Rescued & Ravished: An Alpha's Conquest (A Paranormal Ménage Romance)

by Sophie Chevalier

  “I’m not.” His breath was hot on her ear. “Not like the others, at least.”

  She was swallowing gasps; his touch, his nearness, the rich, cedar-y smell of him… “I’ll—I’ll try to stay inside.”

  “Someone could do something to you, Ginger.”

  “Would they, though? Would they dare?” Her voice was a thin whisper.

  “They might. Gunnar broke the laws he claims to love once already. It’s forbidden to start fights at the Gathering, or for one man to cross into another man’s territory uninvited. Did he care?”

  That was true. “No,” she admitted.

  His hands tightened even more on her middle, and she couldn’t help making a soft, sharp little sound of pleasure. Then, abruptly, as if remembering where they were—and who they were—he let go. “Let’s eat, Ginger. That smells delicious.”

  “Dane. What were you doing all day?” she managed to ask, over the racehorse gallop of her heart.

  His look softened, but he gave nothing away. “Arguing our case. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Let’s have those omelets now.”

  ***

  Dane had given her his bed again, while he slept on one of the couches out in the living room. She’d dozed for awhile, but now she was awake. It was the middle of the night, and the moon had waxed so full—it was almost whole—that white, glowing shafts of moonlight paned in through the windows.

  She was tense. So tense. And what had always worked for tension?

  She slipped a hand into her underwear, and lightly, teasingly ran her fingers over her soft lips. When they started to swell, she pressed her pointer finger onto her clit.

  Dane. Bear or not, monster or not, she wanted him. Just thinking of his hands on her waist was enough to make her clit harden, and it did, firming under her finger. But she needed more than just his hands on her waist…

  It was easy to imagine the room door opening; easy to imagine him sliding into bed with her. Easy to imagine him naked, because she had seen it—his height, his muscle, the size of his manhood. Her hips bucked, greedily.

  Easy to imagine his dense, firm weight on her… the scratch of his chest hair… his hand in her hair. Easy to imagine how she’d kiss him—with open-mouthed abandon, biting his tongue, gasping into his mouth.

  She’d spread her legs unresistingly. The head of his cock would press against her drenched, puffy folds, and then he’d sink deeply, easily inside her, the way she needed him to so badly—

  She bit back a moan, rubbing herself roughly as she imagined the urgency and power of his thrusts. Imagined the way he’d fill her—the hot, girthy size of him—Imagined the rough, masculine sounds he’d make—

  She pressed two fingers inside herself—

  The fantasy changed. In the thick of her arousal, a slave to her coming orgasm, she accepted the alteration.

  But when she climaxed, pulsing on her sticky fingers, she gasped in horror as much as in pleasure.

  Because she’d finished by imagining Hunter on top of her, taking her, instead of Dane.

  Chapter 15

  When she woke up, Dane was already on the front porch with Riona and an old man in a shag cloak she didn’t recognize. Another elder, obviously.

  “Dane?” she asked, peeping around the jamb of the open front door. The stranger cast a stony look at her.

  “Stay inside, Ginger.” Dane gestured her back in. “I have to go. I’ll be back.”

  “Go where?” She took a disobedient step onto the porch, and he physically—although gently—forced her back, hands tight on her arms.

  “Ginger. Stay inside. Please.”

  “Where are you going? Why? Why right now?” She recognized that she was begging, but couldn’t stop. It scared her that he’d leave her again without explaining anything.

  “Please. Just stay. I have to go.”

  “Why? For what?” She held his gold-and-hickory eyes desperately.

  “To have a conversation. Wait for me.”

  “Dane—”

  “Ginger,” he whispered insistently. “It’s for your sake. Wait for me. Please.”

  He was already dressed. All he had to do was shut the door on her and leave her standing there in her pajamas.

  She bit her nails. Padded into the kitchen and had an apple. Watched the wall clock tick off an hour.

  And knew she couldn’t spend the whole day alone and ignorant. It would drive her insane.

  ***

  Hunter opened his door on the second knock. To call his expression shocked would have been an understatement.

