Page 47 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
I bit her. She took the pain, allowed me to tend to it.
And now she’s naked in my bed, my scent over her pulse.
It certainly doesn’t hurt that she’s gorgeous, with waist-length scarlet curls, generous curves, and freckles that paint her skin from head to toe. I want more. I don’t just want to see—I want to touch, taste, feel.
I want to thoroughly claim her, breed her, make her mine in every way that counts. Surrounded by hostile alphas, I want nothing more than to make it clear to them that she belongs to me.
But I can’t.
And I won’t.
Because she hates me.
I stand and pace by the door when I start to nod off, taking note of anything and everything in the room—anything to get my mind off her. There’s a pile of loot in the corner, discarded like trash, tokens of the old world that don’t have any meaning or value post-Convergence. One of the strangest artifacts is a bag of shiny silver communicators, their screens shattered and the power gone. I kneel by the pile of stuff and dig through it, looking for a charger in what’s likely a doomed attempt to find a way out of this.
Peaches sniffles behind me, and I jerk my head around, instinctual. Her eyes are wide, locked on mine, big and brown and glossy like a fawn’s. It’s dark, but I don’t need light to see her. My vision’s sharp enough to catch every tremble in her lip, every twitch of her lashes. She’s still clutching the blanket tightaround herself, nothing but skin beneath it and a storm behind her.
“Sorry,” she whispers.
I tense. “Why are you sorry?”
“Because I’m… I dunno, annoyin’ you, probably,” she says, voice all small and breathless. “I’ve been told I talk too much. That I run my mouth.”
“You’ve barely said a word,” I scoff.
She blinks. “IthoughtI was bein’ real restrained.”
I raise an eyebrow.
She pulls the blanket tighter, sits up straighter, and pushes her hair behind her ear with this sheepish little movement that damn near guts me. A flash of lightning outside gives me a stark glimpse of every curve, and I avert my eyes again fast before she can see how much I want her.
“My daddy always said I’d talk myself into a cell someday,” she adds, her voice quieter now. “Guess he just didn’t expect it to behiscell.”
There’s a beat where I don’t say anything. She bites her lip. Hard.
“And now I’ve done it again,” she says, voice bright with embarrassment. “Ramblin’ my little heart out to the man who quite literally chased me down through a hurricane and bit me on the neck. I…really need to learn when to shut up.”
I huff a breath and glance toward the door. “I don’t mind it.”
She perks up, visibly surprised.
“Just don’t let on about that when we’re around the others,” I add.
She nods fast, lashes fluttering. “Oh, of course not. Don’t worry. I know how to keep secrets.” A pause. “Sorta.”
I shake my head. She’s so earnest it hurts.
“Well…now I don’t know what to talk about,” she says, blinking wide-eyed like a baby deer in the headlights. “You’re theonly person who’s listened to me since I got back here—even if it is your fault I’m here—but now my brain’s all scrambled like eggs and I can’t think of a single decent thing to say.”
“You seemed eager a minute ago.”
“I was!” she insists, huffing. “But now I’m nervous. I don’t even know what youlike.I don’t know what you’re into, what makes you tick, what you care about. I don’t know where you’re from, or how you ended up bein’ a mercenary, or if you’ve always been all broody and grumpy or if that came later…”
She stops herself with a little squeak. “Oh no, now I’m bein’ rude.”
I snort. “You’re fine.”
“Well, thanks,” she says with a dramatic little bat of her lashes, and I can’t tell if she’s teasing me or just can’t help herself. “I just—I like people’s stories. I like thetextureof them. All the little things that make up a person.”
