Up until this moment, Jocelyn hadn't acknowledged to herself that her problems went beyond just John. The other people who worked for him, men and women who rarely visited the office and never spoke to her, had just as much interest in preventing her from talking to the authorities.
They would never stop until she was silenced for good.
The omega chewed her lip thoughtfully for a moment before seeming to come to a conclusion.
"Okay," she said softly, a determined gleam in her eyes. "Here's what you're going to do. Get in the car. Turn left on the Center Road. Drive two-point-three miles exactly. Then turn right into the driveway."
Jocelyn blinked in bafflement. "What are you talking about?"
"Those are the directions to my house," the stranger said. "Around here, we help each other out."
"But—"
"I know it's hard, but I'm asking you to trust me." As if Jocelyn had a choice. "Take the drive another mile and a half, and you'll arrive at a house at the edge of a big clearing. The front door won't be locked, and you can let yourself in. Do you have all that?"
Yes…no...probably.
A left. Two point three miles. Then a right.
Jocelyn nodded, trying to make sense of what was happening. She was going to borrow a stranger's car, drive further into a wild land full of danger, and hide out at an omega's house? What about this scenario was okay?
Especially since Jocelyn was pretty damn certain that her would-be savior didn't live alone. Omegas didn't hole up in cozy one-bedrooms like Jocelyn's little place in a restored downtown building.
Omegas lived in the wilderness with their alphas.
But this woman was so understanding, the first such person Jocelyn had dealt with all day—alpha, beta, or otherwise.
She wouldn't promise safety unless she could deliver, would she? And at least there would only be one alpha at her place instead of a whole bar full. That was an improvement…right?
"Now, it might be a while before I can leave here," the omega continued, glancing over her shoulder. "But I promise to be there as soon as I can."
That was fine by Jocelyn. It wasn't as if she was itching for company. Hell, a mile or two down the road, her head might clear, and she might think of some other way to keep herself safe.
But at least now she had options. Without another word, she headed in the direction the omega had indicated. When she reached the corner of the building, she paused, turning back.
Thank you, she mouthed to the pink-haired woman. The omega smiled encouragingly in response.
Jocelyn turned and ran to the car. Just as the woman said, the keys were in the ignition, and the engine purred when she turned it over.
Why would anyone give away something so nice?
Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.
Easing slowly out of the parking spot so as not to draw attention to herself, Jocelyn took a left on to the road in front of the bar, then hit the gas.
A left. Two point three miles. Then a right.
Or was it another left?
The omega might have been kind, but she talked too damn fast.
No, it was a right, Jocelyn remembered.
A left. Three point two miles exactly. Then a right.
Now she had it.
Chapter Four
Jocelyn drove down the Central Road, desperate to shake the feeling that at any moment, John would come careening into her rear-view mirror. If only she wasn't in a sporty little electric-blue coupe. She didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but the car the stranger had loaned her was conspicuous as hell.
Jocelyn's own car was a silver Toyota Corolla—safe, boring, and forgettable. Those three words were Jocelyn's comfort zone, in fact. She'd never liked drawing attention to herself, had always been happiest staying on the sidelines and letting other people show off.
Her hair was flat black. Her eyes were medium brown. She was average height, average weight, and came from an ordinary family in an ordinary suburb. If Jocelyn had a motto, it would be something like, "Be happy with what you have" or "Don't stick your neck out."
And with one bad decision, she'd managed to destroy her perfectly ordinary life.
Jocelyn liked to think she was good with details—that was why John had hired her in the first place—but as the car's odometer registered three point two miles exactly, she saw nothing but more of the dense, uninterrupted woods on both sides of the road. She slowed to a crawl, wondering if somehow she had missed the drive. Or maybe the car's odometer was off. Or maybe the omega had been mistaken.
Jocelyn's pulse spiked as she considered the possibilities, but as she rounded the next curve in the road, there it was on the left, just as the omega had described: a narrow, well-worn dirt road.
Instantly, the tightness in Jocelyn's chest eased. She put on the turn signal, even though there were no other cars on the road. She took the turn carefully, mindful of the coupe's low undercarriage and the bumpy drive.
Right before her tires hit dirt, she glimpsed a board nailed to a tree, the name SLADE hand-painted in block letters. A nice, solid name.
Maybe she was going to be okay after all. The omega back at the bar had certainly seemed nice. She had even claimed to understand what Jocelyn was going through.
Jocelyn thought that over while she crept up the road at five miles per hour. Was it possible that hers was a common story? That other women, escaping other nightmare scenarios, found themselves with nowhere else to turn but this terrifying unknown?
Or maybe other people didn't find the Boundarylands as frightening as she did.
Jocelyn had heard rumors that the talk about alphas being merciless killers was overblown, that the government or media had their own reasons to exaggerate the danger. Jocelyn tended to stay away from politics—her views were fairly middle-of-the-road—but even she knew not to believe everything they taught in school.
But no. The memory of the alpha who'd propositioned her filled her mind, making her shudder.
He had certainly been savage, his intentions terrifying. So were the sounds coming out of the bar. And the couples she'd glimpsed spilling onto the patio, the way the massive beasts had hustled the poor women away to have their way with them—there was nothing civilized about that.
