Page 12 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter (Moonbound Mates #3)

PEACHES

I ’m still reeling from the events of the past two days when Ephraim shuts me in my room with my mate.

My mate.

My whole life, I’ve dreamt of a great, sweeping love story—of something golden and soft, like the edges of a sunrise. Something I never thought I’d have on the Rig, but that began to feel possible once I left. Once I saw what love looked like when it wasn’t twisted by power.

I watched my friends find it. Charlotte’s roguish alpha who looked at her like she hung the stars.

Tilda—scarred and stubborn—finding a lover who knelt for her, who never made her feel like too much.

Colt kissing Maggie’s belly while she was pregnant, whispering promises against her skin.

Elijah bringing Charlotte wildflowers from the road.

And I wanted that. I waited for that. I let myself believe I could have it, too.

Now all of that has been torn away from me.

Stolen.

Stolen by the man standing in front of me.

And the worst part is…I don’t even know why.

It wasn’t a rescue. It couldn’t be. We’re still on the Rig. I’m still a prisoner. He’s the one who dragged me back to this place, who delivered me into the hands of a man who would have let me be torn to pieces just to prove a point.

So why did he step in?

Why did he mark me?

Why did it feel right when he touched me?

I wrap my arms around myself and sink to the edge of the bed, the thin mattress cold beneath me. My dress is still damp, clinging to my skin like seaweed. My collar is soaked in blood. The bite is swollen, tender, pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

My whole body hurts.

But it’s my heart that aches the worst.

I feel raw. Bruised. Humiliated. My hands tremble, and I can’t stop the image that flashes again and again through my mind—his mouth at my throat, the press of his cock between my legs, the way his scent wrapped around me and made me want .

I hate him.

I want him.

I don’t know the difference anymore.

And I don’t understand how something so sacred could feel so wrong.

I was supposed to be cherished.

Instead…I was claimed.

“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— really seeing —I notice the scars.

Not just the one on his brow or the faded scratch across his ribs, but the deep ones.

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 of them.

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 his right.

“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.

With him .

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.”

“To stop someone worse from claiming you,” he mutters, jaw clenched. He won’t look at me. His hands plant on his hips like he’s working through something difficult, like I’m the one making this hard for him.

I blink. I can’t make sense of it. He’s standing there like he’s the victim, like this isn’t my whole life shattering at my feet.

He stole my choice. My freedom. My future.

He took away the dream—the one I’ve been holding onto for as long as I can remember. A dream of being chosen, loved, wanted. A sweet first kiss. A gentle bond. A claim that meant something.

“Once we got here, I realized you don’t deserve this,” he goes on. “And now we’re both trapped. Trust that I’m kicking myself for it.”

The way he says it is what breaks me—flat, cold, like this is just some mistake he regrets, like I’m collateral damage in his bad decision-making.

His mark is still bleeding on my throat, hot and raw and permanent, and he’s standing there acting like he stepped in something he wishes he could wipe off his boot.

My face crumples. I lower my head, letting my hair fall in front of my eyes so he can’t see the tears. I don’t want him to see me cry. I don’t want him to know he’s already broken me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the shame of it pooling heavy in my chest. I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for. For existing, maybe. For being here. For not being stronger, better, someone else.

He grunts.

“Now come here,” he says. “You need to bathe. You’re a mess.”

It’s not cruel. It’s not warm, either.

It’s just…a command. And he’s my alpha…so I obey.

I hold back tears as I shuffle toward him, eager to get out of these clothes and into the bath.

At the same time, I’m nervous about him seeing me naked, judging me, regretting his choice.

I manage to pull the tatters of damp white fabric from my body, but then a searing pain pulses through me from my neck to my extremities.

The bite.

It needs tending. Care. Love.

I don’t think I’ll find any of that here.

Javi’s hands are suddenly at my neck, and I jerk my head up to find him concentrating on the collar.

He undoes the clasp and tosses it on the bed, where it leaves a stain of red blood.

It wasn’t all that tight, but I feel a sense of freedom without it that almost makes me feel better.

The self-consciousness and shame comes racing back, though, when Javi’s hands land on my shoulders, his eyes somewhere behind me.

He won’t even look at me.

“You don’t wear that when it’s just the two of us,” he rumbles.

He’s so ashamed of me that he doesn’t even want to look at his mark. He doesn’t want any sign that I’m his mate.

If that’s what I am at all.

“Okay,” I say.

“Get in the bath,” he orders.

He turns off the faucet as I step in, finding it almost scalding. I hiss out a breath, but I get in as he tells me, helpless to do anything else. I can already feel the power of the lycan bond working its magic, and without my bite on him, I’m subject to each and every one of his whims.

I’m entirely at his mercy and I don’t even know him.

I let the water cover me completely as Javi stalks away, checking every corner of the room.

He peeks into the lamps, the drawers, the little trinkets my father has always kept around the Citadel.

I keep my eyes on him as I reach for the soap, knowing it won’t wash away the way I feel and wishing it would.

“What are you doing?” I ask, my voice quiet.

“Looking for bugs,” he says. “I don’t know if they’re listening…watching.”

“They’re not that smart around here,” I say. “And they don’t have the tech—not since the Heavenly Host dipped out on the Gulf Pack.”

“You don’t know that,” he snaps.

“Yes I do,” I say. “I planned an escape from this place once before, remember?”

He pauses to glare at me. “Trust me,” he says.

I shrug. “Okay.”

As if I have any reason to trust him.

I busy myself scrubbing my skin raw, careful not to touch the bite mark.

It throbs every time I get near it, like it’s angry that the bite wasn’t immediately followed by consummation.

That’s the way it’s supposed to be—but nothing about this is normal, according to the norms of anywhere I’ve ever lived.

I’m sure the alphas out there think Javi is having the time of his life in here, but it seems like he wants to run screaming away from the Rig just as much as I do.

The water gets cold while he searches the room.

There’s no towel in sight, and the wound on my neck is still raw—too raw.

A tremble shakes my body, forcing me to stand up and look for a towel.

The closest one is by the door, and I clear my throat to get Javi to bring it to me so I don’t track water all over the floor.

Such a silly thing to think about.

Tracking water on the floor when my life is at risk.