The wolf’s howl is followed by another series of sounds, which although close, are at a safe enough distance. I hope.
Low, grunting guttural sounds. A beast alright, but nothing like any wolf I’ve ever heard. It must be sick or wounded and I make sure to double check it’s not my own wheezing breath as I trot along. I’m no athlete, that’s for sure, but it’s the beast I can hear, even above my own scratchy, panting breath.
With each growling heave of that other sound, I feel something in me, some deep, primal urge to reply. To call out. To signal him I’m ready.
To get down on my knees and submit myself to him.
Haylie, stop it!
I pick up my pace and move in a zig-zag pattern too, hoping to confuse anything that is following me. Hoping to clean up my mindset a little bit too. What the hell has gotten into me?
I forget all about wood, even the cabin after a few hundred yards, and only begin to think of it again when the trees thin right out and I’m near the edge of a ravine. It’s not one I remember, but landslides and avalanches are common here in the winter months, so it could be newly formed this past season. I decide heading back to base camp the way I came is the only logical thing to do. But where am I now?
The scenery is enough to take my breath away, but the near marathon it feels like I’ve just completed does the same thing and I’m oblivious to the stunning array of reds, oranges and purples splashed across the wide, clear and darkening sky.
Turning to head back, having only my patchy footprints in the melting snow to guide me, I hear the growl again, closer than ever.
No mistaking it this time.
That’s a freakin’ wolf alright, and then I see its long dark shape, twisting and weaving through the sparse tree line with its tail low and its shoulders hunched, ready for the kill.
I feel my heart pulsing, then hammering in my chest, moving up to my throat as I start to slowly step back, holding my hands out in front of me as I see the wolf locking eyes with me and deciding for itself that now’s as good a time as any.
My heart bursts in my mouth, and I hear it as a scream. A second dark shape flashes across the wolf’s as I feel my step backwards disappearing over the edge into thin air.
I’ve done everything wrong since I stepped out of the chopper, it seems and now to top it all off, I’m walking backwards off a cliff in semi darkness.
The sound of the crunching snow is silenced and the stillness of the freezing air rushing past me is the soundtrack to the cliff top getting smaller and further away as I fall backwards.
There’s no pain. I feel like a feather floating and hear the sounds from the wolf turn to a shrieking yell, a sickening cry that I realize, before everything goes black, is coming from my own lips before I hit the ground beneath me.
CHAPTER FOUR
Nikolai
“Ona moya, volk!” I yell, hurling my whole body towards the beast as she leaps towards the one I’m now sworn to protect.
The bitch is big and heavy, but I have taken her by surprise and her jaws snap at my face as we roll in the snow.
Ona moya, volk! She’s mine, wolf! Not yours!
I can’t reach the girl, not yet. But she hasn’t fallen far. I know the ledge and the bushes below, soft snow, like pillows for her to land on. But she-wolf here, she’s a problem. For me.
She wants a mate, like me and the girl is in her territory.
Both are in my territory, and I only want one mate, the two legged kind.
I’m on my back and lifting my knees to my chest as I hold off the wolf by the throat, I eventually manage to spring her off me. She flies through the air, yelping in surprise and pain when she hits a tree, but is able to sulk off into the twilight, for now.
I know wolves, and I know she’ll be back with the rest of her pack no doubt. I have to get the girl and get us both back to safety before dark. Not to any cabin, to my place.
My territory, my world.
My rules now.
I wanted the girl and now I have her.
If only I knew what all that meant.
I call out to her over the ledge, her dark shape outlined in the crisp white snow beneath, some green firs holding her like giant fingers. As I thought, she’s been caught by the forest, safe but knocked out. Probably from fear.
The sound of my own voice echoing startles me. I haven’t spoken to anyone for a long time, years maybe. Time passes slowly here, one day at a time and I made a point of not talking to myself when I first came to be here, to prevent madness. Something I remember from my past, but like the cabin, it’s all like a dream somehow when I think about it too long.
