Her father cupped her cheek gently with his callused hand. "I don't know what I'm gonna do. Holden and I can't make it on our own without you."
Roman let out a forceful breath and jerked Phoebe back, pulling her to his side. His body was rigid, anger coming off him in waves.
"All right, Whitfield," Roman growled. "You got your answers. Now unhitch the tanks and go."
"You can't expect me to simply walk away from my own daughter!" Her father clasped his hands in front of him, begging. "Not even an alpha can be that cruel."
"Why not?" Roman snarled. "You've already done it once. If anything, it should be easier this time."
Her father narrowed his eyes, his anger igniting all over again like dry tinder. "You overgrown bast—"
"Dad!" Phoebe cut him off, terrified he'd go too far. "It's okay. Really."
There was a long silence as Holden and her father glared at Roman. If it had been a fair fight, they'd have gone in swinging. Likely they would have done so anyway if Phoebe wasn't doing her best to deescalate the situation.
Finally, they turned back toward the tankers and unhitched the loads, then walked slowly back to the two cabs.
With his hand on the door handle, her father paused and stared Roman straight in the eye. "This ain't over, boss."
Then he straightened his back, got in the cab, and drove off without a backward look, Holden right behind him.
Phoebe watched, fighting back tears until the taillights of the stolen trucks disappeared into the trees.
The last time she'd been in this situation, she'd been scared and alone.
But now, thanks to the alpha standing silently behind her, she was downright terrified.
Chapter Twelve
Roman knew he could easily stop Phoebe from going after her good-for-nothing father and dumb-as-shit brother. He could overpower her with both hands tied behind his back, chained to the bottom of a lake.
He had heard other alphas talk about the alpha-omega bond, how it kept omegas from straying from their alpha's sides, making it physically impossible for them to be apart too long. Roman wasn't sure he believed it—definitely not enough to gamble on. Besides, he wasn't even sure that they'd bonded yet, despite the incredible sex.
At least…he wasn't sure that Phoebe had. As for himself, he feared he was done for.
Roman didn't want to think about that, so he focused on the anger that overpowered all Phoebe's other emotions, adding a bitter, invasive note to her scent. He wanted to destroy that emotion, along with the sharp tang of fear rising off her skin. And he could definitely do without the physical distance she was keeping between them as they stood several yards apart, staring down the road after the trucks.
A part of him wanted to reassure Phoebe, to remind her that he would never take his own anger out on her. Not physically, and not with cruel words.
But Roman kept his thoughts to himself. For one thing, she wouldn't believe him—not now, so soon after he'd physically restrained her in the face of her family's rage. She would need some time for the storm of conflicting emotions to settle before she could consider the situation rationally.
But there was something else that kept Roman silent, robbing him of the ability to find the right words to speak to her. He would never admit it, but Roman was terrified that if he said or did the wrong thing in this moment, Phoebe would leave.
Roman had never felt this mixture of anger and fear in his life. Anger was an emotion that he thought he was used to. He'd harnessed it to do all kinds of things—from silencing the neighbors' threats when he was still a teen and his nature had first emerged, to protecting the border from beta incursions, to settling disputes with the occasional uplander who came down looking for a fight.
Fear…not so much. Until Phoebe came along, Roman would have been hard-pressed to name three things he feared. Harm coming to his beta family, of course. Possibly the chaos that could result from a complete shutdown of the fuel pipeline. Beyond that…nothing came to mind.
But the rage that surged through him now was like nothing that he'd ever felt before. It was deeper, stronger, more intense, as though the presence of fear had honed and strengthened it.
Every alpha knew the outrage that resulted from his property being threatened. An outsider stepping over a boundary…a drunk uplander challenging him at the edge of his land…a beta merchant dumb enough to try to rip him off. There was a reason for the few firm rules that governed life in the Boundarylands, and for the penalty for breaking them—a swift and merciless death.
But what happened when it was the possession itself that wanted to leave?
Roman briefly wondered if it had been a good idea to settle in the midlands. There was no community gathering spot, no casual conversation to be had with other alphas. Living in isolation for so long had left him completely unprepared for this situation.
Up until now, everything Roman had ever owned stayed where he put it. His belongings didn't have emotions. They never argued. He never went to bed at night worrying that his truck was going to leave him in the night.
But Phoebe wasn't a truck. She wasn't a tool he could hang on its hook in the shed or a chicken that he could round up after wolves knocked over the coop.
Phoebe was a woman—with feelings and opinions of her own, and the ability to act of her own accord…but she was still an omega, and she was definitely his. Roman had thought he'd removed all doubt with the way he'd possessed her body just hours earlier.
But apparently, he was wrong. And now he needed to find some other way to make his position in their relationship clear.
If he let her, Phoebe would just keep staring down the drive, pining for her family. And Roman couldn't have that. Every passing second made him feel more out of control as if his insides were in revolt.
Abruptly, he grabbed her shoulder and spun her around to face him, colliding with her baleful gaze head-on. He could feel the tension flowing from inside her, through his hand and into his body to unleash an answering tsunami of emotion.
