two boxes that will go on the nose and tail of my trailer,” she replied, glancing up from her manifest.

“Jeez, how heavy is your trailer going to be?” I asked, concern creeping into my voice.

“With Jake’s truck and all my equipment… I think we’ll be pushing close to one hundred and forty thousand pounds,” she answered, as casually as if she were discussing the weather.

“Holy Luna!” I exclaimed, the weight sinking in—literally and figuratively.

“Lyra, you do realize that nearly every truck is going to weigh close to that, right?” she asked, giving me a knowing smile.

“No! I thought maybe ninety to ninety-five thousand, not over a hundred thousand,” I admitted, still reeling from the number.

She chuckled, shaking her head. “Those are baby weights. I think the lightest truck in the fleet is yours, and even you’ll be pushing the ninety-thousand-pound threshold.”

I just shook my head, recalling my uncle’s words about being exempt from all regulations. Clearly, he wasn’t joking.

“The Major wanted me to remind you to be on your toes. The route is going to be rough, and we should expect things to break,” I relayed to Mac, feeling the seriousness of the situation settling in.

“Oh, I’m already aware. That’s why I’ve got the FRS and everything I might need to fix one of the rigs,” she replied, her tone confident.

I nodded, stepping down from the FRS to find the rest of the group. As I walked into the open area, the rumble of approaching engines caught my attention. The first company truck rolled in, and I let out a sharp whistle to get everyone moving.

“Hook up to your trailers! We’re getting loaded!” I shouted. The group dropped what they were doing and sprinted toward their trucks. Gunny halted the first truck at the entrance, blocking any others from coming in. After a quick exchange with the driver, the truck was parked, and the driver began untarping and unsecuring his load.

Within ten minutes, all our trucks were hooked up and ready. The first truck had two small cubical conex containers among a load of crates—spare parts for the fleet. I waved Jake forward, signaling to get them loaded first, knowing Mac needed to inventory them before we hit the road.

A massive Taylor forklift appeared and efficiently lifted the containers onto the FRS trailer. Once they were secured, Jake backed his rig into place, and he and Mac set to work, making sure everything was tightly fastened. Seth was next, driving forward with his flat deck trailer. The first and second truck’s loads were transferred onto his trailer, with everyone moving quickly and efficiently.

The third truck carried two joint light tactical vehicles on an RGN, and Tyler took the lead, loading them onto his trailer. By the time Kira’s RGN rolled in, we were all in a rhythm. Hours passed as we methodically loaded, secured, and tarped the trailers, only pausing briefly for dinner. By the end, nearly fourteen standard truckloads were spread across our eight rigs.

The drivers who had delivered our loads were clearly impressed and curious about what we were up to, but Gunny had made it clear: not a word. We all understood the importance of this mission, and no one dared to break that silence.

As the night wore on, we banded together to secure every trailer, inventory the loads, and make sure everything was properly tarped. The scene was a symphony of chains clinking, straps tightening, and equipment being secured. Steve, ever the multitasker, was even helping while giving our new liaison a crash course in load securing.

I jumped up onto Sasha’s catwalk, grabbing one of her lumber tarps and tossing it onto the nose of her trailer. She climbed atop her load of crates, and together we heaved the tarp over the top, letting it drape down the sides. Tyler and Charlotte pinned it down with bungies while Abel tossed up the second tarp.

It was nearly eleven at night by the time we pulled the last bungie. Exhausted and grimy, I felt the day’s toll. Steve insisted I take the first shower, and though I tried to argue, the rest of the group backed him up. Too tired to fight, I relented. In and out in ten minutes, I was soon heading back to my truck.

I slumped into the driver’s seat, finally taking a moment to check my phone. Star had messaged me, asking for a call when I was free. It was just past midnight in Pigeon Forge, Tennessee—I just hoped she wasn’t asleep when I called. After a few rings, she picked up.

“Hey, Lyra! I wasn’t sure if you were going to call,” she answered, her voice cheerful.

“Sorry for calling so late, it was a very busy day,” I apologized.

“No need. Cayro and I are still awake. The girls didn’t want to go to bed on time,” she replied, a mix of exhaustion and amusement in her tone.

“How are the little heathens doing?” I asked, smiling despite my fatigue.

“They’re doing well. Seren has been driving Scuzball batshit insane, and Celestia has been blowing holes in her daddy’s office door,” Star said, pride and joy evident in her voice.

I chuckled. “Sounds like fun.”

“It’s never a dull moment around here. How was your day?” she asked.

“It was long. We just finished loading out for our trip,” I answered.

“Are you excited?” she asked.

“Yes, and no. More like apprehensive,” I admitted.

“You’ll do fine, Lyra. Especially now that you have a pack,” she said, her words filled with encouragement.

“How do you know that I officially have a pack?” I demanded, caught off guard.

“Lyra, you’re my beta. Cayro and I felt your tie to us change. It’s still there, but you’re no longer attached to us like a lost puppy,” she explained.

“I wasn’t a lost puppy…” I huffed, though her words brought a small, reluctant smile to my face.

