The quiet alpha nodded and headed toward their camp, disappearing into the trees. He moved like a jungle cat, all quiet grace and predatory ease. If the other two were bad news, he was the classified document you needed top security clearance to even know existed.
“Smart choice,” Marco commented, studying me with obvious amusement. “Though I admit, I was looking forward to seeing how creative your resistance could get. Your threats have a certain poetic quality—like Shakespeare with anger management issues.”
“I’m saving my creativity for when you’re all asleep,” I replied sweetly. “I’ve always wondered what alphas look like with Sharpie mustaches and no eyebrows. Maybe ‘property of omega’ tattooed on your foreheads with permanent marker. I’m thinking Comic Sans font for maximum indignity.”
Marco laughed, seemingly delighted by the threat. “I’d sleep with one eye open if I were you, Stefano. This one has vengeance in his blood.”
“Among other things,” Stefano murmured, his gaze once again dropping to my bare legs. “Though I’m not convinced this sudden cooperation is genuine.”
“Would you prefer I keep fighting pointlessly?” I asked, trying to sound reasonable despite the fury simmering just beneath my skin. “I know when I’m outmatched. Temporarily. Like how a chess player might sacrifice a pawn to ultimately checkmate the king. Not that you’d understand the metaphor, given your obvious intellectual limitations and your ‘grab first, ask questions never’ approach to problem-solving.”
“Temporarily,” Stefano repeated, a slow smile spreading across his face. “We’ll see.”
That smile sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. It was the smile of someone who’d already mapped out all the ways this game could end and was just waiting for me to figure out I’d lost before I’d even started playing. Chess master versus checkers novice, except the board was rigged and half my pieces were missing.
Matteo returned with a pair of sweatpants that looked like they would swallow me whole. He handed them to Stefano rather than directly to me, a small but pointed reminder of who was in control here. The alpha chain of command was apparently very clear—anything I needed had to come through Stefano, the self-appointed King of Kidnap Mountain.
“Thank you,” I said with exaggerated politeness, holding out my hand. “So nice to see at least one of you has basic courtesy in your skill set. Gold star for remembering pants exist.”
Instead of giving me the pants, Stefano held them just out of reach. “These aren’t free,” he said, his voice dropping to that register that made something in my stomach tighten. “You’ll need to earn them.”
The change in tactics caught me off guard. Oh perfect, we’d moved from kidnapping to extortion in record time. “Earn them? What, you want me to perform tricks like a circus animal? Roll over, beg, then you’ll throw me a bone? Or should I just bark and chase my own tail while you all applaud my omega submission? Maybe I should develop a nice routine—I could juggle pinecones while reciting the alpha superiority pledge.”
“Nothing so complicated,” Stefano replied, stepping closer until I could feel the heat radiating from his body. “Just a simple acknowledgment.”
“Of what?” I asked warily. “Your alphaness? Your superior muscle mass? The fact that your ego needs its own zip code? Or should I just generally acknowledge that you’re compensating for something with all this dominant posturing?”
“That you belong to us tonight,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “That you’ll obey our rules, follow our instructions, and accept our authority until morning.”
My mouth went dry. The request went beyond simple compliance—it was a declaration of ownership, temporary but absolute. Every instinct in my body screamed to refuse. This wasn’t just about pants anymore; this was about establishing dominance, about making me verbally acknowledge their control. It was Alpha Psychology 101—make the subordinate verbalize their submission, and the power dynamic becomes real.
“And if I don’t?” I asked, needing to know my options even though I suspected I wouldn’t like them. “Do I get sent to bed without dinner? Time-out in the corner? Strongly worded letter to my father? Or is this where the real alpha tactics come out to play?”
“Then you spend the night as you are,” Marco supplied, gesturing to my current state of undress. “Which would be… interesting, given the dropping temperatures after sunset. Mountain nights get cold enough to make certain parts of you retreat to unprecedented levels.”
I glanced down at my bare legs, already prickling with goosebumps despite the afternoon warmth. The thought of spending the entire night essentially naked was both humiliating and impractical. Plus, the way these three looked at me when I was in just the shirt made something hot and dangerous curl in my belly—a sensation I definitely didn’t want to examine too closely, filed under Biological Betrayals to Overthink Later.
“Fine,” I said through gritted teeth. “I acknowledge that I’m your captive for tonight, and I’ll follow reasonable instructions to avoid freezing my ass off. Happy? Or would you like me to curtsy too? Maybe throw in a little song and dance number about alpha superiority?”
“Not quite,” Stefano said, still holding the pants just out of reach. “Say it properly. ‘I belong to you tonight.’”
The phrasing made my skin crawl and my pulse quicken simultaneously. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? The power trip of making me say degrading things? What’s next, having me address you as ‘Master’? Should I kiss your signet ring too? Pledge my undying fealty to House Alpha-Asshole?”
“I enjoy your submission, yes,” Stefano admitted without a hint of shame. “Especially when it comes wrapped in that defiant fire. Now say it or spend the night with those pretty legs on display.”
I closed my eyes briefly, swallowing my pride with difficulty. It tasted like battery acid going down, burning all the way. “I belong to you tonight,” I finally said, the words tasting like ash on my tongue. “But tomorrow, all bets are off, and I start plotting your painful demise. Consider it a rain check on revenge.”
“Look at me when you say it,” Stefano commanded softly.
I met his gaze with all the loathing I could muster. If looks could kill, he’d be a smoldering pile of alpha ash. “I belong to you tonight,” I repeated, each word precise and venomous. “May you choke on your victory and wake up with inexplicable rashes in uncomfortable places.”
Stefano’s smile was slow and satisfied. “Good boy.”
The praise shouldn’t have affected me—it was condescending, patronizing, infuriating—but something treacherous in my omega biology responded with a flush of warmth that traveled from my face down to my chest. I hated my body’s betrayal almost as much as I hated him in that moment. It was like having an internal traitor, constantly undermining my righteous anger with inconvenient hormonal responses. Thanks, evolution, for making omegas susceptible to deep voices and casual dominance. Really helpful.
He finally handed me the sweatpants, watching as I awkwardly pulled them on while trying to maintain what little dignity I had left. They were comically large, the waistband folding over several times at my hips and the legs pooling around my ankles. But they were warm, dry, and most importantly, they covered my nudity. Small victories in the battle of ongoing humiliation.
“Now,” Stefano said, placing a hand on my lower back to guide me forward, “let’s get you settled at camp.”
