Page 19 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter (Moonbound Mates #3)

PEACHES

M y 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 of our room, 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.”

I have to bury my face in my hands to stifle a laugh—because holy hell, he’s good at this. And it’s hot. Why is it hot?

He waits a beat, then murmurs, just for me, “Good girl.”

My smile disappears. Heat floods between my legs and I squeeze my thighs together, my hands fluttering uselessly at the hem of the oversized shirt.

God help me.

I’m too aware of the way his eyes rake over me, too aware of the word good still echoing in my ears.

Maybe…no. He couldn’t be. There’s no way.

But then he looks at me like that and?—

“He’s gone,” Javi mutters, all the tension bleeding out of his shoulders in one long exhale. “Abel. He’s been watching. He knows something’s off.”

“Like what?” I whisper, the unease crawling back under my skin.

“Like I haven’t actually claimed you.”

Oh.

My gaze drops to the floor. My fingers twitch against the edge of the shirt, curling into the fabric. I swallow hard.

“We could,” I say quietly, the words falling out before I can stop them. “If we have to.”

Javi’s head snaps up. His whole expression shifts—something furious and gutted flashing in his eyes. “I’m not going to force you to do that,” he says. “That’s not—just no. ”

The knot in my throat tightens. That rejection hits harder than it should.

Because it’s not just about survival anymore, is it?

Because some traitorous part of me wants him to.

“They’re not going to give up,” he says. “Abel is obsessed with you. Gideon’s just waiting for an excuse to rip me out of the picture and shove someone else into your bed.”

I press my lips together, my stomach flipping with anxiety. “So what are we going to do?”

Javi paces, his jaw tight. “I can’t leave you alone, not while we’re still figuring this out. You’re not safe unless I’m next to you.”

“Well, what if…”

I stop. The thought’s too absurd. Too dangerous. I hesitate—but then I look at him, at the shadows under his eyes, the bruises of exhaustion and restraint.

“Tell me, Peach,” he says. “We’re running out of options.”

I take a breath. Say the thing I’ve been afraid to.

“What if you bit me again?” I whisper. “More than once. Enough that your scent’s everywhere. If you mark me properly…no other alpha will come near me.”

The words hang in the air like static.

Javi goes still.

His brow furrows as he crosses his arms, broad chest rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. He doesn’t answer right away—just watches me. Stares at me, actually, like he’s trying to see past the surface of what I said. Like he’s looking for a trap.

I think he’s going to say no. That he’ll shut me down the way he always does when I get too close—when I offer too much.

But instead…

His hand drags across his beard, thoughtful.

The gears are turning in his head, and I can see it—the subtle shift in his shoulders, the way his stance changes. Javi plays the brute well, but there’s more to him. There’s always been more. The wolf in him is all instinct and danger, but the man…

The man is sharp.

He’s thinking this through.

And I realize, as I watch him work through it, that I admire him.

Not just because he’s saved me, not just because he’s protected me. Not just because I’ve seen his scars and his anger and the way he trembles when I smile.

I admire the way he moves through a world that’s tried to destroy him.

I think I like him.

“It’ll hurt,” he finally says, voice low and rough.

“But it’ll work?” I ask, heart thudding.

He nods once. “Yeah. It’ll work. But you need to understand something.”

He steps closer. The air shifts. My lungs go tight.

“If I do this,” he says, “we won’t be able to sever the bond. Not ever. I’ll always know where you are…for the rest of your life.”

His eyes drop—to the center of my chest, like he can see right through the black t-shirt. Through skin, through bone. To the fluttering heartbeat trying to leap out of my ribs.

I should be scared of that. I am scared of that.

But more than that, I feel…seen.

“If I had to choose someone to always know where I am,” I say, barely breathing, “why wouldn’t I choose the person who’s tried hardest to keep me safe?”

His jaw tenses.

His eyes snap shut like I’ve hit him. Like I said something wrong. Something dangerous.

