I allowed the touch, knowing that resistance would only result in being thrown over his shoulder again. The sweatpantsmight have provided more coverage, but they were precariously balanced on my hips, and being carried upside down would certainly dislodge them. Plus, I’d already experienced the joy of being carted around like a sack of reluctant potatoes once.
“Your hand is still on my back,” I pointed out acidly. “I can walk without alpha steering assistance. I’ve been doing it successfully since I was ten months old. It’s one of my special talents, along with breathing independently and resenting authority figures.”
As we walked through the forest, I tried to memorize the path, noting landmarks and calculating distances. If I was going to be kept overnight, I needed to understand my surroundings for any potential escape opportunity. The large oak with the lightning scar. The patch of wildflowers that might indicate a water source nearby. Mental breadcrumbs for when these alpha idiots inevitably let their guard down.
“I can see you mapping escape routes,” Marco commented, falling into step beside me. “I admire the persistence, if not the practicality.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I replied with exaggerated innocence. “I’m simply admiring the lovely… trees. So many trees. How fascinating. I’m counting them for my doctoral thesis on ‘Things That Are Taller Than Alpha Egos But Not By Much.’ It’s very scientific. Lots of graphs and charts.”
“We have the dogs,” Matteo reminded me from behind. “And motion sensors. And thermal imaging.”
“Well, aren’t you just the poster children for overkill,” I muttered. “What’s next, satellite surveillance and facial recognition? Maybe implant a microchip while I sleep? Clone me for spare parts? Build a Leo-tracking app for your smartphones with push notifications whenever I have an independent thought?”
The silence that followed was uncomfortably telling.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, stopping in my tracks. “Satellite surveillance? Really? Is my father that paranoid, or are you three just that committed to the stalker aesthetic? Did you also install cameras in my bathroom? Should I be checking my toothbrush for GPS trackers?”
“Your father spares no expense for your safety,” Stefano said simply, urging me forward again with a firm hand. “Now keep moving. We still need to get you fed and settled before dark.”
“Fed and settled,” I echoed. “Like a pet goldfish. Fantastic. Do I get a little castle to swim through too? Maybe some colored pebbles for my bowl? A tiny treasure chest that opens and closes as I swim past? The deluxe omega containment package.”
We emerged into the clearing where I’d glimpsed their camp earlier. Up close, the setup was even more sophisticated than I’d realized. The large central tent that could comfortably fit several people dominated one side, with smaller individual tents arranged nearby in military precision. The stone-ringed fire pit occupied the center, already prepared for lighting, with expensive-looking collapsible camping chairs arranged around it. What I’d initially mistaken for basic camping gear was actually a portable kitchen setup under a tarp-covered area, complete with what appeared to be a small refrigerator and professional-grade cooking equipment.
Apollo and Zeus looked up from where they’d been lounging in the shade, tails immediately wagging as they spotted their handlers. The furry traitors bounded over with enthusiasm, completely ignoring my glare of betrayal as they circled Marco and Matteo with obvious delight.
“Oh, look who’s happy to see their masters,” I muttered. “Hope you enjoyed your little nap while I was being kidnapped and forcibly undressed. Real stellar guard dog performance there, boys.”
Apollo had the audacity to wag harder when I addressed him directly, as if my sarcasm was actually praise.
“Sit,” Stefano commanded, guiding me toward one of the camping chairs with a pressure on my lower back that brooked no argument. “We need to establish some ground rules for tonight.”
I sat, partly because fighting would only result in more humiliating manhandling, and partly because my legs were starting to feel oddly weak. The adrenaline crash from my failed escape attempt, combined with the shock of my current situation, was taking its toll. Plus, nearly drowning tends to deplete one’s energy reserves. Go figure.
“Ground rules?” I repeated. “What, like ‘please and thank you’ and ‘no running with scissors’? Or more along the lines of ‘submit to your alpha overlords or else’? Should I be taking notes? Will there be a quiz later? I want to make sure I’m properly prepared for the ‘How to Be a Compliant Captive’ exam.”
“More practical than that,” Stefano said, taking the seat directly across from me. The fire pit between us remained unlit, but the symbolic separation did little to diminish his commanding presence. He carried his authority like a second skin, something innate rather than practiced. “First, you don’t leave our sight. Not for any reason. If you need to use the facilities, one of us accompanies you to the perimeter.”
“Kinky,” I muttered. “Do you watch, too, or is there a small courtesy turn-away at the last moment? Or is this where I discover your hidden voyeurism fetish? Should I prepare a performance, maybe add some jazz hands for dramatic effect?”
“Second,” he continued, ignoring my sarcasm, “you will eat what we provide, when we provide it. No hunger strikes, no refusing food as some misguided protest.”
“What if I have allergies? Or just really hate whatever culinary disaster Marco’s concocting over there? I draw the line at anything with tentacles or that was still moving ten minutes ago. My omega biology comes with standards, contrary to popular alpha belief.”
“Third,” Stefano pressed on, his patience apparently as boundless as his presumption, “you will sleep where we tell you, when we tell you. Attempting to stay awake all night planning escape will only result in forced rest.”
“Forced rest?” I repeated incredulously. “What does that even mean? Are you going to knock me unconscious if I don’t embrace naptime enthusiastically enough? Bedtime stories and warm milk, or chloroform and zip ties? Just trying to understand the full menu of alpha control tactics you’ve got planned for the evening.”
“It means we have ways of ensuring you sleep,” Marco called from the cooking area, where he was now slicing what looked like vegetables. “None of which you’d enjoy.”
“That’s not ominous at all,” I muttered. “Very reassuring. I feel safer already, knowing I’m in the hands of three alphas who casually threaten ‘forced rest’ like it’s a spa treatment. ‘Try our special alpha sleep package—you’ll wake up with no memory of how you got there!’”
“Fourth, and most importantly,” Stefano continued, leaning forward slightly, “you will show basic respect. That doesn’t mean submission or obedience—though both would make your night more comfortable. It means acknowledging that we are professionals doing our job, not villains in your personal drama.”
I stared at him, momentarily speechless. The audacity was breathtaking, like being mugged and then criticized for not complimenting the mugger’s technique. “You stripped me nearly naked, are holding me against my will, and have apparently beenspying on me for who knows how long, but I’m supposed to show you respect because it’s your job? That’s like asking someone to compliment the form of the person mugging them. ‘Oh, excellent technique on that arm-twist, sir! The way you ripped my shirt off was simply masterful! Five stars, would be assaulted again!’”
“You can choose to make this difficult,” Stefano replied with a shrug, “or you can choose to cooperate. Your comfort depends entirely on that choice.”
“My comfort depends on not being kidnapped by three alphas with boundary issues and god complexes, but apparently we can’t all get what we want,” I shot back. “Funny how that works—you get to play Mountain Warden with a live omega toy, and I get to contemplate which of you I’ll murder first when I eventually escape. Spoiler alert: it’s you. Definitely you.”
