Page 67 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
“Look,” he goes on, “I understand that you’re protective of your mate. Truly, I do. But I can personally assure you that my daughter is safe in my home. She’s the future of this pack and I won’t let anything happen to her. This place is guarded 24/7.”
Which would be great, if it wasn’t Gideon’s guards that I’m worried about. Even now, Abel leers at Peaches as she walks around in the kitchen.
“You seemed intent on her suffering yesterday,” I say. “This afternoon you told me sheshouldsuffer.”
“I want her put in her place,” Gideon says. “If suffering is the only way to make that happen, then so be it. But you seem like a persuasive man, Javier, and I’m sure you can find another way.”
My stomach churns, my distrust mounting. I don’t know why he’s giving me so much leeway. I don’t have anything to offer him; fuck, he could just kill me and replace me with Abel if he really wanted to.
Why hasn’t he done that already?
“Fine,” I say. “But she needs to be allowed to stay with the other omegas—and remember that I can sense her.” I turn to Abel. “If something happens, I’ll turn that boat around and annihilate anyone who touches her.”
Abel smirks. “Aye-aye, captain.”
“This isn’t a joke,” I snap.
“Easy does it, Javier,” Gideon cuts in. “Tomorrow—first thing. Ephraim will come for you. And if you have a problem with Abel…well, he can go with you.”
Abel shoots Gideon a glare. “I’ve got business elsewhere.”
Gideon’s lip curls, revealing sharp canines. “Your business is what I say it is,” Gideon hisses. “And I say you’re fishing tomorrow.”
I cross my arms and look between the three of them—Gideon, Ephraim, and Abel—all with their own relationships, baggage, disagreements. Already, I can see the cracks forming in what I thought was a united front, Gideon having a tenuous hold over his son and his top general.
I’ll have to figure out what those weaknesses are—and if I can exploit them, maybe we can get off of this rock.
15
PEACHES
My father’s control over the women in this house is terrifying.
Before dinner, I thought maybe—just maybe—I could talk to them. Whisper something. Build a little solidarity. But even when I tried, their eyes had gone sharp with warning, their hands twitching like they wanted to cover my mouth. They wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t risk it. Whatever grip he has on them, it goes bone-deep.
By the time I’m released from kitchen duty, my arms ache from holding heavy trays and my throat burns with unsaid words. But as soon as Javi appears at the edge of the dining room and lifts his hand, beckoning me into the shelter of his side, my breath comes easier. He doesn’t say a word. Just folds me under his arm, warm and solid and protective, and walks me back through the Citadel like I belong there—like I belong to him.
And I hate how much I like that.
The door clicks shut behind us, sealing us back in the little world ofourroom, and I spin around to face him, ready to?—
He holds a finger to his lips.
I go still, listening.
There. Footsteps, light but unmistakable. And the soft sound of breath, right outside our door.
“Take off your clothes,” Javi says—loud, commanding.
I blink.
His face is blank. Serious. But when our eyes meet…he winks.
My pulse skitters.
“Are you going to—” I ask, pitching my voice high and frightened, playing my part.
“You were told not to speak,” he snaps, interrupting me. The sharpness in his voice is electric. “Don’t make me punish you again.”
