Page 97 of Stolen By the Alpha Hunter
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 bothknow.
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 bepossibleoutside 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.
