Page 65 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
I drag my eyes away from her. Barely.
“What was?” I mutter, already annoyed.
“Esther’s mate,” he says with a smug little grin. “It was supposed to be me. Daddy was Gideon’s second, and they were grooming us to be the next generation of Prime royalty.”
I smirk. “Guess she had better taste.”
Abel’s eyes narrow, but he keeps talking. Like he thinks I’m bluffing.
“She used to trail after me like a lovesick little bitch,” he says. “You know that smile she gives? That sweet little blush? Bet she blushes like that all over—on her tits, between her thighs. Bet she turned red when you spanked her.”
My chair groans under the pressure of my grip, my jaw clenched so tight it aches.
“That’s none of your business,” I grind out.
But Abel leans in anyway.
And what he says next makes my vision go white.
“We all know you didn’t fuck her,” he whispers. “But I bet she’ll scream nice and pretty when arealalpha pops her cherry.”
Somethingbreaks.
I don’t hear the next thing he says. I don’t even register moving.
One moment he’s sneering.
The next—I’ve got him by the throat.
I slam him back against the wall with a force that shakes the frame of the room.
“You talk about her again—you even think about her again—and I will rip your fucking tongue out.”
Gideon laughs from across the table and we both snap our gazes up to focus on him. He’s swirling his drink like a spectator, his scarred eye trained on me like he can see right into my soul.
“Better be careful, Abel,” Gideon says, tone almost lazy. “The stories Mr. Boyd told me…you’d go white as a sheet if you knew who you were fuckin’ with.”
Abel snorts, but there’s a tremor in it. I can see it already—the edge of bravado cracking.
I don’t look away.
I stare straight into his eyes, letting the weight of what I am press down like a boot on his throat.
“I don’t mind you hearin’ those stories,” I say, voice low. Calm. But the kind of calm that comes before something goes very, very wrong.
Gideon leans back in his chair, gesturing. “Tell him, son. You have my permission.”
I rise slowly, my chair scraping against the floor like a warning. I walk around the table, deliberate, measured, untilI’m right in front of Abel—until my shadow falls over him like nightfall.
And then I lean down, until we’re face to face.
“I was the top fighter in the Miami Pit,” I murmur, soft enough that it makes him lean in to hear—and that’s when I let the threat slip through my smile. “You know what that means? I killed every wolf they threw at me. Ripped through them with my bare hands. Clawed open chests and split spines. Tore Infernal Legion warriors apart, antlers and all, left their bodies staked on their own fucking bones.”
I pause. Let him see it. Let him imagine it.
Let him imagine what I could do tohim.
“You think you’re anything to me?”
