Page 28 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter (Moonbound Mates #3)

PEACHES

W e refine our act.

We perform for Gideon and Abel like we’re on a stage, two unwilling players trapped in a twisted script. I keep my gaze lowered, my collar tight. I flinch when Javi raises his voice. I let them think he’s broken me.

I pretend he hurts me.

I pretend he’s my enemy.

I pretend I despise him.

And Javi—he plays his part just as well.

His voice is gruff when they’re listening, his orders sharp.

He touches me with calculated roughness when we’re being watched, enough to look real without ever crossing into harm.

There’s always something just beneath the surface, though—something only I can feel.

The glances that linger a second too long.

The way his hand shakes when he has to tug my chain.

The way his body curls around mine at night, like a shield.

I follow the rules. I keep my head down. I stay on a leash like a good, obedient mate.

And I wait for my family to come and rescue us.

Two whole weeks pass like that.

Fourteen endless days of silence and scrutiny.

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. Somewhere safe . Somewhere ours .

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 just move together, 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 the process.

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.

I cough, spit, gasp—but it’s not over.

The nausea hangs on like a weight around my spine, low and simmering, dragging through my bones and my blood. My skin is clammy. My head swims. I feel…wrong.

Wrong in a way that makes something cold settle at the base of my skull.

Javi is behind me before I can even call out, already on his knees, one big hand sweeping my hair away from my face as I retch again.

His touch is gentle. Present. Steady.

He says nothing. Just rubs my back in slow, grounding circles with his other hand, letting me breathe through the aftermath. The only sound is the rough rasp of air in my throat and the trickle of water from the corroded sink nearby.

Eventually, the nausea stops cresting.

It doesn’t leave, not completely—but it recedes enough that I can sit back on my heels, swaying slightly.

I rest my head against Javi’s chest.

He’s shirtless and warm, and his heartbeat thunders against my ear like an anchor. His arms wrap around me without a word, pulling me into his lap like I weigh nothing. One palm settles firm and wide over my hip, the other at my lower back—holding me. Keeping me upright.

I don’t speak for a long time.

When I finally do, my voice is barely a whisper. “I don’t know what that was. Just felt…so sick. Maybe it was the food last night…?”

The lie dies in my mouth even as I say it.

I can feel his breath against my hair, the tension in his body. He’s not buying it either.

Because we both know .

I try to shake the thought. Try to pretend it’s just anxiety, or stress, or one too many bites of rationed fish. I try to will away the truth that’s blooming like wildfire in my belly—but I can’t.

The signs are there.

It’s too fast. Too soon.

It shouldn’t even be possible outside of heat.

But I know my body—and Javi knows it too.

He doesn’t say it aloud. Doesn’t need to.

He presses his mouth to the side of my neck instead, his nose tucked into my curls as he breathes deep, quiet and reverent.

His hands move slowly, sliding up beneath my shirt to rest low across my abdomen. Protective. Awed. Terrified.

We don’t speak the word.

We don’t have to.

Even though…no. It wasn’t the full moon.

Ever since I was a girl, I’ve been taught that breeding is only possible during the full moon for lycan.

Suyin walked Tilda and I through it one time on a whim, insistent that I get the birds and the bees talk from someone who wasn’t a crazed cultist. Lycan have different cycles, with less time for fertility, a much smaller window where we go crazy and can almost guarantee a pregnancy.

But I wasn’t in heat.

I wasn’t in heat.

Javi doesn’t say anything at first—just wraps his arms around me tighter, like he’s trying to pull me into himself. I tuck my head against his bare chest, skin sticky with sweat and sleep, and breathe him in.

That scent. Salt and heat. Sand and leather. My favorite smell in the world.

And I know exactly why it smells so good to me.

Why my body is hypersensitive to it.

Why my stomach is still twisting and my breasts ache like they’re bruised.

Because I’m pregnant.

The realization hits me with the weight of a falling tide—sudden, forceful, impossible to swim against.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, the words spilling before I can stop them. They’re all I can think to say. “I’m…oh God, Javi, I’m sorry?—”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Why?”

“Because!” I choke, emotion rising hot and fast in my throat. “I’m—I mean, haven’t you figured it out? Haven’t you noticed what’s happening to me?”

His expression shifts. Softens. He leans forward until our foreheads touch, his rough hand cradling my jaw. His green eyes shine like moss in morning light—calm, steady, heartbreakingly gentle.

“You’re pregnant, Peach,” he says quietly. “I’ve known for a couple days.”

My breath catches. “You…you have?”

He nods, then lifts a finger to my lips to shush my rising panic. “I could sense it,” he murmurs. “Not confirmed, not for sure, but…something changed. Your scent shifted. Your energy too. You’ve been glowing like the damn sun.”

Tears fill my eyes, blurring the edges of him. “Then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want to stress you out more,” he says. “I didn’t want you to be afraid—not until you felt it too. And I didn’t know how to tell you…how to put words to something that feels like a miracle and a curse at the same time.”

I sniffle and lower my gaze. “It shouldn’t be possible. I wasn’t in heat anymore. It’s only been…what, a few weeks?”

“Maybe it’s different with mates,” he says. “Maybe we’re wired different.”

His hands rest protectively over my stomach—warm, strong, trembling just the slightest bit.

I look down too, unable to stop myself. There’s nothing to see yet. No visible change. But I feel it.

I feel something.

This tiny, impossible spark of life that shouldn’t be here…and yet is.

My shoulders slump as the panic claws back up again. “What are we going to do?”

Javi’s hand slides over my stomach, his fingers splaying wide. Something warm and comforting emanates from the spot, radiating over my skin and deep within me. I bury my face in his chest to breath him in, and he feels like home…

Home.

I have to get home.

Somewhere I can settle down, nestle in, somewhere safe. Somewhere I can keep our baby safe…where I can keep Javi safe. Because for all his muscle and stern looks, he needs someone to keep him safe too.

“Do you think they’re still coming?” Javi whispers. “Your pack?”

“They have to,” I say. “We don’t have any other way out.”

“We’ll find a way,” he says, his jaw tight. “Because this is what Gideon wants…and once he knows you’re pregnant, he’ll be even more protective.”

“I can’t have the baby here,” I say, desperation edging into my voice. “Especially if it’s a girl…? What will he do?—”

“We won’t have to find out,” Javi says. “I’m getting you out of here, Peach. I won’t let anyone hurt you or our baby, even if it kills me.”

I gaze into his eyes, using him as an anchor when the world feels like it’s spinning out of control. I feel like I have to preempt him—to make it clear that he can’t just rescue me. There is no me without him, not anymore.

“You have to come with me,” I say. “I won’t leave without you.”

He holds me close, but he doesn’t say another word.

And as usual, I dread where his sense of duty will take us.