She thought of Hannah, who'd been so kind to her in the car. Even Traci, who'd grudgingly stayed behind for her. Were they forced to be here? Was it like those poor women smuggled over international borders in cargo holds, pimped out until it literally killed them?
Jocelyn's hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly they ached. The deeper she drove into the dense forest, the easier it was to see how someone could disappear out here. The borrowed car's headlights barely penetrated the towering trees. She gasped when she glimpsed a pair of golden eyes staring from the side of the road.
God only knew what could be hiding in the underbrush—bears, or coyotes, or mountain lions.
Or—an even more horrifying thought—more alphas.
Jocelyn tried pushing the little two-seater faster and was rewarded with her head hitting the car's ceiling when she went over a branch. She could almost hear the tires popping if she hit one of these ruts too hard. Or the crunch of twisting steel, if there was an obstacle around one of these curves.
Yet again proving that slow and steady was best—even here, when her life was on the line. As her mother always said, doing things in a hurry just meant getting to a mess quicker. As much as Jocelyn longed to be inside, with a locked door between her and the wilderness, taking unnecessary risks was a bad idea.
Something she should have thought of yesterday.
The omega had said that the house was only a mile and a half up from the main road, but it certainly felt a hell of a lot farther than that, and with a broken odometer, Jocelyn had no way to be sure. Besides, it wasn't like she was going to miss a house out here in the middle of nowhere.
Though as the minutes crept by, she began to wonder. There was no sign of anyone living
on this property. No lights, or fences, or signs…nothing.
Had she taken the wrong turn after all? Could this be some sort of maintenance road? Maybe a hunting trail? …and if so, was she in danger of stumbling on a camp full of trigger-happy alphas?
Doubt turned into full-blown panic. Jocelyn was just about to give up and turn around when her headlights illuminated the side of a building. She took her foot off the accelerator, and the car slowly rolled to a stop. Her heart thudding, she leaned forward against the steering wheel, her jaw hanging open at the view through the windshield.
Whatever Jocelyn had been expecting…this was not it. There was no way the sweet omega with kind eyes and an altruistic spirit lived here.
Except, she must because here was the house, right where she'd said it would be…well, more or less.
It was hard to call this thing a house, though. Constructed from dark, unstained wood boards, a sharply angled roof, and windows like leering eyes, the place gave off some major murder-hut vibes.
Fur pelts hung from iron hooks in the eaves didn't do anything to soften the menacing atmosphere. Neither did the row of weathered copper tanks lined up on a series of wooden platforms built into the slope behind the house like so many boiling cauldrons to feed an army of cannibals.
No, wait—not cauldrons. Jocelyn had seen a vessel like that before, on her last disappointing solo vacation to the Smoky Mountains. The brochure showed beautiful views from a redwood deck, but her room smelled like mold and looked out on the parking lot, and the "Moonshine Walking Tour" was led by a wheezing old man who grabbed her bottom and smelled like a brewery as he led the group to see an antique whiskey still.
The still looked just like this.
Oh God! What had she gotten herself into now? Nothing about this place suggested the presence of the pink-haired sweetheart who had come to her aid.
Unless…maybe this was just the way it was here. After all, what did Jocelyn know about Boundaryland living conditions? It wasn't like they had a big-box hardware store down the street, or a homeowners' association breathing down their necks to keep their lawns neat and their property values high.
For all Jocelyn knew, this might be the fanciest place in town.
More importantly, it was the only place she had an invitation to stay—and she wasn't in any position to turn it down just because she didn't like the landscaping.
After taking a few deep, steadying breaths and reminding herself that horror movies were not real, Jocelyn killed the engine and got out of the car.
She crept slowly toward the front door, guided only by a sliver of moonlight, trying not to flinch at the sounds that seemed to crowd in all around her. In the dark, the house loomed like a beast waiting to devour her, the porch steps creaking ominously as she climbed them. Something brushed her shoulder, and Jocelyn let out a shriek before realizing it was just one of the dangling animal skins.
But the door was unlocked, just as the omega said it would be. It was even darker inside, and Jocelyn used the light on her phone to illuminate a large living room. A woven rug was centered on the wooden floor. Two massive leather chairs flanked a fireplace nearly large enough to stand in, a box of matches and a pair of rustic iron oil lanterns on the stone mantel. It took Jocelyn a few tries to light them, but once their golden light filled the room, the place looked far less menacing.
In fact, it looked a lot like the lodge featured in the photos in that West Virginia vacation brochure, the one that turned out to be closed for remodeling when Jocelyn arrived. This was what she had envisioned when she decided to step out of her comfort zone for once, imagining a crackling fire, the décor enhanced by items made by local artisans, the delicious smells of rustic cuisine coming from the restaurant. Maybe even a handsome lumberjack delivering a load of firewood, who'd notice her sitting there with her book and—
"Oh no," Jocelyn muttered, feeling her face flame even though she was all alone. She'd gone through three of those darn romance novels on that trip, alone in her room. Her mother was right—she ought to stop wasting her time on them and read the classics.
