Page 42 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
I was supposed to becherished.
Instead…I wasclaimed.
“Why?” I whisper.
Javi turns around, buttoning up the jeans Ephraim gave him. His black hair is still wet from the storm, plastered in wild curls to his forehead and neck. His green eyes are unreadable—sharp, focused, the kind that make you feel seen whether you want to be or not.
And his body…
It’s tense. Coiled. Muscle carved into every inch of him like he’s always ready to fight. And now that I’m really looking—reallyseeing—I notice the scars. Not just the one on his brow or the faded scratch across his ribs, but thedeepones. Long, jagged gouges across his chest, like another lycan tried to tear him open and almost succeeded. Silver spots pepper his forearms—old burns, maybe, or worse. The kind that never heal right.
My stomach turns.
Because I’ve heard of marks like that before.
The Miami pits.
A place for casting off omegas, but worse for alphas—a blood sport haven where old men buy soldiers and rabid packs throw their worst into the ring just to watch them tear each other apart. My father used to talk about it like a recruiting ground. He’s bought muscle from there before. Called them “broken dogs” with nothing left but bite.
And Javi’s standing right in front of me.
He’s one ofthem.
A monster.
For a second, I wonder if he’s going to leap on me—finish what he started—right here and now, now that I’m marked and collared and officially his.
According to Rig law, it would be hisright.
“Why?” I say again, louder this time.
Javi glares at me, and for the first time I recognize the look on his face. He’s annoyed with me. He’s acting like I’ve asked a stupid question. He walks right past me, toward an old clawfoot tub in the corner, where he turns on the faucet.
“You should clean yourself up,” he grunts.
I stand on shaky legs, my body starting to tremble again. I hate how weak I am. I need to be stronger if I’m going to stay here. I take a hesitant step toward him, my hands balled into fists at my sides.
“Why did you do this?” I ask.
He turns around, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“You could have been caught by someone worse,” he says. “You should be grateful.”
I stare at him, my mouth falling open.
“You…no, of course I’m not grateful to you,” I say, voice trembling, the words catching in my throat like splinters. “You kidnapped me…you hunted me…you bit me without my consent…and you collared me.”
My fingers rise to the ring at my throat. It’s slick with blood now, the wound still tender and open. The pain throbs in time with my pulse, but it’s not the bite that burns the worst—it’s knowing what it means. That I was taken. Claimed. Bound forever to someone who didn’t ask.
His teeth sank deep. Deep enough that the mark will never fade. Deep enough that if I ever do find my fated mate—if I ever get out of this place—I’ll already be ruined.
Stuck.
Withhim.
He scoffs. “You think I wanted any of this?”
“I…” The word dies halfway out of my mouth, my brows furrowed, my chest aching. “But you…you joined the hunt.”
