Chapter 3 #3
Our eyes met across the water—his cobalt blue and predatory, like looking into the heart of a flame that burned cold and dangerous, mine undoubtedly conveying the universal expression for “you have got to be fucking kidding me.” I watched horror-movie style as recognition dawned on his face, followed by a slow, wolf-catches-lamb smile that sent an entirely unwelcome heat spiraling through parts of my body that clearly hadn’t gotten the “we hate this guy” memo.
“Well,” he said, making absolutely zero effort to cover what was clearly an extensive package deal, “isn’t this a delightful surprise.”
That voice. The same one that had informed me last winter that my ass needed disciplining. The same one that had breathed against my neck while pinning me to the forest floor. The same one that had haunted certain dreams I’d spent months aggressively denying I’d had.
“Of all the ponds in all the forests in all the world, you had to be naked in mine,” I managed, my voice impressively steady considering I was actively averting my eyes from what was undoubtedly an anatomy lesson happening south of his waist.
“Me,” he agreed, actually stretching like he was posing for a photoshoot. “And you’re making quite a habit of stumbling into my territory, my little wildcat.”
That nickname sparked enough irritation to override my shock. “I’m not your anything, Aquaman. And for the record, the whole naked intimidation tactic is giving serious compensating-for-something energy.”
His laugh echoed across the water, deep and genuinely amused. “Brave words from someone whose escape route just disappeared.”
The crashing sounds behind me confirmed his companions were closing in. Perfect. Trapped between naked water god and his woodland minions. This was turning into the world’s most inappropriate fairy tale.
“Fuck it,” I muttered, plunging into the pond. The water hit me like a slap of reality—cold enough to make me gasp but not enough to cool the burning humiliation of this entire situation. I waded forward, determined to get past him and continue my escape on the other side.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Naked Adonis called out, watching my splashing progress with the relaxed confidence of a predator who knows his prey is cornered. “The bottom gets rather treacherous in the middle.”
“Thanks for the safety tip, Lifeguard Naked,” I shot back, water now reaching my waist as I struggled forward. “I’ll file it right between ‘don’t accept candy from strangers’ and ‘avoid psychotic alphas who enjoy outdoor nudity.’”
He actually chuckled—the bastard—and began wading toward me through the water with the casual grace of someone who knew exactly how good they looked wet and naked.
I kept my eyes firmly on his face, which was difficult since his face was also unfairly attractive, all sharp angles and perfect symmetry that screamed “my genetics are better than yours.”
“Stay back!” I warned, my voice bouncing off the water. “I know how to drown people who invade my personal space!”
“Do you now?” he asked, closing the distance with lazy, powerful strokes. “Should I be frightened of the omega who can’t even manage his backpack weight distribution?”
That comment was infuriatingly accurate—the sodden backpack was already making balance a challenge. “I’m warning you,” I continued, backing away while trying to maintain my footing, “I’ve cataloged seventy-three ways to cause permanent damage with just my thumbs, and I’m not afraid to—SHIT!”
My eloquent threat ended abruptly as my foot slid on something slick and mossy.
The world tilted, water rushed up to meet me, and suddenly I was completely submerged.
The backpack—my brilliant escape kit—transformed instantly into a twenty-pound anchor dragging me deeper.
Panic flared hot and bright as water filled my nose and ears, my hands clawing desperately at the straps.
Just as dark spots began dancing at the edges of my vision, strong hands clamped around my waist, hauling me upward with effortless strength.
I broke the surface with all the grace of a drowning cat, coughing, sputtering, and probably spraying water from my nose in what I’m sure was an attractive display of near-death elegance.
“I told you the bottom was treacherous,” rumbled a voice against my ear, smug satisfaction dripping from every syllable.
I found myself plastered against what felt like a warm marble wall but was actually a very naked, very muscular chest. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, holding me suspended above the pond bottom while my body attempted to expel approximately half the pond from my lungs.
“Get—your—fucking—hands—off—me,” I gasped between coughs, pushing against his chest, which had about as much effect as a kitten batting at a brick wall.
