Chapter 8 Mo
Mo
Iwake to the gentle sway of being carried, my head cradled against a broad chest. I don’t move for a second.
Half-conscious, caught somewhere between dreams and the quiet woods.
The warmth is almost unbearable after years of cold, and the steady rise and fall of breath beneath me is oddly comforting.
Then reality crashes in.
Fuck. I’m still trapped in the clutches of these alpha-holes.
The trees above come into focus, dawn light filtering through the branches. I try to shift in Clown alpha’s arms, testing his hold, but his grip tightens immediately. He knows damn well I’ll bolt if he loosens it.
I glance up. Even with that ridiculous clown mask he’s still fucking wearing, I can feel the intensity of his eyes on me. Constantly assessing, calculating something I can’t see.
He stares at me.
I stare back.
You wanna play chicken, motherfucker?
Bring it.
We keep staring. His deep-set brown eyes, barely visible through the mask’s holes, are focused and unblinking.
Unwavering.
Shit.
My resolve starts to falter, and my heartbeat picks up. There’s something about being looked at that steadily, that completely, when you haven’t been seen by anyone in three years. It gets under your skin whether you want it to or not.
Look away, asshole.
I grit my teeth and hold his eyes.
After what feels like an eternity, he looks away. Small victory.
I win, ass crack.
But then again, I’m being kidnapped. So, not much of a winner after all.
I shift my attention to the other alphas walking ahead. Their heads are close together, voices low. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but it makes my stomach twist. Whatever they’re planning can’t be good.
So I do what I do best. I taunt them.
“What’s with the dollar store Halloween getups?” I say. “Trying to hide your ugly mugs?”
The alphas ahead turn. They ditch their masks, revealing rugged faces that look like they belong on some outdoorsy billboard. Annoyingly handsome, every single one of them.
“Looks like Sleeping Beauty’s awake,” Darius says. I’d heard one of the others use the name.
Amber eyes laughs, low and sharp. “She bites, she curses, and she looks at us like she wants blood. I’m already obsessed.”
I roll my eyes, more for myself than them, but Clown Boy squeezes me tighter, reminding me who’s in control.
Then Amber Eyes adds, “It’s Halloween, sweetheart. We wanted to make the hunt extra special.”
I freeze.
Halloween. My birthday. I’d completely lost track of time out in the woods. I’m twenty-one today.
Some fucking coming-of-age celebration this turned out to be.
“Happy birthday to me,” I mutter.
Amber eyes grins wider, catching the shift in my expression. “Oh, it’s your birthday? How fortuitous. We’ll make it memorable.”
I bare my teeth. “Oh, it’ll be memorable, alright—when I rip your eyes out.”
He chuckles.
“I can’t wait to fill up that smart mouth of yours,” Darius says.
“You come near me, and I’ll bite your dick off,” I snarl.
“I’ll have you begging for it in no time,” he replies, all fucking smug.
“Well, don’t come crying to me when I turn you into a eunuch.”
The big fucker carrying me shakes with suppressed laughter, and I look up at him, surprised. His whole body trembles with it, this silent, rumbling amusement that I can feel through his chest and his arms and everywhere we’re touching.
For a second, I almost try to make him laugh again. I liked the way it felt. The strange, stupid sense of connection it brought, like sharing a joke with someone who gets you.
Then I remember. Again. I’m being kidnapped.
Why the hell do I keep forgetting that?
I’ve been so starved for companionship that making my kidnapper laugh stirred something inside me. That’s so fucked up, I don’t even have a joke for it.
The trees thin out, and we emerge into a clearing. I blink, taken off guard.
Cabins dot the landscape, rustic and cozy, smoke curling from chimneys. Children run and chase each other across a wide lawn, their high-pitched squeals carrying through the air. Women hang laundry on lines strung between the cabins. Warm, lived-in, real.
My stomach clenches.
“What the hell is this?” I mutter.
Darius turns to me and leans down, his voice a low rumble near my ear. “Welcome home, little omega.”
I twist to glare at him. “This isn’t my home, you psycho.”
He doesn’t respond. Just keeps walking, leading us to a large log cabin set apart from the others—huge windows, rough-hewn beams, a wrap-around porch that practically begs for rocking chairs and lemonade.
“Didn’t realize kidnapping paid so well.”
Amber eyes snorts. “You have no idea, sweetheart.”
Inside, it’s warm and lived-in, but the whole place is saturated with alpha scent. Thick and heavy. Pine, pepper, wood-smoke, and hot turd.
My wolf perks up at it, and I tell her to shut the hell up.
Clown sets me down on a chair at the massive dining table.