Phoebe's anger wasn't like his…he saw that now. It wasn't as forceful, didn't threaten destruction as his did. As with everything else associated with Phoebe, he sensed that it was practical and focused. She used it to bend situations to her will rather than blow them up.
He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
"I told you to stay inside," he growled, not knowing what else to say.
"And…?" she said, defiance sparking emerald glints in her eyes.
Roman knew he ought to find her absurd, straightening her spine and throwing back her shoulders as if she could really stand toe to toe with an alpha like him. But somehow, despite being so much smaller and weaker, she had found a way to throw him off.
"And you will obey me," he blurted.
She laughed.
"Why? You just made it clear I'm not a hostage anymore. You just sent away the only incentive I had to stay on your good side. So what does that make me now?" She jutted out her chin and almost spat the words. "Your prisoner?"
Roman tightened his grip on her shoulder, pulling her closer—so close that her breasts were crushed against his chest, her heartbeat a staccato that he felt all through his body. "My omega."
But Phoebe merely shrugged. "Same difference."
Roman had spoken the truth when he promised not to harm her—but her words made him wanted to destroy something. He could pull down a millennia-old redwood in this state, confronted with her cold, dispassionate honesty.
The thing that stopped him was that Phoebe's exterior didn't match what was going on inside. Her mind might be seething with rage, her intellect full of objections…but her blood was beginning to heat with passion.
Roman could almost see the combustion of these two forces taking place in front of him, throwing off flames that only spurred his own fury and lust to new heights. His intuition told him that their warring drives fed off each other. After all, the reason he was so enraged in the first place was because someone h
ad tried to take Phoebe—his omega, his mate—away from him—and she had wanted to go.
Two strong-willed beings with opposing goals…they were bound for trouble. Each interpreted the other as a personal attack.
Everything had been fine until Phoebe's family returned. She had been lounging naked in his bed moments earlier, beckoning him back to join her. But the moment the trucks pulled up, she'd abandoned their bed to run to her father, to embrace him tenderly. And the words she'd spoken—I was just unlucky—so much more bitter than any lie.
It was the worst betrayal Roman could imagine.
Maybe Phoebe truly thought she could forget all about him…but she was wrong. He wouldn't allow it.
When Phoebe rolled onto his property in the sleeper cab of a stolen truck, she might have been just another beta, one unfortunate enough to be born into a cycle of poverty and crime. But she was an omega now—his omega.
And if this omega didn't instinctively recognize her place in the Boundarylands, then she needed to be taught.
"You think you're a prisoner?" Roman said in a deadly calm voice that was somehow worse than if he'd yelled. "Fine. Then I guess there's nothing keeping me from treating you like one."
Phoebe dropped her gaze, misgivings coming fast on the heels of her outburst. Yes, she was furious with him, and yes, he owed her a hell of an apology for the way he'd spoken to her father.
But pretending that there was nothing between them had been a bald-faced lie. It didn't matter that Phoebe only lied to protect her heart, a habit she'd acquired after losing her mother. Roman didn't know that, and she couldn't bear that anger in his searing dark blue gaze for a moment longer.
A second later, she found herself lifted in the air and slung over his shoulder.
Phoebe yelped in surprise, but they were already on the move, heading back for the cabin. She punched and kicked and pummeled him with all her might, but he barely seemed to notice.
Roman wasn't just bigger and stronger than any man Phoebe had ever seen—he was built like a wall of steel, without any softness to absorb her blows. The only likely result of fighting him was to injure her knuckles.
That…and the slick which had begun flowing the moment he picked her up. Whether it was simply his touch, or whether battling him provoked some sort of perverse sexual response, Phoebe had no idea, but when a huge gush soaked through her panties and dress halfway up the front steps, she gave up and howled in frustration.
Damn it. Why did her body have to react to him so strongly? Didn't it know that she was in the middle of a fight here? Possibly the most important fight of her life?
And how the hell was she supposed to convince Roman that she despised everything about him when her slick was soaking into his shirt?
"Put me down!"
Roman waited until they'd reached the bed to release her unceremoniously so that she fell in a heap on the mattress. Before Phoebe could get back up, Roman was on top of her, seizing her wrists and pinning them to the bed. She struggled against him until a new rush of hot slick drenched the bedcovers beneath her.
Phoebe went limp, defeated. She might be reckless enough to fight an alpha—but she was powerless against her body's craving for his touch. It was all she could do to lie still instead of writhing up against him.
"Let me go," she demanded, with considerably less force.
"Why?" Roman's smile was cold and unforgiving. "We agreed that you're a prisoner now. These are your manacles." He used one knee to roughly spread her legs wide. "My arms and legs are your iron bars. Struggle all you want, but you won't escape."
God, why did he have to make that sound so sexy? It wasn't right. The fever sweeping through her was making it hard enough to think as it was. The last thing Phoebe needed was more fuel for the flames.
She tried a new tack. "I wasn't trying to escape."
"Bullshit." Roman's chest rumbled. "I saw the way you ran toward that lying sack-of-shit brother of yours. If I hadn't grabbed you, you'd be in the truck with him right now, halfway to the boundary."
