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