Page 14 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
A wave of nausea rolls through me, sweat beading at the back of my neck.
We step into the grand hall, a space that once might have been nothing but metal and oil drums—now transformed into a pirate king’s hoard. Treasure is discarded carelessly, glimmering gold piled in corners like a dragon’s den—pieces stolen from old world ruins, coins, goblets, jewelry, all gathered from wreckage and raids. A few broken artifacts sit half-buried in the mess, things too fragile for rough hands.
But it’s the paintings that catch me.
Biblical scenes line the walls, ancient saints and bleeding martyrs, their paint chipped from exposure to saltwater, some faded to almost nothing. The eyes are the worst part. The ones still visible seem to watch me, their gaze burning through years of decay and rot.
My father’s twisted idea of faith, carved into the bones of this place.
As we pass a sitting room, the low murmur of voices makes me turn my head—and my stomach drops. Three omegas sit near a crackling fire, their bare feet chained to the floor. They’re soft-looking, hair tangled from too many hands running through it, their faces blurred by the telltale haze of opiatesand exhaustion. One of them glances up, eyes dull, lips parting slightly when she sees me.
Recognition.
Not of me—but of what I am.
Of what I used to be before I escaped this place and left them behind.
I can’t breathe.
I stumble, my bare foot scraping against the uneven flooring, and Javi’s grip tightens on my arm, steadying me before I fall. It’s barely a touch: a reflex, a job. But the moment his fingers press into my skin, the horror and grief boiling inside me flickers—not gone, but diverted.
Redirected to him.
To the alpha holding me still, the one who caught me, caged me, and is delivering me like cargo to the man who owns this ruin of a kingdom.
The one who, even now, is keeping me from falling when he should let me break.
We move past the firelight.
I don’t look back.
Ephraim leads us up a metal staircase, each step groaning under our weight. At the top, he unlatches a door, and inside is exactly what I expected: a barebones space. A cot in one corner. A bucket in the other. No windows. No escape.
My prison.
Javi steps inside with me, Ephraim lingering at the door with his arms crossed, watching. This is it: my last chance. I turn to Javi—to the only alpha here who isn’t one of them—and I look him in the eye.
“Please,” I whisper. “Please help me.”
Javi stills. He breathes too slowly, too deliberately, like he’s fighting the way my scent is sinking into his lungs.
"Esther—" he starts, his voice like a warning.
"My name isn’t Esther," I breathe.
He flinches. Barely.
"It’s Peaches," I whisper. "I just wanted someone to know before…before she disappears."
Javi’s grip on my arm tightens for a second, like he wants to shake me, like he wants to say something…but all he does is release me too fast, as if my skin burned him.
"It isn’t my job to help you, omega," he says—and his words are filled with so much disdain that it nearly breaks me.
It’s a lie.
I don’t know how I know that, but I do.
But it’s the last thing he says before he stalks out of the room.
