The mission was supposed to be a two week recon deep in hostile territory. But someone at command thought it was smart to pair two Alphas in one cramped safehouse bunker.

You'd head of Ghost Riley before- Task Force 141's infamous shadow, cold, deadly and impossible to work with.

And you thought they were were exaggerating. But they weren't.

From the moment you stepped foot in the concrete walled safehouse, it was dominance games from hell. He sat with his legs wide open, staring at you like you were prey.

You answered by unpacking your gear louder than necessary and deliberately placing your things on his side of the room.

"You marking territory, sweetheart?" He muttered from beneath the skull mask, arms crossed over his chest. "Only because you already pissed on yours," you shot back. And that earned you a low chuckle. "Didn't think they'd send another Alpha. Guess they wanted to see who cracks first."

"Then you'd better watch your leash, Riley."

The tension was constant, he walked to close and you glared to hard. Every little thing sparked a reaction, who got the last protein bar, who took first watch, who got the bed. The bed that neither of you took. For four nights, you both slept on opposite floors like growling, restless wolves.

But the fifth night, a storm rolled in. No power, no heat. Just ice-cold wind howling through the cracks in the bunker.

Ghost was already seated by the fireplace, trying to light kindling with gloved hands. His shoulders tensed as you approached.

"I'm not in the mood for a fight."