“So you can finish drowning?” he asked, his voice dropping to that particular alpha register that seemed designed to make omegas pay attention. “That would be a tragic waste of such entertaining defiance.”
He wasn’t just holding me; he was practically molding me against him, one massive arm locked around my waist while his other hand splayed possessively across my lower back.
I could feel everything—the hard planes of his chest, the ridiculous definition of his abs, and something else pressing against my hip that I absolutely refused to acknowledge.
Meanwhile, my clothes had transformed into clingy betrayers, plastering themselves to every curve and hollow of my body like they were auditioning for World’s Most Revealing Wet T-Shirt Contest.
“I’d rather drown with dignity than be molested by a naked forest pervert,” I snarled, renewing my struggles. “Let go before I gouge out your eyes and use them as ping-pong balls for my future therapy sessions.”
His laugh vibrated from his chest directly into mine, a sensation that sent unwelcome heat curling through my stomach. “Such creative threats from such pretty lips,” he murmured, his mouth suddenly way too close to my ear. “I wonder what other creative uses we could find for that mouth.”
Before I could unleash the string of profanities that comment deserved, his grip shifted.
One large hand wrapped around my throat—not squeezing but resting there with unmistakable dominance as he began wading toward the shore.
His thumb brushed against my pulse point, which was embarrassingly rapid.
“Remove your hand from my throat before I bite it off and feed it to those traitor dogs,” I hissed, trying to ignore how easily his fingers spanned my neck.
“Bite me?” he challenged, his voice dropping to a growl that did absolutely criminal things to my internal organs. “Please do. I’d love to feel how sharp those little fangs are before I show you what real biting feels like.”
Heat flooded my cheeks—and other places I absolutely refused to acknowledge—at the blatant invitation in his voice.
My omega biology was apparently having a field day with the sexual tension, completely ignoring the fact that this man was holding me captive in a pond while making threats that should have terrified me instead of making my pulse race for entirely inappropriate reasons.
The sound of approaching footsteps made me look past his shoulder to see his two companions emerging from the trees onto the shoreline, moving with the same predatory confidence I’d witnessed at their campsite.
“Caught yourself a little mermaid, I see,” called the elegant one, leaning against a tree with casual grace that screamed dangerous predator. “Though this one seems to need swimming lessons.”
“More like a drowned rat,” I muttered, still struggling against the iron grip around my waist. “Let me go, you oversized sea monster!”
“Sea monster?” my captor repeated with mock offense. “When I’ve just saved your ungrateful life? Where’s my hero’s welcome?”
“I’ll welcome you with a kick to the groin if you don’t put me down,” I promised sweetly. “Though I’d have to find it first—it’s apparently so small I couldn’t feel it despite being pressed against you for the past five minutes.”
That earned me a tightening of his grip and a dangerous smile. “Careful, wildcat. Those are fighting words that might earn you a demonstration you’re not ready for.”
The threat sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the pond water.
My traitorous omega biology was apparently interpreting his words as some kind of promise rather than the intimidation tactic they obviously were.
The way his voice dropped to that rough, commanding register made something clench low in my stomach—a reaction I was definitely not going to examine too closely while pressed against his very naked, very muscular chest.
The elegant one laughed outright at this exchange. “I see you’ve met our particularly persistent escapee, Stefano. Though in a more… intimate capacity than last time.”
Stefano. The water god had a name. Somehow putting a name to that face and body made this entire situation more real and more mortifying.
“Stefano?” I repeated, using my most unimpressed tone despite being completely at his mercy in chest-deep water. “Your parents named you after a fancified Steve and you still turned out this arrogant? Imagine if they’d aimed higher.”
“I’m Marco,” the elegant one supplied with a wolf’s smile. “And our quiet friend is Matteo. Since we’ll be seeing so much of each other, we might as well be properly introduced.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” I replied with acidic sweetness. “I’d introduce myself, but since you’re all apparently stalking me professionally, I assume you already know my favorite breakfast cereal and sleep position.”
