Page 96 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
Of pretending.
Of enduring.
Of surviving.
And yet…in the dark, under the thin blankets in our little prison of a room, I fall into Javi’s arms and let the rest of the world fade away. We speak in whispers, careful not to linger too long on dreams we might never reach. I talk about what could be—about getting out, about going home, about having a life somewhere else. Somewheresafe. Somewhereours.
But Javi flinches when I talk like that. He doesn’t want to dream. Not yet. Not while we’re still caged.
“I can’t hope, Peach,” he tells me one night, voice raw. “Not until I know you’re safe.”
So I hope for both of us.
Because someone has to.
Even though I haven’t heard from my pack since that one call. Even though Ephraim won’t meet my eyes. Even though Abel’s harassment gets worse by the day. Even though Gideon watches me with a look that makes my blood run cold.
I cling to the memory of that voice on the other end of the radio. Frankie. Tilda. My people. I imagine them coming for us like a rising tide—inevitable, unstoppable.
But the days keep slipping by.
Javi is gone more often now. Fishing. Hauling supplies. Breaking down old equipment for scrap. I watch him from the window when I can, a tall figure moving like a storm on the horizon.
And me—I stay behind. I clean. I cook. I serve the other alphas like a ghost in the Citadel, surrounded by the other silent omegas. We pass each other like shadows in the halls, no words, no smiles. Only survival.
But at night, we remember who we are.
At night, we reclaim each other.
Javi touches me like I’m sacred—like every inch of me is a prayer. He buries his face in my hair and whispers things he’d never say in daylight. Things about love. About forever. About how he doesn’t know if he can live without me.
We don’t need words most nights. We justmovetogether, slow and desperate, like we’re trying to memorize the shape of our bodies before the world rips us apart.
We fuck like it’s the only freedom we’re allowed.
And sometimes I forget that I ever lived anywhere else.
Sometimes I forget I was ever free at all.
Gideon’s tactics work.
He doesn’t need whips or chains. Just time.
Time to wear us down. Time to take away choices, inch by inch, until obedience feels like the only option left.
Until we start believing the lie that maybe this is all there is.
Until I wake up one morning with a churning stomach, a pounding head—and a creeping, dreadful knowing.
Every scent seems stronger and sharper as the world comes to life around me, the slight sway of the Rig feeling like I’m on a sea-tossed ship. I frown and nestle into Javi’s side, breathing him in deeply. His scent is the only thing that’s nice about the waking world, and I let out a little moan at just how good it is.
His cock twitches against my thigh, still wedged between my legs. He was inside me when we fell asleep; his knot must have let me go at some point in the night, though I’m ready for him to fuck me again. I thrum with pleasure and move to kiss him, then my stomach turns again.
I roll over, dizzy and burning, and hurl myself out of bed. My legs barely cooperate—I stumble, catching myself on the edge of the curtain as I veer toward the little alcove with the toilet.
It doesn’t afford much privacy.
Not that I’m thinking about that when my knees hit the cold metal floor and I drag the curtain half off its hooks in theprocess. My stomach lurches again, and I fold forward, barely able to get the lid up in time before everything comes spilling out of me—last night’s dinner, and maybe every ounce of peace I’ve managed to scrape together since we got here.