  “Hi,” Ginger said unapologetically. “Will you take me out?”

  “Out?” he repeated, bewildered. It looked like he hadn’t been up that long, or at least, had just gotten dressed—his flannel shirt was undone halfway down the front. She tried not to let her eyes linger on the hair-shaded muscle she could see.

  “Yeah. Just… take me with you.” The morning birds were chorusing in the tall, wind-stirred trees around his cabin. “To whatever you’re doing today.”

  He stared at her. She saw in his face the awareness that he should send her away—send her back to Dane. He sighed, and she braced herself for rejection.

  “Alright, Ginger. Do you want to come fishing?”

  ***

  They’d anchored the canoe, because of the current. It turned out there was a launch not far from his cabin, an easy one off a gravel beach. It was close to where a creek from the island emptied into the strait.

  His lures were fluorescent pink and baited with sardines; his line was weighted.

  “Salmon like bright colors,” he explained shortly, “and stay near the bottom.”

  He only had one rod, so she was really just keeping him company—that was fine. She lounged on her side of the canoe, enjoying the rocking and slopping of the water. He’d cast toward the bank, and now they were waiting for a bite.

  “You’re a fisherman by trade, right?” she asked, admiring his poise.

  “Yup. Salmon and steelhead, up and down the Pacific coast. Most of us do something similar. Fish… timber… ice cutting… you get it.”

  “Yeah. It’s all outdoorsy shit. Minimal interaction with the wider world.”

  “Bingo.” He glanced at her; when he did, the early sunlight lit up his eyes, turned them garnet-and-honey. For a second, she was hypnotized. “I’d ask you what you do, but…”

  “Hey, it’s a legitimate question.” She propped her foot up on the tackle box. “I mean, I’ll need new work when I get home.” Some ducks flew overhead, querulous. “If I get home.”

  “You’ll get home,” he said with surprising fierceness. She glanced at him. “I promised, right?”

  She had to smile at that. “Yeah. Dane did, too. Speaking of…” She shifted on her bench. “Do you know what he’s been doing? Really? Because honestly, I don’t. I really don’t.”

  “Whipping up support.” He braced as a wave rolled in, slightly off-current, from deeper waters. She was grateful that he didn’t make fun of her: What, I thought Dane told you everything? No? “He wasn’t lying to you when he said he was talking to people. He wants everyone on his side for the council meeting.”

  “And Gunnar?” Her skin went cold.

  “Doing the same.”

  She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. “So who’s…?”

  “Not clear yet who has the advantage,” he grunted. “But I’ve spoken for you, too.”

  “Really? When?”

  “Last night. And I will again tonight.” He wouldn’t look at her. “There have been moots to talk about it.”

  “Thank you,” she said seriously. Did protecting her mean protecting Dane, too? That would be a real sacrifice for Hunter, defending his rival.

  Or was he just covering his own ass by arguing that her presence was a misdemeanor at most, that she should be spared? Cat had said he was also in trouble, after all…

  “Why do you hate Dane so
much?” she asked, tilting her head.

  “Him? It’s not him, so much—although I do think he’s an insufferable, condescending, arrogant, stuffed-shirt prick.” Oh, yeah, no hatred there at all. “It’s how out-of-touch he is, eh? That’s what bothers me.” His jaw tightened. “He’s a real presumptuous fucker, thinking he can lead us when he’s abandoned us and our lifestyle and our homelands to go live the high life in Seattle. Honestly, Ginger, I think he believes he’s better than us. We don’t need that kind of leadership.”

  “No, Hunter.” She watched the sunlight chop on the water. “He’s not like that.”

  “Of course you would say that. Everyone close to him thinks he’s not like that.”

  She flushed. “Well, he’s not.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Okay.” He flashed her an incredible smile; her pulse leapt. “At least no one can say I’m pretentious, right?”

  “No,” she admitted, totally charmed.

  “Hey!” His body tightened; he locked his stance, started reeling in. “Got something! It’s not big enough to breach—grab the net, Ginj!”