I scramble down the side of the ledge, climbing down to her. Wanting to watch my hands and feet, where I’m going, but still unable to take my eyes off her. Her golden blond hair and powdery skin, flushed with pink from the cold make me burn for her even more. I’ll have to wait to see her eyes up close, but I already know they’re as clear blue as the ice on the floors this time of year.
She’s the best thing I’ve ever seen, but she’s not mine yet. I have to get her out of this forest, it’s getting dark, and after dark, there’s no way I can protect us both from what will come.
She lets out a small sound as I crouch over her, her hand lifting up and I feel my heart freeze.
So close to her now, and she’s having more of an effect on me up close than she ever did at a distance. I can feel my pants getting stiff again, the rough canvas straining against my hardness which pounds in time with the hammering against my ribs as I take in all of her, gently sniffing the air around her.
She’s ready for mating, that’s for sure. I can sense her own readiness as well as my own.
Her hand lingers and I bring my face down to it, letting her touch me first. My first human touch in who knows how long, and something I instantly crave, groaning aloud as I use my hands to press her hand harder against my face.
The howling of the wolves reminds me of my true task, and I slide both arms under her soft body, registering the generous feel of her hips and then her chest against mine as I lift her easily. She moans again, this time her arms circling around my neck, making me tense up and growl. A warning for the wolves, and a tempering of the steel in my groin, which aches for her now like nothing else.
As much as I want to hold her in my arms, if I’m to climb back up to get to the ledge and then to the cabin to fetch her gear, I need to carry her sensibly. Properly.
I gently loosen her arms and throw her over one shoulder, my hand resting on the back of her thighs and gripping her close to me, my god she smells so good. The reek of her world is slowly wearing off and she smells more like her natural beauty by the hour out here in the wild. Where she belongs.
I can feel her hair on my back, tracing down my body as she lays completely limp, helpless. Her soft rump, hips and chest, all bouncing off my hard body as I steady her on me, ready to climb, suddenly feeling weak at the knees with the scent of her, the pressure of her whole body over mine.
The urge to lay her down and study her fully is great, but we need to keep moving if we’re to survive the night.
Using my strongest arm to grip root and rock, I get us both back up to the ledge and by the time I get back to the cabin with her still on my shoulder, it’s very nearly dark. With the sun disappearing behind the mountains I need to get back to the cabin, but also need to distract those wolves.
Goodbye deer meat.
Hustling back to the sight of my kill, I loosen the knot in the rope at the base of the tree and the beast falls with a thud.
Without even looking back, I make my way to the cabin, hefting her two packs onto my free shoulder and puffing out stale air from my lungs, breathing in the deep scent of her on one arm and her gear on the other.
It’s a new kind of nourishment, and a part of me wants to be sad for leaving so much food behind, but what I have instead, the feeling I’m getting. I couldn’t eat if I tried, and there’s only one thing now I really want to
taste anyway,
The scent between her thighs and those ruby red lips on mine.
Forever. Always.
CHAPTER FIVE
Haylie
Before I even open my eyes, I know he’s watching me. The same scent fills the air and I feel the same rush of energy to my center, deep inside me as it registers. I can feel the softness of fur underneath me and the sounds of crackling logs on a fire. It’s warm, but there’s a slight breeze, carrying in the night time sounds of the forest, of the wolves.
I start awake, my eyes opening suddenly at the memory of the wolf on the ledge.
My fall.
The shape. That feeling again.
My god…
He gasps at the same time I do, both our eyes locking instantly. The source of the eyes on me, the scent, everything. It’s all so suddenly clear to me.
He’s huge, like six five, maybe more. Squatting on his hams over a low but healthy fire, which dances in his clear blue eyes like ribbons of yellow, orange and green making their own color.
Sun bleached hair hangs down around his chiseled face, a few day’s stubble, but it’s his eyes that hold me, my mouth gaping open.
