Page 7 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter (Moonbound Mates #3)

JAVI

I lean against the railing, watching the storm roll in. Too much wind. Too many waves. If we took the skiff out now, we'd capsize before we even hit open water.

We're stuck for another night.

I exhale slowly, dragging a hand down my face. I don’t want to be here anymore. Not on the Rig. Not near these people. Not when everything about this place makes my skin itch.

I’ve worked in shitholes before—fought on barges, lived on coastal wrecks, seen the worst of the south. But this?

This is barbaric.

I’ve seen the way Gideon runs things, the way his men take whatever they want, unchecked. There’s no order here, no structure—just raw, feral hierarchy, built on who can rip out whose throat first.

And it’s not just the way they keep communal women in the mess, or the way Gideon’s generals swagger around like rabid dogs, waiting for someone to throw them a bone.

It’s her.

It’s the fact that I know where she is right now, locked away somewhere cold, waiting, vulnerable.

And that’s making it real hard to breathe.

I drag a hand down my face, trying to shove the thought away, trying to push her away. I shouldn’t be thinking about her. Shouldn’t be picturing how small she looked, how fragile she felt under my hands, how fucking warm she was.

Not my problem.

Boyd drops into the seat across from me in the mess, Lila—the girl we took from the bar yesterday—tucked against his side. She’s gripping his jacket like a lifeline, small and quiet, her dark eyes darting between every alpha in the room like she’s waiting for someone to snatch her back.

I don’t know if she actually likes him or if she just doesn’t have another choice.

Boyd doesn’t seem to care either way.

He’s always been good at picking up strays; I should know.

I was one of them once. Three years ago, he bought my contract out of the fighting pits in Miami—not because he gave a shit about me, but because owning a good fighter was useful.

I worked off what I owed him, and now we stick together because it’s easier than going solo.

But watching him tuck Lila against his side, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of her head, I feel that familiar curl of disgust in my gut.

He likes to act like he saves people.

But it’s all a game to him.

"This place is gonna get us killed," Boyd mutters, picking at his food.

"I thought you were eager to stay," I reply.

Boyd shrugs. "Sure I was—until you picked a fight with one of the top alphas on the Rig."

I narrow my eyes, not bothering to respond.

Lila tenses beside him. "Please don’t leave me," she whispers. "I don’t think I’ll be safe."

I glance at her, at the way her hands shake, at the way she curls in on herself, like she’s already waiting for the worst.

Something inside me twists.

"Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’re safe," Boyd murmurs, stroking her back. "I’ll buy you off Gideon if that’s what it takes."

Lila melts into him, a relieved sigh escaping her lips.

I cringe.

"We have to stay at least one more night for the weather to break," I say, my voice gruff.

Boyd gives me a look. "And here I thought you were the one who wanted to leave?"

I glance at the storm clouds again, feeling the weight of the air pressing down on my skin, heavy with the scent of rain.

"I want us to live," I grunt.

And in the back of my mind, I know that’s not all I want.

I want to know where she is.

I want to know what they’re doing to her.

I want to know if she’s crying or fighting or curled up small and trembling, her scent filling the air like something delicate and overripe, waiting to be crushed…because I’m becoming more convinced that she is definitely about to be crushed.

Ever since we stepped foot outside our bunks this morning, there’s been rumbling all over the Rig about something exciting happening tonight.

I’ve caught snippets of conversation around it—the traitor finally being punished, a gift from Gideon.

It seems like it would be silly for them to execute her right away, and I know it’s none of my business, but if the storm is keeping us here anyway…

I clear my throat. “What’s the ceremony?” I ask Lila.

Her lips thin in apprehension, her breath staggered.

“It’s normally done at the full moon,” she says. “Sort of a claiming ceremony for the omegas. They bring all the girls who just turned eighteen out to be claimed, and then they…they let the alphas fight for them.”

Boyd has to do a double-take. “Excuse me?”

“It can get violent,” Lila says. “And it would be out of the ordinary to do it now since we don’t have any newly eighteen year old omegas, but with Esther Vinton back home…”

She shudders, not finishing her sentence.

“I swear this alpha and omega thing is the most wild shit I’ve ever heard of,” Boyd mutters. “I don’t get it; how is it that me and Lila here got lycanthropy too, but you’re the only ones who go nuts over it?”

“It’s not as fun as it seems,” I grunt.

“So what happens during this ceremony?” Boyd asks, looking over at Lila. “Doesn’t sound like the best time.”

“Hard to know,” Lila says. “I haven’t seen it in a few years.

But from what I hear and see in the mess after…

? They gather up on the deck and have it out over the omegas until one of them ruts or bites her.

The alphas prove themselves that way—because Gideon wants only the best. He wants the strongest alpha to take omegas, to pass down the bloodline. ”

“Psychotic,” Boyd huffs. He looks over at me. “So…brave the hurricane, right?”

I blow out a breath.