“You know what I meant, Lyra. You’re still our wolf, just like the council members are to Zak and Aura. You’ve just grown. It’s a good thing,” Star argued, her voice firm but warm.

“Fine… I get it. Speaking of which, did you set me on this path?” I demanded, unable to shake the suspicion.

“The Stars may have guided me, but no. You just happened to be in the right place at the right time when we needed an alpha,” she answered, her tone playful yet sincere.

“You and those stars. Always interfering with other people’s lives,” I huffed, rolling my eyes, even though I knew she couldn’t see it.

“You can thank my father for that. Being a star-bound being can get quite annoying at times. There are days when they just won’t shut up. Cayro had to come up with a method to block them out so he could focus on work,” she said, cheerfully deflecting my grumbling.

I chuckled, remembering the days when I lived with them. There were times when the two of them were downright crabby because the stars kept them up all night. Even Scuzball, their infamously annoying A.I., knew better than to pester them during those times.

“Speaking of which, do you know who Catalina Pixiewolf is?” I asked, shifting the conversation.

“Catalina? Yeah, she’s one of the best pathfinders in the FS Army. She and I have worked together a few times. Why?” Star’s curiosity was piqued.

“Was she always this brazen and… promiscuous?” I asked, my tone a mix of disbelief and frustration.

“Brazen, yes. Promiscuous, no. She usually avoids anyone who seems attracted to her. She can actually come across as quite prudish,” Star replied, sounding genuinely surprised.

“Prudish… really?” I scoffed, unable to reconcile the description with what I had seen.

“Yeah, why?” Star demanded, her tone sharpening.

“She was shaking her ass and being very provocative around Steve today!” I exclaimed, still baffled by the memory.

“Really?” Star asked, the surprise clear in her voice.

“Yes! And Steve was eating it up. I had our fleet mechanic gib smack him,” I answered, sharpness creeping into my tone.

“Uh oh…” Star muttered.

“Uh oh? What do you mean by ‘uh oh’?!” I demanded, my voice rising.

“Uh… you’ll find out soon enough,” she replied, evasive as ever.

“Star!” I exclaimed in a high-pitched, exasperated voice.

“It’s not my story to tell. Just go with the flow,” she replied, clearly enjoying my frustration.

I huffed and grumbled. This was going to be a long trip…

“I just wanted to check on you, Lyra. I’m going to jump off here; Cayro is wanting me to join him for a shower,” she stated casually, as if that was a normal thing to throw into the conversation.

I rolled my eyes. Those two were like rabbits. They never seemed to get enough of each other.

“Alright, I’ll check back in a couple of days. Don’t get too rowdy. We don’t need another hole in the ceiling,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

I heard her snort before breaking into a fit of giggles. “We won’t. By the way, I’m sending you one more member to join your group. Maybe you can keep him out of trouble,” she added, a mischievous tone creeping into her voice.

“Who?” I asked, suspicion lacing my words.

“You’ll see,” she said before abruptly hanging up on me.

I pulled the phone away from my ear and stared at it. She just hung up on me! That bitch! I huffed and tossed my phone onto the bed. I could practically see the devious grin on her face. One of these days, I’d get her back.

Leaning back in my chair, I let out a long sigh, only to have my new tablet flare to life. Grabbing it, I looked at the screen, expecting a notification. Instead, it automatically logged in, and Scuzball’s familiar, grumpy face appeared in the middle of the screen.

Scuzball, Cayro’s father’s creation, had become self-aware over twenty years ago. His usual form was a white cat with a black tail, a creature that was now staring at me with obvious irritation. It hit me who Star had decided to send. Of all the beings she could have chosen, she sent their A.I. companion?

“Scuzball?” I asked, still processing.

“Who else would I be?” he snapped, his tone bristling with irritation.

“Jeeze, you’re grumpy tonight,” I replied, taken aback by his attitude.

“Yeah, well, you would be too if you just got kicked out of your home because a miniature version of her grumpiness keeps finding ways to aggravate you,” he huffed.

“What did Seren do this time?” I asked, unable to keep the amusement out of my voice.

“She keeps tampering with my ship settings…” he grumbled.

“What did you do in return?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

“Well,” he began with a smirk, “while His and Her Lordship of the Draconians were out on a date last week, I played Ridley Scott’s Alien for the girls as entertainment.”

I stared at the A.I. in utter horror. He made four-year-olds watch a scary alien horror film as revenge? Star was really starting to rub off on him.

“Since then, at night, I’ve been activating the hollow emitters in the ship and skulking around in the form of the alien,” he said proudly.

“Scuzball! That’s horrible… No wonder the girls were still awake!” I exclaimed, torn between horror and disbelief.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time,” he retorted, sounding utterly unapologetic.

“That was a horrible idea!” I shot back.

“Eh… I’m here now. What’s the mission?” he asked, shifting gears abruptly.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow. I need to sleep. Find something to occupy yourself with while I get some rest,” I said, weariness finally catching up with me.

Flipping my tablet upside down on the passenger seat, I started my truck and set the HVAC system to my preferred temperature. Sliding the curtains closed, I collapsed into bed. Today had been one hell of a day…