Page 118 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
Frankie turns around slowly, blood dripping from her hand. “Men like him don’t deserve second chances,” she says. “I won’t apologize.”
“You won’t have to,” Reyes says.
Will grunts in agreement. Tilda just nods.
Colt lets out a hiss. “Remind me to never get on your bad side again.”
The girl—no, Evangeline—rises slowly to her feet, blinking like she can’t believe what just happened. She touches her neck again, and then looks at Frankie like she’s just seen a goddess walk out of legend.
“Thank you,” she says.
Frankie gives her a nod. “No need. I enjoyed it.” She turns to the rest of us. “Let’s get the hell back to Austin.”
I bury my face in Javi’s fur again, my tears soaking into his coat.
The Rig is behind us.
My brother is gone.
My father is dead.
But I’m alive.
Javi’s still breathing.
And the family I chose is all around me.
I just hope we can keep holding on long enough to bring him back.
29
PEACHES
Everyone at the den has questions, but I only have eyes for Javi.
It takes three days to get home—first by boat to some out-of-the-way port down the Louisiana coast, then the long, silent drive inland. No one talks much. Not about what happened, not about what comes next. The whole time, I barely leave Javi’s side. I sleep curled around his wolf form in the back of the van, whispering his name, praying he’ll stay breathing. He doesn’t shift back. He doesn’t speak. But his heart keeps beating…and that’s enough to keep me going.
By the time we pull through the gates of the Austin Den, the sun is just starting to rise, casting the clearing in hazy gold.
We’re home.
The car door opens and I’m groggy, blinking against the light, sore from the road. I slept maybe two hours last night, wrapped around Javi on the hard floor of the van. My legs ache, and my whole body’s stiff, not to mention the bruises—one on my hip, another on my shoulder, both gifts from when Gideon threw me to the deck like I weighed nothing at all.
But I’m standing. I made it.
The second my boots hit the ground, my knees buckle a little—and then two pairs of arms catch me.
Charlotte on one side.
Maggie on the other.
I don’t even have time to register it before I’m sobbing, burying my face in the crook of Maggie’s neck. She smells like rosemary shampoo and the safe kitchen at the heart of the den. Like the mornings we used to spend making biscuits, listening to records, dreaming about love like it was something simple. Something soft.
I cry harder.
My whole body shudders with it.
“I’ve got you,” she whispers, her arms wrapping around me tighter. She presses a kiss to the top of my head. “We’ve got you. You’re safe.”
