Page 18 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter (Moonbound Mates #3)

JAVI

D inner is just as painful as I expected it to be.

Pretending like this is a family when it’s little more than a cult, eating food prepared by prisoners.

This is not my idea of a good time, and I don’t think it’s Peaches’ either.

The women in the kitchen don’t talk much, and they don’t even introduce themselves…

but then, I don’t think they’re allowed to.

Gideon gives them a stern look every time they make so much as a peep, moving listlessly between the dining room and the kitchen.

All that being said, the room is surprisingly empty.

With three wives, I thought Gideon would have lots of children running around, but it’s just me, Ephraim, and Abel as guests at his table.

The spread of food is far more than the four of us need, and I have to wonder how they’re so well-stocked out here.

I sit on the side of the table facing the kitchen, just close enough that I can glimpse her through the open doorway whenever she passes by.

Peaches.

She moves carefully, her face composed, her hands steady. But I can feel her fear even from here—like static in the air, like it’s soaked into her skin. Still, she keeps smiling. Not for the men in the kitchen barking orders at her. For the other omegas.

She whispers to them, reassures them. Smiles at them when they flinch. One of them looks like she hasn’t spoken aloud in years, but Peaches gets her to crack a small smile—and I can’t explain the way that hits me. What it means .

She even smiles at me once—just a flash of soft sweetness when she glances up and catches me watching her.

…I don’t deserve that.

I don’t deserve her.

She has no idea who I am, not really. Not what I’ve done. Not what I’ve been. Not what I’ll have to do to survive this place, to keep her safe.

I look away.

“Three’s been complaining about a leak in the roof again,” Ephraim says, casually spearing a piece of meat with his fork. “Guess the hurricane tore off some of the weather-proofing in the tower—I’ll have to fix it.”

My brow furrows. “Three?”

“Oh—it’s what the girls prefer to be called,” Gideon says smoothly, sipping from his glass. “Just a cute nickname.”

I go still.

“You…numbered them,” I say, my voice low.

A laugh rumbles out of Abel like this is all very funny. “Helps keep track.”

The world tilts. A flicker of memory—metal collar on my throat, cage bars welded shut, a number on the door instead of a name. Even in the fighting pits, they let me keep my fucking name .

“Easier that way,” Gideon says, all charm. “Especially when I’m goin’ bed to bed. They each get their own room—it’s what they prefer, actually. Bit of privacy. And it keeps things fair.”

I stare at him.

He talks about them like they’re inventory. Like he’s proud of the system.

Like he thinks it’s kind .

My stomach turns. I put my fork down, pressing my fingers together to keep from reaching for a knife instead.

“One’s been lookin’ a little plump lately,” Abel says around a mouthful, not even glancing up. “She just gainin’ weight, or is she pregnant?”

The air goes still.

No one laughs. No one answers.

My pulse spikes.

Then—crack.

Gideon’s palm slams against the table hard enough to shake the dishes. His silverware clatters across the wood. “You know damn well she’s not pregnant, boy.”

The sharpness in his voice draws every gaze. Even Peaches flinches from the kitchen.

“Before you ask,” Ephraim cuts in quickly, clearing his throat, “we already had the medic look at her.”

He speaks like someone trying to redirect a fuse that’s already been lit.

“Said she’s depressed,” he mutters. “Reckons she’s eatin’ more to cope. Told us to pick up some antidepressants next time we run a supply mission.”

“You believe him?” Abel asks, voice low.

Ephraim gives him a sharp look. “What reason would he have to lie?”

Gideon doesn’t speak.

He just wipes his mouth, slow and deliberate. His eyes flick from one face to the next, daring anyone to keep going.

Nobody does.

But I clock the way his jaw is tight. The way his hand curls slightly around his glass. The way he looks tired , suddenly.

Too tired for a man at the head of the table.

Too tired for someone so obsessed with legacy.

“Enough of this talk,” he says at last, his tone forcibly lighter. “Javier—tell us about yourself. What wily adventures did you go on between your time in Miami and when you arrived here?”

He’s already smiling again. Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t just damn near snap at his own men.

But there’s something curdled underneath it.

Something that makes my instincts itch.

Like he’s trying to steer the ship back on course before we all notice it’s sinking.

I clench my jaw, not wanting to offer any information about myself if possible. These men are not my friends—they’re my captors, and they have ill intentions for my mate. I catch sight of Peaches’ red curls in the kitchen and almost lose my train of thought before I hum to myself.

“Spent some time in Puerto Rico,” I say. “My mother was from there—pre-Convergence.”

“And you?” Gideon says.

“Miami born and raised,” I say. “Not much land left in Puerto Rico; mostly barges and scaffold cities, just like Louisiana. Pre-Convergence flooding and hurricanes did a number on the island.”

“My first wife was from Florida,” Gideon says. “Weird place, if you ask me. And she had some little quirks, was feisty as all hell.”

Ephraim’s expression tightens, his lips pursed and his brow furrowed. He must be talking about Peaches’ mother—the one who she said he kidnapped and later killed.

She had some quirks.

That’s all he has to say about her.

Fuck, I want to kill this man.

“I don’t like it when you call her feisty,” Ephraim mutters—the first sign I’ve seen that he gave a damn about his mother at all.

“Well, that’s too bad, ain’t it?” Gideon says.

He and his son fall into quiet bickering on the other side of the table. I let the sound wash over me like static, grateful for the moment of silence, for the chance to breathe. My eyes drift to the kitchen doorway again, just in time to catch a glimpse of her.

