Maddox had shot up a couple of feet and bulked out in a matter of weeks. After that, it was time to settle a few scores before coming to live out the rest of his days in the Boundarylands.
Maddox liked the woods. It was quiet…serene. For the first time in his life, he was left alone. He wasn't the largest alpha around, but he found he didn't have to be. His scars did the talking for him. Most importantly, his demands for solitude were met with respect.
Maddox settled in fast. Alpha law made perfect sense. Order was clear, and justice was dealt quickly and cleanly. Don't fuck with me, I won't fuck with you. Those were rules Maddox could get behind.
He knew some of his alpha brothers thought he was too extreme. That he was too isolated, too severe.
Too bad. As long as they kept their opinions to themselves, Maddox didn't give a fuck what they thought. He liked order. He liked purpose. He liked solitude.
An omega didn't fit into that picture.
And yet he needed her like nothing he'd ever known before. More than sleep. More than food. More than air.
If he took her now, she'd die…and so would he. Somehow Maddox knew it in the marrow of his bones.
But what could he do other than chain himself up?
Wait…
What do you want me to do, tie him up in the front like a dog?
Randall's words came back to Maddox. The old alpha was right. Ropes would never hold him. But chains? The thick kind he used to haul felled lumber back to the cabin? Those might work.
Maddox drew in another breath of purple flowers and felt another wave of pressure fill his aching balls.
God damn, this was going to suck.
Chapter Four
Hope tried, but she couldn't seem to open her eyes.
Not that she was anxious to get her first look at the afterlife. She wasn't entirely sure she wanted to see where she'd ended up.
Hope's parents had done their best to drill it into her head that a lifetime of docile obedience would land her in a place filled with gleaming halos and angel wings. Ditching her family's strict religion to live on her own in the city, on the other hand? Well, that came with an eternity of hellfire and brimstone.
Hope wasn't overly excited about either version.
Her idea of heaven would be the side of a beautiful mountain. A trail with gentle switchbacks would lead to breathtaking views at the top, surrounded on both sides by beautiful forests and grassy plains and sparkling lakes and endless drifts of wildflowers. There would be fresh air and gentle rain and birdsong.
Needless to say, Hope's heaven did not feature any illegal drug grows – and was very far away from the Boundarylands.
But as she spread out her fingers, she felt something soft and warm beneath her palms. Something that didn't feel at all like the hard-packed dirt of a mountainside. In fact, it felt like…fur.
Weird.
But at least she didn't hear any harp music…and she didn't smell any sulfur either, so she gave opening her eyes one more shot. This time, she managed to lift her lids and found herself in a very strange afterlife.
She was lying in a bed. An enormous bed in the middle of a primitive log cabin.
It had rough plank floors, a stove that appeared to date back to the 1920s, a scarred wooden table, and two straight-back chairs. The only ornamental thing in the cabin was the beautiful stone chimney rising from a fireplace that took up most of one wall.
Okay, this wasn't exactly what she'd meant by a mountainside heaven. Apparently, God had a sense of humor.
Or more likely, Hope was still alive and in the little hunting shack that she had spotted across the lake when she and her friends stopped to make camp.
Right before Sandra and Dave were killed, and she had run for her life.
Hope struggled to sit up as the horrible memories returned in all their bloody technicolor glory.
Sharp pain in her chest made it clear that she wasn't dead after all. A thick bandage was wrapped around her torso, and the pain was followed instantly by a curious thrumming that welled up inside her body. It felt like healing energy that started in her chest and radiated out, settling her frayed nerves.
Hope had to be on some sort of pain medication. Someone had bandaged her up, though where they'd gotten supplies, she had no idea. The cabin was bare except for a few pots and pans and a collection of weapons—knives, clubs, bows and arrows—hanging high on the far wall.
No guns, though. She didn't see any traces of booze or porn either. It didn't strike her as the kind of place the thugs who shot her would stay.
Hope looked down at herself and saw that the fur she'd felt under her fingers was actually a giant pelt that covered the whole bed.
Hope had never been a fan of hunting. She preferred her wild animals alive and roaming free. Still, she had to admit the heavy bed covering was warm and comforting. Apparently, where ever the hell she was, it got cold at night.
Really cold.
She looked down at the unfamiliar clothes she was wearing—a simple blue dress with one sleeve cut off. Her gaze landed on a crimson stain on the bandage where the sleeve would have been joined to the bodice. Grimacing in anticipation, Hope gingerly touched the edge.
Whoever had brought her here wasn't much of a nurse. The blood on the dressing was dried all the way through and had been for a while. Hope pulled it off and looked down at the pink, puckered scar beneath.
Scar? How long had she been unconscious? Surely not long enough for a gunshot wound to heal.
Hope