“You sleep on your right side,” Matteo stated flatly. “With one arm under your pillow and the other curled against your chest. And you prefer granola with blueberries.”
The fact that he was right sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the pond water. “Well, that’s not deeply disturbing at all,” I said, trying to mask my genuine unease with sarcasm. “Do you watch me brush my teeth too, or is that Marco’s special assignment?”
“We take turns,” Marco replied with a wink that somehow managed to be both charming and threatening.
Meanwhile, Stefano had resumed wading toward shore, his hand still wrapped possessively around my waist. I was acutely aware of how my wet clothes clung to every inch of my body, leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination.
The thin t-shirt might as well have been transparent, and my shorts had molded themselves to my thighs and ass like a second skin.
As we reached shallower water, I renewed my struggles. “I can walk on my own, you overgrown octopus. I don’t need tentacles all over me.”
“Evidence suggests otherwise,” Stefano replied, finally releasing me when the water was only knee-deep. “Since you’ve demonstrated a remarkable talent for finding trouble in shallow water.”
The first thing I did was shrug off my waterlogged backpack, letting it drop into the shallow water with a sodden splash. The damn thing had become a twenty-pound anchor trying to drag me to the bottom, and I was done pretending it wasn’t adding insult to injury.
Standing on my own two feet again should have felt like victory, but instead I was painfully aware of how I looked—completely drenched, clothes plastered to my body, facing three impossibly attractive, half-naked men who were looking at me with various shades of amusement and something darker that made my stomach flip.
“You need to get out of those wet clothes,” Stefano declared, his eyes tracking a water droplet as it ran down my neck and disappeared beneath my collar.
“I need to get away from you three,” I corrected, crossing my arms over my chest in a futile attempt at modesty. “Preferably to a different continent.”
“Always so difficult.” Marco sighed dramatically. “When we’re only trying to help.”
“Your help nearly drowned me,” I pointed out, backing away only to bump into Matteo, who had somehow materialized behind me without making a sound.
I yelped, jumping forward and nearly colliding with Stefano’s still very naked chest. “And could someone please get Aquaman here some pants before I have to gouge out my own eyes?”
“Why?” Stefano asked with mock innocence. “Does my natural state make you uncomfortable, little wildcat?”
“Your everything makes me uncomfortable,” I shot back. “But particularly the parts you’re currently displaying like a peacock with boundary issues.”
“He has that effect on most people,” Marco said with a smirk. “Though usually with more appreciation and less creative threats.”
I was opening my mouth to deliver what would undoubtedly have been a scathing retort when a violent shiver racked my body, reminding me that despite the summer heat, standing around in soaking wet clothes wasn’t exactly comfortable.
Stefano noticed immediately, his expression shifting from amused to something more predatory. “Those clothes need to come off. Now.”
“In your dreams, water boy,” I snapped, backing away again. “I’m not providing free entertainment for you three perverts.”
“It’s not entertainment we’re concerned about,” Matteo said quietly. “It’s hypothermia.”
“It’s blazing out here!” I exclaimed. “Hypothermia isn’t exactly topping my list of concerns right now.”
“Nevertheless,” Stefano said, advancing on me with purpose, “those wet clothes are coming off. Either you remove them, or I’ll do it for you.”
His tone left no doubt he wasn’t bluffing, and something in my expression must have conveyed my horror at the prospect because Marco moved toward a flat boulder where I now noticed a neat pile of clothes and a towel had been left—clearly Stefano’s belongings from before his impromptu swimming session.
“At least cover yourself before traumatizing our little runaway further,” Marco suggested, tossing Stefano the towel, though his tone suggested he was enjoying my discomfort immensely.
Stefano wrapped the towel around his waist, though it did little to diminish his overwhelming presence. “Better?” he asked me with a raised eyebrow.
“Marginally,” I admitted grudgingly. “Though your personality remains as exposed and offensive as ever.”
“Your shirt,” he demanded, holding out his hand. “Now.”
“Not happening,” I replied, wrapping my arms tighter around myself.
“Always the hard way with you.” He sighed, and before I could react, he was on me.