Page 10 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter (Moonbound Mates #3)

Javi crosses his arms and lifts his chin in defiance. I start to sit up, water getting into my eyes and mouth, but my alpha growls down at me, warning me not to move. The others are still moving around me, like they might strike at any moment.

This isn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

“What rules?” Javi says. “I played your game and I won the chase. This female is mine.”

My heart pounds at his words. He’s right—I belong to him now, no matter what I want. What’s more important right now, though, is the fact that this clearly wasn’t what my father wanted…and that makes me glad it was Javi who caught me.

“You’re not my pack,” Gideon says.

"You didn’t say that was part of the rules," Javi snaps, his voice a razor’s edge, a growl rolling through his chest.

The circle of alphas tightens, their hungry, panting bodies slick with sweat, still trembling with adrenaline, still waiting, still hoping for even the slightest opening to take what should be his.

But there’s no opening.

Because Javi isn't letting me go.

And they know it.

Abel’s voice cuts through the chaos, sharp with challenge, his tone taunting, testing.

"And what are you going to do with her?"

Javi bares his teeth, his claws lengthening where his hand still presses against my waist.

The growl that rips from his throat is low, guttural, dripping with the kind of possession that should make my stomach churn, that should make me afraid.

Instead, my body reacts like it’s been waiting for this.

My thighs clench, my breath catches, and a new, deeper ache spreads between my legs like wildfire.

"I’m going to rut her."

The words are filthy, raw, delivered with unshakable certainty.

"I’m going to use her."

His fingers tighten against my hip, his grip firm, possessive, unyielding.

"She’s mine."

A shudder wracks through me, my stomach twisting in knots, my pulse a stuttering mess in my throat.

His.

The other alphas snarl in frustration, a ripple of jealousy passing through the gathered men, but Javi doesn’t even look at them.

His focus is singular, laser-sharp, locked onto Gideon.

"I’m taking my mate," Javi says, his voice like thunder, his body tense, coiled, dangerous.

"And we’re leaving."

Gideon laughs.

A sneer crawls across his face, his amusement clear, his disdain even clearer.

"No. You’re not."

The moment the words leave his mouth, the pack alphas move.

They crowd the elevator, crossing their arms, blocking our path.

Not that it would matter.

The hurricane is about to rip the Rig apart, and the ocean won’t be safe until morning.

Javi doesn’t glance over his shoulder, doesn’t look for another way out.

His focus doesn’t waver.

His eyes are locked on Gideon.

"She’s mine," he snarls, fangs bared, his voice a vow, a warning, a promise.

"I’m not giving her up."

Gideon’s smirk deepens.

"Then I guess you’re staying."

He flicks his hand, casual, dismissive.

"Boys—lock up his ship. Find his partner."

Javi’s shoulders tense, but he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t react.

He just stands there, a wall of heat and muscle, his arm still wrapped tight around me, keeping me tucked against his side, against his scent, against the steady rise and fall of his chest.

I don’t understand why he’s doing this.

Why he’s risking everything.

I should be terrified.

I should be fighting him.

But I’m grateful for his weight, for his touch, for the way he glares at the encroaching alphas like he’ll tear them apart limb by limb before he lets them lay a hand on me.

And yet?—

That doesn’t mean he won’t do the same to me.

He could break me.

He could hurt me, bend me, make me forget everything that makes me me?—

And it would be his right.

He’s my alpha in this pack now.

A whimper catches in my throat, my chin trembling, but I squeeze my lips together, trying to force the tears back down.

I wish I was stronger.

I wish I could stop crying.

But here I am, about to sob in front of a pack of alphas who would revel in my pain.

Gideon’s gaze flicks between us, his amusement twisting into something colder, something calculating.

"Well," he muses, tilting his head, mocking curiosity laced through every syllable.

"You caught her."

Javi’s grip on me tightens.

"You marked her."

Javi stills.

"There’s just one more step."

He reaches out.

Javi snarls.

But Gideon doesn’t move any closer.

He just extends his hand, holding something small, dark, and heavy.

A leather collar with a silver ring attached to the front.

My stomach plummets, my breath catching on a sharp, angry sob. Something feral, something wild, something screams inside me.

Not this.

I feel Javi’s hesitation, the way his body tenses against me, the way his fingers flex on my waist, like he doesn’t want to take it.

But he does.

He plucks the collar from my father’s hand, the leather sitting heavy in his palm.

And then?—

He turns to face me.

The hunger in his eyes is devastating.

The possessive lust roiling in his green stare makes my whole body go tight, breathless, aching.

His tongue drags across his lips, slow, deliberate, like he’s already tasting me, like he’s imagining what I’ll look like underneath him. His gaze drops to my throat, to the bite he left there, still raw, still bleeding, still marking me as his.

A low growl vibrates through his chest.

Then—

He grabs me.

One massive hand snaps to my waist, jerking me forward, his grip so tight I gasp, my fingers flying up to grip his arms, to steady myself.

The other hand lifts the collar.

I shudder as he wraps it around my throat, the leather sitting heavy against my skin, snug, possessive, final.

The clasp snaps shut.

Javi’s fingers tighten on the back of my neck, pressing down just enough that I feel it, just enough to make me tremble. The pressure sends a wave of heat straight to my core, my thighs clenching involuntarily, my breath coming faster.

The leather smells like him already.

Like his hands, his sweat, his claim.

The crowd erupts in laughter, wolves jeering, barking, howling with approval.

Gideon watches, his expression smug, victorious.

But Javi?—

Javi doesn’t look victorious at all.

His face is still, his jaw locked so tight I can see the muscles jumping beneath his skin.

He doesn’t look satisfied.

He doesn’t look proud.

He looks disgusted.

And I don’t know if it’s because of them, because of me…or because of himself.