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

by Sophie Chevalier

“Am I gonna die here, Hunter?” Her voice came out softer and more afraid than she’d meant it to.

  He won’t lie to me.

  There was a hard, charged silence.

  “No,” he said firmly, and she could see the flash of gold in his eyes even from ten feet away, like a firefly’s spark. “You’re not.”

  Chapter 17

  She was nearly to the cabin when she realized something was wrong.

  She wasn’t alone. The path ahead of her was blocked by a small, motionless collection of dark figures. They scared her. And, instinctively, she knew who one of them was.

  “You can’t be here,” she heard herself say. “This is another man’s territory.”

  “And you’re another man’s, aren’t you?” Gunnar hissed sibilantly. “Let me see you.”

  “No.” She took a step back, wondering if Hunter would hear her if she screamed for him. But it had been almost ten minutes since they split up.

  “Don’t be afraid.” Gunnar tapped closer, leaning on his staff. “You won’t feel my claws tonight. Let me look at you, girl.”

  “No,” she repeated, but the handful of men—she knew they were men—who had come with Gunnar fanned out around her threateningly. She was forced closer to him to avoid their ring. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Why? