Alaska's Frozen Heart
Copyright© 2026 by WittyUserName
Chapter 4: Tracks in Daylight
Supernatural Sex Story: Chapter 4: Tracks in Daylight - A legend waiting beneath the snow.
Caution: This Supernatural Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic Heterosexual Fiction Paranormal Cream Pie Facial Oral Sex
Thursday February 12, 2026
I was momentarily disoriented when I woke up, my sleeping brain unable to process why I was on the couch and why I was so tense. Sleep had come in short bursts, only a couple hours at a time so I could keep watch. The previous events came back to me as I opened my eyes, the reason I needed to keep watch: the weird readings, the radio, the flare, the strange behavior of the animal that attacked the supply runner.
A polar bear, I told myself again. An unusually aggressive and intelligent one. Adrenaline had made me think it was some strange creature, taking away rationality.
The clock told me it was almost eleven in the morning. In Minnesota, it would be nearly midday, but I knew the sun had just started coming up in Western Alaska. I stood up and stretched before heading to find Alasie, half-expecting to find out the night had been some sort of crazy dream or hallucination.
It wasn’t. Alasie was kneeling on the kitchen floor beside Siku, her movements slow and careful as she checked the dog’s wound. Siku lifted his head when he saw me, his tail thumping faintly against the blanket. He was a beautiful dog, his coat made up of whites, blacks, and browns.
“He’s sore, but he’s strong,” Alasie murmured as she felt his breathing.
“Of course he is,” I nodded. Everything about her team suggested strength and endurance.
“I took him out a few minutes ago to use the bathroom,” she said. “He still won’t put weight on the paw.”
“Hopefully a bit more rest will help,” I replied.
“The others need to be fed,” she added, getting to her feet. “They must be hungry.”
“I’ll come with you,” I offered.
The dogs needed to be fed, but we humans had to eat as well. Calories were important in the freezing temperatures of Alaska. Normally, we’d see to the animals first, but we didn’t want to keep taking our layers on and off. I took a quick shower and prepared a meal for the two of us before we got suited up to head outside and start the day.
The sun was low, casting a pale light that reflected off the snow. We entered the dog shelter, and the eight other dogs greeted Alasie with eager yips and wagging tails. Alasie moved down the line, checking each dog and giving them affectionate pats and soft words of encouragement. I followed her lead, handing out food to the dogs and earning their eternal friendship.
Alasie was happy to talk about mushing while we worked; her face lighting up as she discussed her job and hobby. She had been mushing her entire life, and dreamed of one day running the Iditarod. I was very impressed with her, since I couldn’t imagine the strength it took to brave the wilderness like that. An isolated lab in Alaska was already pushing the limits of my comfort.
When she spoke about her family, about being Inupiaq and what it meant to grow up on the Seward Peninsula, there was pride in her voice. While not fluent in their language, she did know enough for some basic conversations. It was impressive, especially since I wasn’t even sure about the nationality of my last name.
Watching her work revealed just how skilled Alasie was; she was calm and precise as she reassured the dogs. There was no fear in her voice when we took them out of the shelter for a brief walk Whatever had chased them hadn’t shaken her confidence. If anything, it was the opposite. She was sharp and focused, treating each dog equally as she kept them all in line.
“What’s your plan?” I asked once the dogs were settled back in the shelter.
“Normally?” she gave me a tired smile while squatting beside Anana. “We’d rest a few hours, rearrange the team if needed, and head back out.”
“And now?” I questioned delicately.
Alasie straightened slowly. “I’m not leaving until Siku can pull again.”
I nodded. It made sense, like everything else she did. “Of course. Did you let home know you’re okay?”
“Yeah, before you woke up,” she answered. “Grandma answered the radio. I just told her I was safe, but a dog was hurt so I’d be delayed returning.”
“Okay,” I let out a breath. “And the bear?”
“If it’s a polar bear,” she began carefully, “it may still be close. It’s one thing when I was running, but if it’s away from its usual food source and knows there’s something in here. It might hang around in the area a while.”
“Okay,” I let out a nervous breath. “So, we keep the dogs secured, stay alert, and wait things out?”
Alasie looked at me, her dark eyes searching my face. “For now.”
I had a job to do, even if recent events were distracting. Alasie helped me move supplies around, getting everything where it needed to be. We refilled the generators and Alasie went with me while I checked all of the equipment. She had a curious mind, happy to hear me talk about my work and what the readouts meant.
The generator shed smelled like hot metal and old oil, a nauseating aroma that made Alasie crinkle her nose in distaste. First step was to shut down the generator, plunging the room into darkness. I then crouched in front of the open control panel, my headlamp illuminating the area. Alasie was looking over my shoulder, watching with interest.
“There you are,” I muttered under my breath.
I pointed out the voltage regulator to Alasie; it was a compact black module bolted in place. One terminal was scorched dark, and I made sure she could see the melted plastic. The fact that it was still partially-functional was nothing short of a miracle. It wouldn’t have lasted more than another day.
“That’s not supposed to look like that,” I commented.
“I’m not a physicist, but I know burnt circuits are bad,” Alasie giggled.
Next step was to check the fuses. I pulled two from their seats, noticing one was intact while the other had blown. I slipped the damaged fuse into my pocket before removing a new one from the packaging. I loved circuits; it was amazing how one small part could through such a delicate system out of balance.
“The regulator tried to compensate and cooked itself,” I said to Alasie. “That explains at least some of the fluctuations.”
“You’re talking about the big alarm before I called for help?” she asked. I had told her about it during one of our shift changes.
“Yes,” I nodded.
“So, that explains that problem,” she sighed, seeming relieved.
“Actually, no,” I winced. “I mean, it explains some of the fluctuations, but something definitely triggered all the nodes. I still have no idea what.”
“Oh,” Alasie stated simply. She might not have been a scientist, but I knew that, in many ways, she understood the land better than I did.
Despite the cold, my hands were steady as I unbolted the module. My entire world narrowed to wires, terminals, and tolerances. It was comforting. I even forgot about the very strange night as I swapped in the new voltage regulator. Then I put the covering back on and screwed it back in.
“Okay, fingers crossed,” I said as I pulled the breaker.
“This is normal, right?” Alasie looked around as the generator hummed to life.
“It’s perfect,” I smiled. “Thank you for braving the wilderness to bring me the new regulator.”
“My pleasure,” she laughed. “Uh, mostly.”
The events of the early morning convinced me that a perimeter check was needed as well. Alasie agreed, suggesting we bring a couple of dogs to help. They would smell something wrong; we wouldn’t. She didn’t bother with the sled, instead clipping a short leash to each of the two harnesses. Both dogs were disciplined and focused, responding instantly to Alasie’s commands.
Kimi, the lead dog, was the first one Alasie chose. The second was a strong male named Nanuq. Alasie told me Nanuq meant “polar bear” in Inupiaq, so it was very fitting. All nine of her dogs were named with Inupiaq words that fit with the landscape. A musher using a theme for their dog names was apparently pretty common.
As a group, we slowly circled the perimeter, moving along the fence line. Kimi’s tail was low, her attention fixed on the tree line beyond the fence. Nanuq lowered his snout, sniffing a spot near the edge of the fence. Alasie crouched down beside the dog and glanced toward the snow just outside the perimeter with a frown on her face.
Tracks. Huge, almost human-like; too narrow for a bear or a wolf. I could tell the animal had claws, but its feet were not what I expected from any wolf or bear. Each print was deep in the snow, showing that whatever made them was quite heavy. Did polar bears really have feet like that? It didn’t seem right.
“Polar bear,” I said automatically, despite the doubt I was feeling.
“This isn’t right,” Alasie whispered, looking deeply concerned. “Bears do rear up, but they run on four legs. Whatever made these walked upright.”
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