Page 25 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
Her lips thin in apprehension, her breath staggered.
“It’s normally done at the full moon,” she says. “Sort of a claiming ceremony for the omegas. They bring all the girls whojust turned eighteen out to be claimed, and then they…they let the alphas fight for them.”
Boyd has to do a double-take. “Excuse me?”
“It can get violent,” Lila says. “And it would be out of the ordinary to do it now since we don’t have any newly eighteen year old omegas, but with Esther Vinton back home…”
She shudders, not finishing her sentence.
“I swear this alpha and omega thing is the most wild shit I’ve ever heard of,” Boyd mutters. “I don’t get it; how is it that me and Lila here got lycanthropy too, but you’re the only ones who go nuts over it?”
“It’s not as fun as it seems,” I grunt.
“So what happens during this ceremony?” Boyd asks, looking over at Lila. “Doesn’t sound like the best time.”
“Hard to know,” Lila says. “I haven’t seen it in a few years. But from what I hear and see in the mess after…? They gather up on the deck and have it out over the omegas until one of them ruts or bites her. The alphas prove themselves that way—because Gideon wants only the best. He wants the strongest alpha to take omegas, to pass down the bloodline.”
“Psychotic,” Boyd huffs. He looks over at me. “So…brave the hurricane, right?”
I blow out a breath.
“We’ll stay and wait out the storm,” I say. “Safer that way—just stay indoors while they do their weird ritual, and then we’ll head out as soon as the weather clears. You know hurricanes aren’t to be fucked with, Boyd.”
“And neither are crazed alphas,” Boyd shoots back. “But…I trust you, Javi. You’ve never steered me wrong over the years.”
I have to hope he’s right.
The storm hitsfull force a few hours later.
It’s been brewing all day, thick in the air, kicking up a storm surge that threatens to capsize half the boats moored to the dock. Now, it’s in full swing, rain hammering against the metal bunkhouse roof, the wind screaming through the scaffolding of the Rig like it’s alive.
Boyd and Lila huddle in the lower bunk, tangled up in each other’s warmth. I should be asleep by now—I should be saving my strength, making sure I’m sharp in the morning so we can get the hell off this rock.
But I can’t sleep.
Because I can’t stop smelling her.
Sweet, overripe spring fruit, like I’m biting into a peach fresh off the branch, juices running down my chin. It clings to me, sinks into my lungs, curls in my gut like hunger.
My rut should be over.
I re-upped my wolfsbane. It’s coursing through my system, dulling the edges of my instincts, keeping me from going feral over some omega I don’t even know.
But the Rig is thick with energy tonight.
Like something’s building.
Like something’s about to break.
I exhale slow, forcing myself to stare at the ceiling, watching the rusted patterns blur together. But all I see is her.
Curly red hair. Freckles scattered across bare skin.
Peaches.
She’s alone right now, locked in some dark, windowless room, waiting for whatever sick fucking tradition Gideon has in store. And me? I’m supposed to lie here and ignore it.
I brought in the shipment.