That was, if she made it out of here alive.
Jocelyn explored the large room, which led into a good-sized kitchen on one side and a huge bedroom on the other. She took only a quick glance at the impossibly large bed before shutting the door to the bedroom, embarrassed to be snooping.
The kitchen, however, was another matter. Jocelyn took her time examining the beautifully restored old stove, the hand-cast tile on the floor and counters, the gleaming pots hanging from a rack so high above her head she couldn't reach them.
Whoever had constructed this house may not have bothered to show off their carpentry skills outside, but the pine cabinetry was beautifully crafted with drawers that glided open to reveal a well-organized selection of cookware and cabinets containing larder essentials in ceramic jars.
Still, it was all practical and no-nonsense in design. There were no colorful touches or lively patterns like Jocelyn would have expected from the uniquely stylish woman at the bar.
In fact, there was nothing here that wasn't made of dark wood, metal, leather, or fur. Apparently, in their house, it was the alpha who did the home decorating.
Jocelyn explored the rest of the silent house. She found a storage room full of shelves lined with jars and various instruments whose purpose she couldn't imagine, as well as a bathroom with a huge tub at the center and more gorgeous pine cabinets on either side of a no-nonsense sink and mirror.
She resisted the urge to look through the drawers to see what passed for alpha toiletries. While she had never given much thought to alphas or the Boundarylands in the past, now that she was here, she couldn't help the curiosity that her mother always said would someday get her in trouble. Not many betas ever had the chance to visit a place like this, after all.
Or any, come to think of it. She was pretty sure she'd heard something about betas being forbidden to travel past the neutral territory.
Jocelyn was almost disappointed when her little self-guided tour concluded. The truth was that it had been thrilling, walking around with a lantern, like the plucky heroine of some classic gothic tale, peeking into rooms where she had no business.
But this wasn't some massive fictional castle, just a simple cabin in the woods. Unless the giant wooden dresser she'd seen in the bedroom concealed a trove of gold bars or sex toys, it seemed as though the couple lived a pretty uncomplicated life.
Though they did indulge in one pleasure, apparently. While exploring the kitchen, Jocelyn had spotted a glass bottle on the counter filled with deep amber fluid. She popped the cork out of the top and took a sniff. Immediately, her eyes began to water.
Whatever it was, it was strong. She wondered if it had been made in those copper stills she'd seen outside. Looking down at the heavy bottle in her hand, Jocelyn considered whether she dared take a swig.
She hadn't been lying when she'd said she needed a drink back at the alpha bar—but that didn't mean it was a good idea for her to start slinging back shots when she was alone in a stranger's house.
Although the omega had told her to make herself at home.
Before she could think better of it, Jocelyn lifted the bottle to her lips and drank…and immediately started coughing.
Holy cow. That stuff wasn't whisky—it was starter fluid.
Very effective starter fluid.
Heat poured like a river of molten lava through Jocelyn's veins before the sting had even left her throat. She could feel her face lighting up, the liquor's heat melting the tension from her tired body.
This stuff might just be magic. Jocelyn leaned back against the counter with a sigh and let her eyelids drift shut as the pleasant sensation traveled through her. Her breathing became relaxed and even.
After a while, she opened one eye and looked at the bottle full of lovely elixir.
One drink hadn't done her a bit of harm. In fact, it appeared to be just what she needed.
And i
f one was good, then two was better.
Jocelyn lifted the bottle and took another swig. Her throat didn't burn quite as much this time, but the welcome warmth spread even farther—all the way to her fingertips and toes. She felt like she was floating on a beautiful, fluffy cloud.
When she attempted to put the bottle back on the counter, however, she had to try twice before she could set it down without toppling it over. And when she returned to the living room, the floor seemed to tilt away from her, and she smacked into the wall.
Okay. So apparently that stuff was every bit as strong as it smelled.
Still, Jocelyn was feeling a little better. The fear and anxiety that had pursued her all the way here lifted slightly.
But now that adrenaline wasn't on a constant loop in her veins, she realized how exhausted she was. Standing in the center of the large room, she searched for a place to curl up—not to sleep, but simply to rest her eyes and wait for her second wind.
There was the sanded wood chair at the entrance to the kitchen—too hard.
The huge leather chairs by the fire—too hot.
Or…
Jocelyn went to the bedroom door that she'd shut so firmly a while ago. She really didn't want to invade the couple's private space, but the enormous bed in the center of the room was incredibly tempting.
Surely, her hosts wouldn't mind if she lay down for a moment or two? It wasn't as if she planned to spend the night in their bed. The second she heard them pulling up, she'd jump up and meet them at the door.
They'd never even have to know.
Jocelyn let out a little sigh as she clambered up onto the mattress. The bed was so high off the ground that she could dangle her feet off the side without touching the floor.
She curled up on her side and closed her eyes, her body sagging with relief.
Just a few minutes' rest to refresh her mind. Then she'd be able to figure out what to do next.
The downy pillows and comforter molded around her body, cradling her gently, absorbing the tension of the past day.
Oh, yes…this bed was just right.
Aric: The Boundarylands Page 3