Page 27 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
Just for a second.
Boyd is a cold, ruthless bastard, and he’s not stupid. If he’s telling me not to do something, it’s because he knows exactly where this leads.
But he also doesn’t care.
Not about her.
Not about what happens to her.
Not about how wrong this all is.
I curl my hands into fists, nails pressing into my palms.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
Boyd just sighs, like he already knows how this ends.
And then I step out into the rain.
The wind howls through the Rig, a relentless force that rips at my clothes, stings against my skin, howls in my ears like a call to war.
The storm has arrived.
But as I step onto the platform, the rain stops.
A sudden, unnatural break—dead air, dead silence.
My breath shudders out of me as I look up, and there it is—the full moon, massive and swollen, framed by the edge of the storm.
We’re in the eye.
They planned it this way.
I feel it thrumming in my bones, the static charge in the air, the pressure thick enough to taste. It slams into me like a fist to the chest—rage, adrenaline, the primal hunger of the hunt.
And I know every alpha here feels it too.
The crowd is already forming.
Three dozen alphas, circling like sharks, their bodies tense with anticipation, hunger, the thrill of the chase.
And in the center of it all, one helpless figure.
Peaches is on her knees, face downcast, wearing a white shift that’s already soaked through and revealing everything. Her red hair hides her face, crystalline water droplets clinging to her curls.
My lycan stirs, growls in warning to all the others around. They scent the warning, taking a step back from me.
I came here to deliver her to her father, but I’m going to get her out.
Even if it kills me.
And from the way every alpha in the circle tenses, muscles flexing, their own instincts clawing for dominance…
I think I might have to kill all of them.
The storm roars.
Lightning flashes.