“Sit,” Darius tells me. “Stay.”
“Fuck you,” I snap. Archer advances and pushes me down, gentler than I expected, and before I can react, Amber eyes grabs a rope and binds my wrists to the chair’s arms. His fingers linger a second too long near my collarbone, and I snap at them with my teeth, barely missing.
He jerks back, cursing. “Fuck, she is feral!”
I grin, all teeth. “Aw, did the big bad alpha get scared?”
His hand lands on my shoulder, heavy and warm, and I hate the way my wolf stirs under his touch.
Dammit.
“Behave,” he says, his voice low. I can feel the threat under the word, the promise of what happens if I don’t.
Darius speaks up. “We need to change. Watch her, Silas.”
So the big-ass clown is Silas. Good to know.
They file out, leaving me alone with him. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching me with that same quiet intensity as before. I meet him head-on, refusing to flinch. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
His lip curls, but he doesn’t say anything.
The silence stretches between us, and my mind races. I need to find a way out. My eyes scan the room, cataloging weapons and exits. A knife block on the kitchen counter. Windows on two sides. The front door, currently unblocked since the others went upstairs.
But there’s another part of me, a weaker, traitorous part, that’s already thinking about the possibility of a warm meal. Maybe a hot shower. My body is so tired and so hungry that the thought of fighting my way out right now makes me want to cry.
They return moments later, coming down from the second floor. Changed out of their hunting clothes and looking like regular people instead of masked psychopaths, which is somehow worse.
I glare at them; the rope is digging into my wrists. I refuse to give these alphas the satisfaction of seeing me cower. My muscles strain as I test my restraints again. The rough fibres chafe against my skin.
They bustle around the kitchen, preparing a meal like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Knives slicing through meat, plates clattering onto the table, their movements coordinated, like they’ve done this a thousand times.
It’s domestic as fuck, and genuinely unsettling.
Don’t they have betas to do this for them?
The table itself is beautiful, though. Repurposed wood, thick and scarred, the kind of thing I would’ve picked out myself if I’d ever had the means or the freedom.
If only I’d been born male. I would have been incredible. Nothing like these knot-twats.
“I trust you’ll find the accommodations suitable?” Darius comes to stand beside the table.
I bare my teeth. “Go to hell.”
He laughs, his eyes boring into mine. Then his expression shifts. Serious now. “Tell me your name, omega.”
I meet his eyes, jaw clenched. He didn’t use an alpha command, but the authority behind it sinks into my bones, anyway. Like hell I’m giving this entitled prick my name.
“Well?” he says. “I asked you a question.”
I hate that his dominant tone makes my wolf stir. I need to shut that down fast. Fucking alpha pheromones messing with my head.
I grasp for a fake name. Any name.
“Blue…” I blurt out the first thing that came to mind. The heroine from that pirate novel that kept me company through my first winter. The one I found in the stolen backpack.
Darius arches a brow.
Shit.
“Belle. Bluebell.”
I want to smack myself. That’s the stupidest fucking name I’ve ever heard. I’m no delicate bluebell, that’s for damn sure.
His brow quirks. “Blue,” he repeats, rolling the name on his tongue. Still better than him knowing my real name.
Moira.
Fuck, I hate that name. What was my mom thinking?
“I would think you’re more Red than Blue,” Amber Eyes says.
Damn. Red would’ve been a badass name.
“Bluebell,” the grey-eyed alpha says. He’s been mostly silent, like Silas, but his eyes feel like they see right through me. “Unusual name.”
Darius nods. “Blue it is, then. Allow me to introduce my packmates.”
“I don’t give a shit about their names.” They’re all the same. Arrogant pricks who think the world belongs to them.
Darius gestures to the side, and my eyes follow, landing on Amber Eyes leaning casually against the wall. “Elias,” Darius says.
Elias grins. He’s the smooth talker, the one who keeps calling me “sweetheart,” thinking it’ll get him somewhere. I know his type all too well. Lean muscles, tanned skin, and light brown hair curling at the nape of his neck.
He winks, and I resist the urge to spit. No, thank you, even if your lashes are thick and pretty.
Darius continues. “Archer, my second-in-command.”
Stormy gray eyes meet mine: dark hair, dark brown skin, sharp features with tribal tattoos snaking up muscled arms. There’s something about Archer that radiates danger, quiet and controlled. He doesn’t bother smiling or nodding. Just watches.
Then Darius points to the big one. “Silas.”
Silas finally removes his mask, and I hold my breath. Shoulder-length light blond hair, dark brown eyes, and a large jagged scar cutting across his face from his eye down to his chin. There’s a flicker of vulnerability in him that I try hard to ignore.