I can almost hear the beating of both our hearts. My own is deafening me, knocking inside my chest as though it’s trying to escape, instantly drawn to him.
I look down at myself, all my clothes still on, and feel a sense of relief, mixed with the same old disappointment I always feel when body stuff’s even brought up.
Even a Wildman wouldn’t have his way with me… probably didn’t even want to look.
But is he a Wildman?
His shirt looks modern, a checkered flannel, but his pants… definitely a home-made job. Canvas by the looks, with fur hanging up everywhere. It’s hard to decide what’s clothing, bedding or just there to keep the weather out, but likely all three, I’m guessing.
The walls look like a traditional log cabin, but I can tell it’s set back into a hillside. Timber flooring and a high, pitched ceiling. There’s a lot of work in the place and like his pants, although hand-made, it’s incredibly well done. No roughshod effort by a long shot.
I wonder if he’s that good with everything he puts his hand to.
The smell of the whole place is arresting. Spruce, birch, all the best woodsy and forest fragrances that hang in the air naturally, as if they’re a part of the man. His own body ripples under his shirt as he moves forward slightly, and I can tell he doesn’t want to hurt nor frighten me.
The howling of a wolf makes me jump with fear again, but his eyes half close, signaling to me it’s safe, that everything’s alright now. I can see my two big red packs of gear in the firelight and breathe out, finally taking in air after laying eyes on the man I know has been watching me since I landed.
“Do you have a name?” I hear myself asking, more gasping than asking. He stands up just as I ask and I notice the unmistakable bulge at the front of his canvas pants. The warm rush I keep experiencing around him starts up all over. I feel like reaching out to him with both hands rather than waste time with introductions, but my field training mandates civil, polite and non-direct interaction with native populations, if that’s what he is.
My mind’s saying polite scientist, my body on the other hand…
He watches as my eyes trace over his body and he mimics them by doing the same, pausing at the curves of my anatomy and I, at the bulge in his pants, which begins to develop in size and length, making my breath shudder as I feel stiff peaks straining against my top.
“Name?” I ask again, trying to distract myself more than anything. His senses are finely tuned, but it’s clear, even to me, a girl who’s never even kissed a boy, that there’s some serious jungle style sexual tension going on.
He growls in reply, and I feel a stab of panic.
What if he’s some sort of deranged lunatic, a cannibal, or worse? What if he’s an escaped convict or-
In an instant, his face is an inch from mine, and he inhales deeply. I freeze after a little squeak escapes me, and he scans my whole body with his face and nose as I lay on my back, breathing me in like some sort of drug.
I’ve never felt anything like it, but the urge to touch him now is too great, and I let my hand reach out and touch his hair, which is surprisingly soft. Like downy fur in its own right.
His deep growl softens to something like pleased satisfaction and I can see a dark circle of moisture around the tip of the stiff bulge in his pants, drawing another soft whimper from me at the sight of it. My hands are suddenly wanting to trace all over him, to have him all over me but he draws back, surveying me from head to toe again.
“Your… name…” he says slowly. Not broken English, but like someone who hasn’t spoken to anyone for a long time, as if language with words isn’t his first choice.
“Haylie…” I say softly, sitting up and putting my hand on my chest in identification.
“Hay-lie…”
Even with my waterproofs on, I can feel the stiffness of my nipples against my arm through them and it strikes me how turned on I really am.
Words do seem redundant, but I need to know who this man is. If he’s lost. If he needs any help.
“And you?” I ask again, but his brow darkens. His hands clench in frustration and he clutches then to his temples for a moment before turning away.
“I… I can’t remember…” he says finally. A mild accent is there, but he could be anyone from home too. “…there’s no need to talk to me like I’m retarded either. I speak English very well… do you?” he adds bitterly.
His attitude shocks me a bit, but when he turns to face me again, I can see the apology in his eyes.
