She needed a minute to think. More than a minute. Hope needed distance from the alpha, from the sight of his powerful, breathtaking body, to calm down and think rationally.
But since apparently distance was the one thing Hope couldn't have anymore, she did the next best thing. She turned around and went back into the cabin, slamming the door behind her.
The alpha's frustrated roar rocked the walls all around her.
Chapter Five
The cabin was small—twelve feet square at most.
Hope knew because she'd been pacing the floor for hours now. Left to right, up and down. Five steps in either direction in the box that had become her cage.
Every time she turned and paced the other way, she thought about how similar she was to the leashed alpha outside the door. The only difference was that she hadn't worn a groove into the floorboards...yet.
Just give it another day, she thought grimly. You'll get there.
But what else was there to do? Hope had already spent the first hour exploring the small space. There wasn't much to find.
On one side was a series of pine cabinets that had been built flush with the walls. Hope rifled through them but only found the basics—toiletries, stacks of clean clothes, underwear, socks, a few well-thumbed books, and tools.
Lots and lots of tools. Knives and hooks and awls. Apparently, the alpha was really into hunting and fishing. Which made sense, considering that those weren't hobbies out here in the Boundarylands—they were survival skills.
On the other side of the room, next to the tiny wood-burning stove, were shelves holding a few mismatched dishes and cups, and a large built-in pantry filled with canned and dry essentials.
And, other than the few pieces of furniture, that was it.
Hope was far from wealthy. Working an hourly job at a sporting goods store meant she was barely scraping by. The inside of her first apartment had been as spartan as could be, but even it seemed luxurious compared to this cramped cabin.
No, not a cabin. This was a prison, but in a cruel twist, her jailor was the one chained up.
Hope winced at the reminder. She looked over at the foot of the bed where she'd placed the key.
She had been hoping that solitude would help her come up with a solution…or at least dry the slick that coated her legs. No such luck on either front. Hours of pacing had only twisted the knot of desire in her belly even tighter and left her more confused.
And angry. So angry.
Hope didn't want to be an omega. She hadn't fought so hard for her independence just to have it snatched away with a single touch from an alpha.
Although that wasn't entirely fair, she chided herself. The alpha wasn't to blame for what was going on inside her. The narcos were. The men who had killed her friends and driven her into the Boundarylands. Who had shot her.
If the alpha out there was telling the truth, he was the only reason Hope was still alive. It was hard to believe when she remembered the blood lust burning in his eyes when she'd almost ran into him.
Obviously, the only reason he'd taken care of her was that her true nature had shifted. The fact that she really was an omega had become impossible to deny.
But Hope owed her life to that shift. If she had remained a beta, she would have been dead now. There wasn't a doubt in Hope's mind.
Of course, she wasn't sure yet which outcome would've been preferable.
All she knew was that she owed the alpha at least a little gratitude for her life. Not enough to toss him the key—that intense predatory stare of his was enough to keep her from making that mistake.
But a simple gesture of basic human decency wouldn't hurt.
Hope's stomach had been grumbling. She wondered if the old stove even worked or if it would just fill the cabin with smoke. With all the nonperishable food in the pantry, she could throw together a simple meal for both of them.
She rifled through the pantry and picked out a few ingredients—beans, some hard cheese and smoked sausage, a jar of tomatoes. She sliced and grated and threw everything into a pot, lit the fire, and after a few minutes of simmering, served up a couple bowls of enticing, fragrant mush.
The sun had just started to set when she made her way out the door. The few rays of sunlight that broke through the canopy were soft and muted, casting long, finger-like shadows among the trees.
The alpha was sitting on the ground, throwing pinecones against a shed in the distance. The ground in front of the building was littered with them.
"Unchain me," he said, turning toward her as she made her way down the steps.
Hope ignored the demand. "I made you dinner," she said, setting the bowl down just beyond his pacing line, then pushing it forward with a stick.
The alpha glanced at the bowl, then back up to her. "What the fuck is that?"
"Think of it as a peace offering," Hope suggested, retreating to the split log near the porch, where she sat down with her own dinner. "My way of saying thank you for saving my life."
The alpha frowned before leaning forward and snatching the bowl. "No, I mean, what the hell did you make?"
Oh.
"I call them Pizza Beans," she said, slightly embarrassed.
"This is something you've made before?" he asked dubiously, poking at the mush with the spoon. "On purpose?"
Hope shrugged. Sometimes she forgot that not everyone grew up trying to throw together meals from whatever was on the shelves.
"I'm the oldest of six siblings," she told him. "My parents didn't believe in supermarkets, and I was in charge of cooking. So, I learned to be…resourceful."
Supermarkets weren't