Peaches leans over the counter, sprinkling sugar on something.

The shirt she’s wearing—my shirt—is hiked up just enough to reveal the swell of her ass. She’s oblivious to what she’s doing to me. Oblivious to the way my blood is simmering every time I look at her. That soft curve, that flash of skin. The way she bites her lip when she concentrates.

She doesn’t know she’s mine.

She doesn’t know how hard I’m trying not to take her.

“You know,” Abel says, slicing through the quiet like a dull knife, “before she left, it was supposed to be me.”

I drag my eyes away from her. Barely.

“What was?” I mutter, already annoyed.

“Esther’s mate,” he says with a smug little grin. “It was supposed to be me. Daddy was Gideon’s second, and they were grooming us to be the next generation of Prime royalty.”

I smirk. “Guess she had better taste.”

Abel’s eyes narrow, but he keeps talking. Like he thinks I’m bluffing.

“She used to trail after me like a lovesick little bitch,” he says. “You know that smile she gives? That sweet little blush? Bet she blushes like that all over—on her tits, between her thighs. Bet she turned red when you spanked her.”

My chair groans under the pressure of my grip, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.

“That’s none of your business,” I grind out.

But Abel leans in anyway.

And what he says next makes my vision go white.

“We all know you didn’t fuck her,” he whispers. “But I bet she’ll scream nice and pretty when a real alpha pops her cherry.”

Something breaks .

I don’t hear the next thing he says. I don’t even register moving.

One moment he’s sneering.

The next—I’ve got him by the throat.

I slam him back against the wall with a force that shakes the frame of the room.

“You talk about her again—you even think about her again—and I will rip your fucking tongue out.”

Gideon laughs from across the table and we both snap our gazes up to focus on him. He’s swirling his drink like a spectator, his scarred eye trained on me like he can see right into my soul.

“Better be careful, Abel,” Gideon says, tone almost lazy. “The stories Mr. Boyd told me…you’d go white as a sheet if you knew who you were fuckin’ with.”

Abel snorts, but there’s a tremor in it. I can see it already—the edge of bravado cracking.

I don’t look away.

I stare straight into his eyes, letting the weight of what I am press down like a boot on his throat.

“I don’t mind you hearin’ those stories,” I say, voice low. Calm. But the kind of calm that comes before something goes very, very wrong.

Gideon leans back in his chair, gesturing. “Tell him, son. You have my permission.”

I rise slowly, my chair scraping against the floor like a warning. I walk around the table, deliberate, measured, until I’m right in front of Abel—until my shadow falls over him like nightfall.

And then I lean down, until we’re face to face.

“I was the top fighter in the Miami Pit,” I murmur, soft enough that it makes him lean in to hear—and that’s when I let the threat slip through my smile.

“You know what that means? I killed every wolf they threw at me. Ripped through them with my bare hands. Clawed open chests and split spines. Tore Infernal Legion warriors apart, antlers and all, left their bodies staked on their own fucking bones.”

I pause. Let him see it. Let him imagine it.

Let him imagine what I could do to him .

“You think you’re anything to me?”

The defiance in his eyes flickers, then dies. I see it in real time—the moment the fear takes over.

“No, sir,” he says, barely more than a whisper.

I smile without warmth and clap a heavy hand on his shoulder, just hard enough to make him flinch.

“Smart boy.”

I drag my chair back to its place and drop into it with a casual sprawl, like the moment never happened. But my heart’s still hammering in my chest—because the second I sit, my gaze finds her again.

Peaches.

She’s watching from the other side of the room, her arms wrapped around herself, the other omegas looking in as well. Seeing me watching her seems to trigger her into action, though, and she walks meekly into the room with a plate of pastries.

All this horror…and she’s making goddamn cupcakes.

She doesn’t say a word as she puts them down—just leans across Abel to place the tray at the center of the table, the hem of my shirt riding high, giving every bastard here a long look at her thighs.

Abel’s nostrils flare. He tilts his head, inhales, slow and showy, like he’s savoring her scent. Like he’s already thinking about peeling that shirt off and replacing my bite with his own.

My heart slams hard against my ribs, every instinct screaming move , claim , kill .

I don’t blink. I don’t breathe.

I’m already imagining how I’d do it—just one step and I could have my hands around his throat. I could slam his head into the table and snap his neck before anyone could stop me. I’d bathe in his blood if it meant she’d be safe.

But I don’t.

Because she’s still here.

Because her hands are still trembling.

Because I see the fear she’s holding back behind her brave little smile.

So I stay in my seat.

I keep still.

For her.

Abel picks up a cupcake and raises it to his mouth like he’s about to suck honey from the comb. His eyes stay locked on mine, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth as he takes a slow, indulgent bite.

He moans. Moans.

Like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted.

Like it was meant for him.

And in that second, he tells me exactly what I already knew.

If you don’t take her, I will.

“So Javier,” Gideon says, his interruption the only thing stopping me from slaughtering Abel right here and now. “Tomorrow I’m putting you to work. I want you out on one of the fishing boats, assuming you’ve fished before.”

“I’m not leaving her behind,” I say.

“Well, you’re gonna have to,” he smiles.

He leans forward and rests his elbows on the table like we’re in some kind of negotiation, even though he knows he has all the leverage here. All I have on my side is brute force and stubbornness—and those can only go so far.

“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 she should suffer.”

“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.