“…Sorry.” He murmurs. “But I just… It’s your…”
I can see his eyes fixed on my chest and as he notices his own arousal, his face flushes, but my hand goes out to his.
“It’s alright,” I say and we both feel a silent relief as his fingers reach out and connect with mine.
CHAPTER SIX
Nikolai
Her gear grew heavier than she did the whole way back to my cabin. She must have half a ton of stuff there, but her, I could carry her all day long.
It doesn’t take long for her body heat and mine to mix as I trek through the darkness back to the cabin, which is concealed from both man and beast to the best of my doing.
A shrub screen I can roll back reveals the first entrance, and then pulling back another spiked wooden barricade before resetting it, we’re in.
Home.
I’m glad to drop her gear at the entrance, but take extra care lowering her down onto the bed, a simple cot made from birch and conifer fronds with a couple of bearskins.
She murmurs again, moaning almost and I watch, my mouth dry as I feel a line of moisture escape my member. Her hands, she runs them across herself, over the space between her legs as she sleeps.
It’s almost as much as I can take, and although I try and busy myself with other things, I find myself watching over her, absorbed in her completely for what must be a few hours.
Eventually she stirs and I get a shock as much as she does when she wakes up, but then I proceed to make a fool of myself. Failing our first introductions with words, but hopefully making up for it with my touch, letting her know my real intentions.
All I can really remember, since being in the wild, is something from my childhood. A blurry dream, with people and faces, names I forget. Or don’t want to remember.
I’ve met trappers, hunters, even people like me, men living wild over the years. We’ve traded and shared stories, but never anything about our past and we only ever stop together long enough to trade before going our separate ways again. If you’re out here, there’s a reason for it, and it’s not something I want to talk about with her yet, because I don’t fully understand it myself.
Like this feeling she gives me, I know what it makes me want to do to her, but I don’t understand it. I have a thought in my mind, about what I want to s
ay, to tell her how I feel.
But I’m grunting and growling like a caveman. Tongue-tied and sounding like a moron, which I’m not.
I don’t speak to the woods, or to animals, not like people do. I act. I do.
When I make something, I don’t talk about it, I do it.
And when I see the girl that I know is my mate, then I…
I freeze up. I sniff her, I say the wrong thing. I act like something, someone I’m not. But when she reaches out her hand and touches me, she gets it.
It’s nature and she understands. No words, just the touch. The signal and the feeling.
I let my hand curl over her fingers. Her hands are small in mine and soft.
She traces the lines of dirt and roughness of my skin with her soft, milky white fingers. It’s like nothing I’ve known to have such soft hands touching mine and I make another low sound, my eyes rolling because I don’t know what to do except, what my body’s telling me to do.
“Are you Russian?” she asks, and I watch my hand pull back from hers, she’s broken the feeling with words and it almost hurts my ears as much as my chest when I move away from her.
“My father…” I tell her, the words and the memory suddenly new to me. I haven’t thought about my father for so long. Like the dreams I have when I’m a boy. A faded memory.
“And you live here all alone,” she continues, a hopeful look which turns to relief when I nod, grunting again.
She’s not scared of me, I can tell that, and she’s definitely ready to mate, but she’s holding back. Shy. Like the deer when I pass them, not even hungry.
The sound of the wolves bothers her, and I let her know it’s alright now.
“They have meat, for tonight. Our meat. But tomorrow I get more.”
I make a face when she talks about the food she’s brought, her packs of gear. It all smells like the world she’s from. Harsh and it burns my nose. I watch her unpack a few things, she’s busy now, like a mouse. Scurrying to do this and that, delaying the inevitable.
“We left the wolf out there, in the woods, but now I feel like wolf, and you’re a mouse, maybe a deer.” I tell her, watching her with satisfaction as she moves. She smiles but keeps busy, like she knows but is acting like she forgets.
Russian Mountain Man: An Instalove Possessive Alpha Romance (A Man Who Knows What He Wants Book 156) Page 2