Oh. So that's what this was about.
Phoebe should have realized that Roman's hurt hadn't vanished simply because they were both turned on. It was there under his icy seduction, present even his roughest touch. The hands holding her down didn't want to hurt her. His body wasn't tensed with the urge to savage her.
He was afraid of losing her.
And that was something she could understand. Phoebe had endured enough loss to last a lifetime.
"It's not what you think—"
"No, it's exactly what I think." Roman cut her off before she could even get started. "There's something you don't seem to understand. I know everything about you. This isn't some guessing game for me—I can sense your emotions and intentions. I can smell them in the air. I can feel their energy vibrating off your body."
Phoebe held her breath, trying to decide whether to believe him. Of course, she'd heard all about alphas' heightened senses—their powers of hearing and sight and smell and taste were unrivaled.
But the rest of it seemed like some sort of science fiction fantasy. How was it even possible? Emotions didn't have a shape, after all, or a sound. Phoebe replayed her thoughts and emotions from her last few days as a beta hostage. Every frustration, every worry, every hidden attraction—was it really possible that he'd sensed them all?
The look of understanding in his eyes was all the answer she needed. Even now, he was reading her like a book. "There's no use lying to me," he continued. "I could sense your feelings when your family pulled up. I know how badly you wanted to go with them."
It was true…a part of her did want that.
But another part of her wanted to stay with him. And another wanted to run off to San Francisco and leave everything behind. Had he sensed those desires as well? Like everyone else Phoebe had ever known, her feelings and desires were often complex and sometimes even contradictory. They were also constantly shifting and changing.
"I did want to go with them," she admitted. "For a minute. They're my family, Roman. I love them. It would be weird if I didn't miss them."
"You share blood with the Whitfields," he growled, unswayed. "But you are my omega. You belong to me now…and I'm going to prove it."
Phoebe wanted to argue that both things could be true—that love wasn't limited, and family wasn't about ownership.
But all that came out was a low, urgent moan as Roman lowered himself against her and ground his rigid cock against her mound. Slick flowed down the inside of her thighs, plastering her dress to her skin.
Who was she kidding? There was a part of her that belonged to him. Hopelessly. Undeniably.
With every passing second, with every beat of her heart, with every drip of slick coursing from her pussy, that part was growing, eclipsing her will and even conscious thought.
Something had changed since what had happened on the patio only a few hours earlier. She was losing control, the change in her nature rooting itself deeper and deeper, her very being shifting into something she didn't recognize. When Roman had first touched her, Phoebe's lust had been powerful and urgent…but she still knew who she was. Now, as Roman's body pressed against hers, and he pinned her with that hypnotic gaze, she felt the core of her identity fade away, leaving behind only lust.
Phoebe needed to feel Roman not just on top of her, but inside her. She was tired of hearing him talk about possessing her—it was time for him to make it a reality. She needed her alpha to rip off her dress and take her so long and hard that every wall still standing between them was knocked down.
She wanted his knot. God, yes—the thought provoked a geyser of slick and a sound she'd never made before, like a rabid animal. To feel Roman inside her…to feel him swelling and swelling until they were locked together, unified in an inferno of pleasure and need, bound forever.
Phoebe bucked against Roman, grabbing his hips and trying to pull him closer. She tried to beg, but all that came out was garbled cries. Roman lowered
his mouth to hers and kissed her hard enough to let her know that he saw it all, that he saw her need and primal passion and was undaunted.
He pulled away and plunged his thumb in her mouth, teasing her, stroking in and out until frustrated tears leaked from her eyes.
She knew what he was doing. Roman was punishing her for making him afraid, for not seeing the power of his connection to her.
For doubting him.
She pushed his hand away long enough to tell him she was sorry—and immediately lost track of what she meant to say. There was no longer any question that she was in heat. Her powers of reason and cognition were receding, the throbbing ache of desire becoming almost unbearable. She guided his hand down to her breast instead, pushing his fingers between the buttons of her dress, under the satin of her bra.
"Please," she whimpered.
Roman unbuttoned her dress, moving much too slowly. He pulled up the fabric and lifted it over her fevered skin, batting down her attempts to rush him. He unclasped her bra and slipped it off, pulled down her sodden panties, then held himself motionless above her, only his eyes moving, taking in every inch of her.
Phoebe knew her next words would be her last until she was sated, speech going the way of logic and common sense.
"Do it now, Roman," she begged. "Prove who I belong to."
Chapter Thirteen
The scent of Phoebe's heat filled the room, teasing and invading until Roman could focus on nothing else. Her slick was the nectar of life, and he wanted to feast on it, exploring and teasing until she was begging him to take her and make her his all over again, over and over until she would never again question where she was meant to be and who she was meant to be with.
He was astonished that she couldn't sense the tide of her heat rising the way he could. She'd been balancing on its tightrope since the moment he'd grabbed her hand outside, her omega nature acknowledging the gesture for what it was—a claim of ownership—even if her mind wasn't yet ready.
Roman: The Boundarylands Omegaverse: M/F Alpha Omega Romance Page 10