  “No way! I don’t want any part of this… fish murder!”

  “Yeah, but I bet you want some part of lunch! Grab the net! Do it, or I’m gonna swamp the boat and you can swim back to shore!”

  “What? You dick! You wouldn’t—”

  But he was intentionally rocking as he reeled, and the canoe pitched on the water. She squealed, laughing. “Stop! Stop! What about your tackle? The icebox? They’ll go straight to the bottom!”

  “Bolted down! No worries!”

  “Stop! I’ll get the net! I don’t want to get wet! Stop!” Giggling, she grabbed the net off the canoe bottom.

  Hunching by the side, she waited until the fish was reeled right up against the wood—and then she lowered the net and gathered it up in the mesh. It thrashed, which was horrible to watch; unnerved, she passed the handle off to Hunter.

  “Here. Deal with… this.”

  “Wow, Ginger. Really?” He was laughing at her.

  “You shouldn’t be laughing! Your idiot self! Stop! There’s nothing wrong with being soft!”

  He took the handle. “No,” he agreed, and his voice sounded different. “There’s not.”

  Chapter 16

  They stayed out until he’d hooked three separate fish, enough “for a few days.” Then he’d let her paddle them back to shore, and they’d landed the canoe on the launch beach and carried it to the boat shed at the rear of his cabin. An idea was slowly, cautiously forming in her mind.

  He’d invited her inside to eat, and he’d even tried to teach her how to fillet a fish, but she’d felt so sick watching him separate the ribs and backbone that she’d had to go sit at the table.

  “It’s amazing how a human body can survive having a marshmallow for a heart,” he’d commented, but nothing else.

  Finally, he served up the pan-fried fillets, hot and dusted with garlic salt and basil. She started devouring hers.

  “Where are you putting it?” he asked, watching her in disbelief.

  “In my stomach.”

  “Yeah, I know, but… damn.”

  “Eyes on your own plate, Beaumont!” she insisted, pointing at his lunch. “Stop staring at mine! You’re ruining perfect fish!”

  He smiled, and ate.

  Once they were done, all the food gone, she laid her head on her arms on the table. Canada jays and white-throated sparrows were singing outside the cabin; the sparrows’ let-us-sing-about-it! call was cheerful, regular.

  “You can nap on the bed if you’re tired.”

  She gazed at him. He was serious.

  “Why did you let me come fishing, Hunter?”

  He paused. “I admire your brass.”

  “What brass?” She sat up, stretched. The terry pullover she’d borrowed from Cat was slightly too long, and bunched at her elbows when she raised an arm over her head.

  “You have lots of brass, girl. Think about it: Coming here, after him. Refusing to stay put in his cabin. Finding me, giving me what I deserve. Always wanting to know what’s going on.” He gazed back. “Taking the whole bear thing a helluva lot better than most people would.”

  “I’m not taking it that well,” she admitted, running her hands through her hair. She caught him watching her fingers move through the full, gingery waves—watching closely. “I’m scared. I really am.”

  “Yeah, but not paralyzed. Lie down. I have to put the rest of the fish in the icebox and clean my rifle, anyway.”

  She felt dozy, and, maybe insanely, safe—so she took him up on his offer, and crawled into his bed. Dane’s smelled like Dane: smoked wood, dry cologne. Hunter’s smelled like Hunter: sea salt, pinewood, and the faintest silver trace of salmon.

  ***

  He’d woken her up in the late afternoon and told her he would walk her back to Dane’s territory. She’d slung on her parka and they’d started off.

  It was another fine day. The wind off the water was brisk and salty, bracing. Hunter had taken them off-trail, to avoid other bears; working their way through a sun-dappled stand of red alders, he held up a hand for her to stop.

  “Check it out, Ginj.” He pointed to a Garry oak. “Perfect climbing tree. Sea view.”

  “I don’t climb trees,” she half-laughed, taking a step back. “No way.”

  “No way? Not even if I help you? Believe me—the vista’s great.”