“We’ll stay and wait out the storm,” I say. “Safer that way—just stay indoors while they do their weird ritual, and then we’ll head out as soon as the weather clears. You know hurricanes aren’t to be fucked with, Boyd.”

“And neither are crazed alphas,” Boyd shoots back. “But…I trust you, Javi. You’ve never steered me wrong over the years.”

I have to hope he’s right.

The storm hits full force a few hours later.

It’s been brewing all day, thick in the air, kicking up a storm surge that threatens to capsize half the boats moored to the dock. Now, it’s in full swing, rain hammering against the metal bunkhouse roof, the wind screaming through the scaffolding of the Rig like it’s alive.

Boyd and Lila huddle in the lower bunk, tangled up in each other’s warmth. I should be asleep by now—I should be saving my strength, making sure I’m sharp in the morning so we can get the hell off this rock.

But I can’t sleep.

Because I can’t stop smelling her.

Sweet, overripe spring fruit, like I’m biting into a peach fresh off the branch, juices running down my chin. It clings to me, sinks into my lungs, curls in my gut like hunger.

My rut should be over.

I re-upped my wolfsbane. It’s coursing through my system, dulling the edges of my instincts, keeping me from going feral over some omega I don’t even know.

But the Rig is thick with energy tonight.

Like something’s building.

Like something’s about to break.

I exhale slow, forcing myself to stare at the ceiling, watching the rusted patterns blur together. But all I see is her.

Curly red hair. Freckles scattered across bare skin.

Peaches.

She’s alone right now, locked in some dark, windowless room, waiting for whatever sick fucking tradition Gideon has in store. And me? I’m supposed to lie here and ignore it.

I brought in the shipment.

I took the payment.

She isn’t my problem.

She shouldn’t be my problem.

But the thought of Abel touching her makes my fucking skin crawl.

I clench my teeth, rolling onto my side, fighting the instinct to get up, to go to her, to rip her out of that cage before some bastard lays claim to what’s mine.

Because that’s what this is.

That’s what my fucking gut is telling me.

She’s mine.

And I should be the one claiming her.

Not some posturing fuck like Abel.

Not some coward who needs a hunt to take what he wants.

She should be under me, writhing, begging, marking me up with her nails while I sink my teeth into her throat and make her mine for real.

A low growl rolls through my chest, barely controlled, barely suppressed.

My fingers dig into the thin mattress, my claws threatening to tear through the fabric.

I don’t even know if she wants me.

But I sure as hell know she doesn’t want them.

The wind howls, shaking the bunkhouse. The ocean slams against the Rig, waves crashing hard enough to make the metal groan. And through it all, I hear voices outside.

Loud. Excited.

They’re gathering.

My stomach turns to iron.

I sit up, heart pounding, my ears tuned to the noise outside.

This is it.

I don’t think.

I don’t hesitate.

I move.

I swing my legs over the edge of the top bunk, dropping down quietly, my boots hitting the floor. The second I stand, I feel eyes on me.

Boyd is awake.

His gaze glows slightly in the dark, his pupils thin, his expression unreadable.

“Don’t,” he mutters.

I pause.

Just for a second.

Boyd is a cold, ruthless bastard, and he’s not stupid. If he’s telling me not to do something, it’s because he knows exactly where this leads.

But he also doesn’t care.

Not about her.

Not about what happens to her.

Not about how wrong this all is.

I curl my hands into fists, nails pressing into my palms.

“Sorry,” I mutter.

Boyd just sighs, like he already knows how this ends.

And then I step out into the rain.

The wind howls through the Rig, a relentless force that rips at my clothes, stings against my skin, howls in my ears like a call to war.

The storm has arrived.

But as I step onto the platform, the rain stops.

A sudden, unnatural break—dead air, dead silence.

My breath shudders out of me as I look up, and there it is—the full moon, massive and swollen, framed by the edge of the storm.

We’re in the eye.

They planned it this way.

I feel it thrumming in my bones, the static charge in the air, the pressure thick enough to taste. It slams into me like a fist to the chest—rage, adrenaline, the primal hunger of the hunt.

And I know every alpha here feels it too.

The crowd is already forming.

Three dozen alphas, circling like sharks, their bodies tense with anticipation, hunger, the thrill of the chase.

And in the center of it all, one helpless figure.

Peaches is on her knees, face downcast, wearing a white shift that’s already soaked through and revealing everything. Her red hair hides her face, crystalline water droplets clinging to her curls.

My lycan stirs, growls in warning to all the others around. They scent the warning, taking a step back from me.

I came here to deliver her to her father, but I’m going to get her out.

Even if it kills me.

And from the way every alpha in the circle tenses, muscles flexing, their own instincts clawing for dominance…

I think I might have to kill all of them.

The storm roars.

Lightning flashes.

And Peaches lifts her head.

Her wide, brown eyes lock onto mine.

I watch her breath catch, watch something flicker through her expression—hope, disbelief, fear, need?—

And that’s it.

That’s the moment I decide.

I stride forward, teeth bared, ready for war.