And suddenly I want to take it back—not because I didn’t mean it, but because I did.

I rush to fix it, my voice stumbling over itself. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I mean—sorry for…saying sorry. I didn’t mean anything by it?—”

His eyes open.

Green. Burning.

“Lie down,” he says.

I try to control my breathing as I follow his command, scooting back on the bed with my heart in my throat. The mattress dips beneath me. Every rustle of sheets feels too loud, too revealing.

Javi moves toward me in a slow, steady prowl.

He doesn’t hurry. He doesn’t speak. He just watches me with those sharp, stormy green eyes—reading every twitch of my hands, every uneven breath. My stomach tightens as he drops to his knees beside the bed, broad shoulders cutting a shadow in the dim light.

God, he’s beautiful. Rough and worn and real.

The thin fabric of his t-shirt does little to hide the way his body moves—the way muscle coils and flexes under the surface. The sleeves strain around his biceps, tight enough to leave an imprint. I don’t mean to stare, but I do. I can't help it.

His gaze drops to the bite on my neck—the first one. It’s healing now, mostly. Just a soft, pink scar with two tiny scabs that look almost dainty, considering the way it felt. His eyes linger there, then travel lower.

And then…up again.

To my mouth.

I suck my bottom lip between my teeth without thinking, nerves dancing like lightning across my skin.

Javi goes still.

“Can I touch you?” he asks, his voice rough, careful.

I nod, barely managing a breath.

He reaches out—and his fingers barely skim the edge of the bite, feather-light, like he’s afraid I’ll break. But I don’t. My whole body arches into the contact. A flood of warmth rushes through me so fast and sharp it nearly knocks the breath from my lungs.

It feels like I’ve been waiting for this touch forever.

Like I was made for it.

Like I was made for him.

I try to stay still, to act normal, but I know he can smell me—my need, my nerves, the helpless thrum of yes, please, more.

I don’t know what he’s thinking. If he believes I want him or if he thinks I’m just a scared little girl clinging to the only man who hasn’t hurt her. Maybe both.

Maybe… it’s more than either of those things.

“Does it still hurt?” he murmurs.

I should lie.

I try to lie.

But the truth comes tumbling out.

“It feels good, actually,” I whisper.

My eyes go wide. I swallow hard, my cheeks blazing.

“I mean—when you…” I trail off, breath catching. “I think that’s normal, right?”

He doesn’t say anything. Just moves his hand lower—hesitant, gentle.

His palm grazes my knee and my breath catches like he’s touched something far more intimate. Maybe he has. Maybe he touched the part of me that’s been waiting. Hoping. Starving.

His hand is warm and rough. He doesn’t rush. He just lets his fingers rest there on my thigh like he’s anchoring me to the moment—like he wants me to feel this.

He slides his hand higher, and my body reacts like it’s been waiting for this all my life. My thighs tighten, my breath stutters. The edge of the t-shirt rides up as his touch nears it.

He stops just shy of the hem.

“I’m gonna bite here,” he says, his voice low and heavy. His fingers brush the skin of my inner thigh and I shiver.

“Why there?” I ask, breathless.

“It’ll confuse anyone who thinks we haven’t bred yet,” he says, eyes still fixed on the place he plans to mark. “Make them think I’ve already been inside you.”

His voice is steady. Calm. But I hear it—that flicker of something under the surface.

Longing.

Need.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking…but I want it to be true.

“I’m nervous,” I admit, my voice barely audible.

He lifts his gaze to mine.

“Don’t be.” His fingers keep circling, slow and careful, like he’s mapping me. “I’ll tend to the bite afterward. It’ll heal faster. Hurt less.”

He pauses, his voice dropping into something deeper— softer.

“It should only hurt for a second. And then…”

“Then it’ll feel good,” I breathe. “Like it’s supposed to.”

He holds my gaze.

“Yeah,” he says. “Like that.”