  She gazed at the tree. It was thick with branches, including lots of low ones, but it rose high to the sky in a dense, intimidating triangle. “I mean…”

  “I won’t let you fall. Give it a try.”

  Give it a try. Well… hell, why shouldn’t she? A sudden boldness seized her, stoked by the perfect confidence in his preternatural eyes. “Okay. Sure. If I’m going to die in a day anyway, why not?”

  “You’re not going to die—now, or in a day. Come on. Just step where I step and grab what I grab.”

  He hefted her into the tree, then swung up after her and started to climb—she followed his movements exactly. It was shockingly easy, as long as she didn’t look down. The higher they got, the fresher and stronger the wind was. When she was level with the tops of the red alders, she finally felt a buzz of nerves.

  “Hunter?”

  “It’s fine, honey. Don’t stop now. Keep going.” His voice was so calm that she did.

  Finally, they reached the top. It was just like he’d said: the view was great.

  The water was denim blue, rough-surfaced, and broad, dotted with stony-bottomed, forested islands. Birds cut through the air. Overhead, the big, blustery sky was full of rolling clouds flushed the color of pink lemonade. It was glorious.

  “Gorgeous,” Ginger conceded. “You know all the best lookouts, huh, Beaumont?”

  “Nah,” he threw off, modest. “Hey, look, Ginj—Pacific loons. See?”

  He pointed to some bobbling specks, dots keeping close to the edge of Storm Isle. She could just make out their pretty black-and-white coloring.

  “I see them!” She raised herself up on her handholds. “Do you ever hear them sing?”

  “Sure. Plenty. I guess you can’t hear ’em up at MacAlister’s place. He’s too far off the water.”

  Disappointing. I’d like to hear loons. “Yeah. I guess.”

  For awhile they were quiet, enjoying the wind and the calm. Gradually, she stopped looking at the landscape and started looking at him.

  He looked at home here. Like he belonged out in the wild, up a tree, gazing out to sea. And he looked beautiful, too. Her eyes got lost tracing the bold lines of his profile.

  “Had enough?” he asked finally—and when he glanced at her, she saw his surprise that she’d been watching him already. “What?”

  “Just thinking about you.”

  He laughed. “What’s to think about?” Lots. “Come on. Follow me down. It’s harder, but you can do it. Just shadow me.”

  “
Hunter,” she asked suddenly, with a rush of boldness.

  “Yeah?”

  “Where’s your clan?”

  He stared at her. The gold in his eyes burned bright, like the rim of the moon.

  “Dead.”

  Her stomach dropped; her grip on a branch slipped a little as her palms moistened. Dead?

  “I’m… I’m sorry.”

  “It’s alright. Come on now,” he said, his voice carefully flat. She knew he wasn’t upset with her—but also that he wouldn’t answer any more questions. “Climb down after me.”

  “Hunter, I shouldn’t have asked.”

  He managed half a smile. “I called you brassy, didn’t I? Inquisitive? Well, you are—and I like it. So don’t apologize.” She colored a little, flattered, confused. “Now… put your hand where I did, Ginj.”

  ***

  They reached the edge of Dane’s territory at dusk. She was finally starting to recognize the border.

  “Here you go,” he said, hanging back from the invisible line. “MacAlister’s turf. You’ll be safe now.”

  “Is that why you always walk me back?” she asked. “To keep me safe?”

  He gazed at her in the grey twilight. “That’s you, Ginger. Asking the hard questions.”

  “Hey, I didn’t get this journalism degree for nothing.” She swatted a confused crane fly. “I mean, I got it for forty grand, but who’s counting? Right? Eh?”

  He laughed; her insides got hot. Since when had she started loving that sound?

  “You can get home from here.” He put his hands in the pockets of his beat-up field jacket. “I’ll let you go.”

  She bit her lip as he turned to head off; a weird, sudden fear gripped her at the thought of him leaving her.

  “Hunter!”

  “Ginj?” He paused, further down the path, and half-turned.

  Hesitating, she stared at his shadowy outline; it was getting hard for her to see in the murk. But she had to ask.