But Phoebe was.
By the time she'd entered high school, cancer had started to erase that brilliant spark from her mother's eyes, just as it had sapped her energy. Those lively conversations happened less and less often.
Eventually, the spark went out completely. Phoebe thought she'd never see it again after she buried her mother.
But here it was, burning bright in the eyes of a damned alpha.
Okay, it wasn't exactly the same. The energy behind it was totally different—like a thundercloud that could break open at any moment with deafening force.
Phoebe knew instinctively that the alpha saw more than he let on. That with a single glance, he could perceive everything about her, know all her secrets, her fears.
At the moment, she certainly had plenty of fears. There would be something wrong with her if she didn't.
But his energy called to her. She couldn't look away…but she couldn't make herself draw closer, either. Like a violin string tuned far too tight, she needed to ease the tension before a dangerous vibration caused it to snap.
"Are you planning on killing me?" she asked, breaking the silence between them.
The alpha's left eye twitched almost imperceptibly, his only reaction. "Not unless I have to."
Phoebe bit the inside of her cheek. Not the most reassuring answer, but one she could live with. She was determined to keep her composure…at least for now. There would be plenty of time for panicking and falling apart later.
Right now, she needed to figure out exactly where she stood.
"Is there anything I can do to make that less likely?"
She expected another terse answer, equally brutal in its honesty. Something along the lines of stay out of my way and keep your mouth shut.
Instead, the alpha appeared to take the question seriously, thinking it over before answering.
"Don't lie," he said. "Keep your word. Don't try to run. Don't steal. Basically, if it's something your father or brother might try, don't do it."
"That…sounds fair." Apparently, he had dealt with her family before. It sounded like he knew them almost as well as she did. "Any other rules?"
"You want rules?" He gave a humorless laugh. "It's not like I have a list. I live alone, and I definitely didn't anticipate having to house a prisoner when I woke up this morning. How about this, Phoebe—don't do anything you think might piss me off."
Phoebe was startled to hear him say her name. Of course, he'd heard her father and Holden say it, but it still felt intimate, almost like he'd touched her.
There was no way she was letting him touch her.
She swallowed, the last of her composure dissolving. "Um…what kinds of things usually piss you off?"
The alpha narrowed his gaze. "Asking too many questions, for a start."
Phoebe nodded, her heart beating a ragged rhythm. She needed to stop, to take the time to collect herself and figure out her next move. Except there was one more thing she just had to know, even if it meant risking his wrath.
"Do you have any other…expectations?" she asked, alluding to her worst fears as delicately as she could.
"Expectations?" the alpha echoed, his dark energy intensifying, his expression turning predatory. "Do you mean am I going to grab your wrists, pin you to my bed, and savagely fuck you every night you until you shake uncontrollably from pleasure and scream my name?"
Phoebe gasped, shocked that he would put into words something she barely had the courage to imagine. Her throat closed, and her face grew hot, her whole body tensing—but it wasn't entirely from fear.
"Yeah…that," she finally managed to squeak.
The smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth was not at all comforting. He slowly shook his head, making sure she saw him take in every inch of her body, lingering on her breasts, her stomach, her hips. Everywhere he looked, heat filled her. It was as if his gaze trailed flame, as if he was somehow able to caress her with his mind.
Suddenly, he laughed as though they'd been sharing a joke.
"No, I'm not going to do that. I'll be in my bedroom, and you can sleep in the main room. Keep to those rules of yours, and we won't have any contact."
At his promise, some of the tension drained from Phoebe. Like every other beta woman she knew, her greatest fear was having her nature tested by an alpha's touch. She knew what could happen if she was that rare omega-in-waiting: she would lose control of her body and her mind, as her physiology instantly changed to accommodate the will—and the cock—of a monstrous master she would serve for the rest of her life.
Sure, the risk of being an omega was slight, but it was real. Phoebe wasn't exactly a risk-taker. She left that to the rest of the family and their ill-conceived schemes.
"Thank you," she whispered, relief weakening her.
For some reason, even though she'd always been told that alphas were subhuman, ruled only by their instincts and aggression, Phoebe believed him. Her own instincts told her he would be true to his word.
"There's no reason to thank me," he said, his voice a low rumble. "You're my prisoner, not my guest. I already have enough work around here without another mouth to feed—especially a lazy beta. As long as you're here, you'll work for your keep."
Phoebe nodded tightly, forcing down her sudden resentment. This alpha could have called her many things and she would have ignored the insult.
But lazy?—hell, no.
She'd started working years ago to help out the family. Her mother had first fallen sick when Phoebe was only fifteen years old, and she'd gone out and gotten a job the day the diagnosis was made. From then on, Phoebe had brought home a paycheck as well as shopped, cooked, cleaned, and done the laundry…and she'd been doing it ever since.
Being a Whitfield, she was used to having insults thrown at her. She'd been called a lowlife, a cheat, trash.
She didn't let any of those get under her skin.
But lazy? The word was like an electric switch, turning on her anger.
She refused to let the alpha see it, though. Hell, no—she'd just make him eat his words instead.
"Of course," she said with a calm she didn't feel. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
"Good. Then you can get started on the dishes."
The conversation was clearly over—but he didn't walk away. What the hell was he waiting for? Did he think she would argue? Did he think she would balk?
In all likelihood, the alpha assumed she was just like her father and brother. He probably thought she was just waiting for him to turn his back so she could cross him.
But Phoebe wasn't anything like them. She was her own woman, and she had been for a long time now.
She felt a strange satisfaction as she walked past him toward the cabin door with her head held high. She might be a hostage until her family's return, but that didn't mean she was about to sacrifice her dignity. She didn't owe this creature anything but her compliance and whatever chores he threw her way. She sure as shit wasn't under any obligation to impress him. She only needed to stay in his good his graces long enough to survive this horrible situation.
Phoebe stopped when she reached the top step. Turning around, she found him still standing in the same spot…still staring right through her.
Her traitorous longing reared its head again, and before Phoebe could shove it back down, the words flew out of her mouth. "What should I call you?"
The alpha shook his head, though his gaze never strayed. "Don't worry about it, girl. As long as you follow the rules, we won't have to say another word to each other."
Chapter Four
The alpha's name was Roman.
Roman Fontana.
Phoebe discovered it written on an envelope tucked into a drawer while she was putting away the dishes. She'd been looking for a home for the few pieces of cutlery she'd dried with a kitchen towel, but instead, she found a tidy collection of stamps, paper clips, rubber bands, and correspondence—a far cry from the overstuffed junk drawer in the kitchen she'd shared
with her father and brother.
She could see the corner of a letter sticking out of the envelope, but she didn't dare sneak a peek at it. Whatever was written on that paper wasn't any of her business. But she couldn't help reading the name printed in bold letters on the front. Just like she couldn't help noticing that the sender shared the Fontana name and that the return address was from Atherton, California.
Which just happened to be the wealthiest city in the whole damn country.
Phoebe gave a low whistle as she carefully shut the drawer. She shouldn't have been surprised that the alpha came from money. After all, he clearly thought nothing of keeping a giant wad of cash on the kitchen table.
Like any person with working eyes, she'd notice the money the moment she entered the house. Even though she figured it was the payment meant for her family, she went out of her way to avoid it, just in case it was some kind of trap. She wouldn't put it past him. Lord knew, as quickly as that alpha—Roman—had called out her dad and brother for shorting him, he probably had memorized the exact orientation of every bill in the pile.
Unlike the rest of her family, Phoebe valued her life far more than any amount of cash. Thank God she'd been the one to stay behind. There was no way that her father or Holden would ever have the control to resist that kind of temptation. Hell, within five minutes, they'd have probably convinced themselves they'd earned it before slipping at least a few of the bills into their pocket. She shuddered to think what would've happened then.
But Phoebe couldn't help but wonder why a man—even an alpha—with so much money lived the way he did.
His house wasn't run down or neglected. For a simple wood-frame cabin in the middle of the wilderness cut off from all utilities, it was actually nicer than some of the homes that lined the pot-holed streets of her little beta border town. It was just…small.
Small and spartan. A far cry from the mansions of Atherton.
Obviously, Roman had the means to afford a bigger place, not to mention a whole crew to build it for him. But apparently, that wasn't what he wanted.
The simplicity of the place meant that it didn't take her long to explore the house. There was a main room, kitchen, bathroom, and bedroom. That was it.
There was certainly nothing fancy or whimsical, no little touches that gave clues to its owner's personality. Other than a few hardback books and half a dozen pottery mugs hanging under a cabinet in the kitchen, she might have been tempted to think that no one lived here at all.
Which wasn't necessarily a good thing. Phoebe had no idea how she was going to earn her keep cleaning a house that was already clean. Sure, there were a few smudges by the door frames and oven that she could scrub away, but other than that, the whole place was well-maintained, even the utilitarian kitchen and bathroom. Even the freaking windows were clean and sparkling.
With only two cupboards in the kitchen—one for cookware and one for food—and the remains of a single meal on the counter, the one Roman had no doubt been in the middle of when they'd arrived, she had been able to clean up in a flash. The only trouble was now she had no idea what to do next.
Phoebe was accustomed to cleaning up after her father and brother, who had a true talent for making a mess. Every time they walked through a room, they seemed to leave a trail of dirt and crumbs and wadded-up fast-food wrappers and cast-off clothing behind.
By comparison, this little cabin was as neat as a pin.
She'd looked all over the house for something—anything—to clean, to prove that she wasn't the lazy sloth Roman had accused her of being. But there was nothing.
Every closet, drawer, and cabinet was already tidy. All she found were neatly folded t-shirts in the drawers, clean shirts hanging in the closet, two pairs of boots lined up underneath. There were stores of dry goods in the pantry, including half a dozen jars of heavenly smelling coffee, and an assortment of hunting knives and other gear in a small storage room, but the only thing remotely out of order was a sock that had fallen behind the headboard.
Okay, then, she thought, looking around the house with narrowed eyes. If it's already clean, then I guess I'll have to make it shine.
The rustic nature of the house gave her pause, but she quickly figured out the iron hand pump that drew water into the sink, and the wood-burning stove looked pretty straightforward, if not somewhat intimidating. There were enough stores to create a variety of simple meals, and the bathroom, thankfully, had running water from whatever source fed the kitchen. Phoebe had everything she needed to survive until Holden and her father returned.
They all just had to play their parts as though their lives depended on it…because they probably did.
Phoebe wasn't worried that the men of her family would fail to come back for her. She knew they loved her, the same way she loved them—without fully understanding each other, but bonded by blood and a lifetime of care and dependence.
Still, Phoebe was determined to get all of them through this…just like she always did.
She had been the one to keep them all going after her mother had died. She'd been the one who worked extra hours when her father busted his leg in a barroom fight that had left him unable to work for two months. Just like she'd been the one to use her savings to get the truck back when Holden failed to tell anyone he'd stopped making payments on it, and it had been repossessed.
The truth was there were too many stories like those to count, each one a little tragedy that Phoebe had cleaned up just like a load of dirty dishes left in the sink.
But this caper—the one which ended up with her at the mercy of an angry brute—was the last. It had to be.
Phoebe might love her family to pieces, but that didn't mean that she could deny her own needs forever. She wasn't their servant, but a grown woman with hopes and dreams of her own…dreams that didn't include constantly sweeping up other people's messes.
Leaning her hip against a freshly scrubbed kitchen counter in a house that would serve as her prison for the foreseeable future, Phoebe made herself a promise: as soon as she returned home—the second she walked through the doors—she was packing her bags and moving to the city.
Any city would do—San Francisco, L.A, maybe Sacramento. The location didn't matter as long as it was someplace big, alive with the energy of bars and theaters and museums and clubs and people her age. A city where she might be invited to one of those rooftop parties she always saw in the movies, where elegant people in beautiful clothes drank wine while holding conversations on opulent balconies, looking out over the twinkling lights of the city at night.
That was what she wanted.
And all that stood between Phoebe and her dreams was her family, one seriously ticked-off alpha, and a shit ton of stolen gas.
Roman had been true to his word: when he came back into the house late in the day, as the sun was starting to sink behind the mountains, he didn't say a word to Phoebe.
In fact, he didn't acknowledge her at all, walking past the couch as though she wasn't there. She briefly wished he hadn't caught her sitting down, but then realized that the evidence of her hard work was everywhere around them, from the polished cabinets to the plain white curtains she'd washed in the spring-fed pool up the path behind the house and rehung.
Phoebe sat quietly and watched the alpha wash up at the sink. Whatever he'd been doing, he'd gotten black soot or grease all over his hands, and it took a while to scrub it away. If every day went like this one—with Roman leaving the house all day, giving her the time and solitude to clean and dust and do the laundry, only to ignore her upon his return, she'd be fine.
Well, maybe not fine. She was an alpha's hostage, after all. But she would survive as long as it took for her family to return with the gas they'd promised, and that was the only thing that mattered.
Phoebe knew that she had to resist the temptation to let down her guard. After all, it hadn't even been a full twenty-four hours since she arrived. It was barely evening, meaning she had to get through at least another hour or
two before it would be dark enough for her to lie down and pretend to rest. Even then, she had no idea where she was meant to sleep.
A lot could happen before then.
Roman was rummaging through the cupboard, taking out bread and cheese and dried meat. When he sat down and dug in with gusto, Phoebe's stomach growled. She pressed her hand to her abdomen, but it was too late: Roman stopped what he was doing and frowned at her, evidence that what they said about alphas' heightened senses was true.
Until this moment, Phoebe had almost forgotten about her hunger, keeping herself busy with chores and worries. After the alpha's warning not to steal from him, she hadn't dared to take any of his food, not even an apple from the bowl on the table. She had assumed he would let her know what his rules were for food, but when he returned to eating his simple meal, then took his plate to the sink and disappeared to the bedroom without another word, closing the door behind him, those hopes were dashed.
Like every other man in her life, Roman simply took what he needed before walking away.
Phoebe knew there was no point in resentment. It only made the gnawing in her stomach more intense, and it wouldn't change anything. She wasn't about to risk bothering him to ask about food, not when he had retired to his room for the night, not when her emotions were still so ragged from everything that had happened that day.
She wouldn't starve to death in a single night. In the morning—when Roman was leaving for the day—she could casually mention that she needed to know what food was meant for her. In the worst case, if he meant to withhold food as a way to put additional pressure on her family to come through with the gas, she would deal with it then.
Of course, Phoebe's belly didn't give a damn about the plan she'd come up with. All it cared about was letting her know that it needed to be filled. She had found a blanket in a basket by the couch and lay down to try to sleep when it started rumbling again, twice as loud as before. At least there was no one in the room to hear.
Roman: The Boundarylands Omegaverse: M/F Alpha Omega Romance Page 3
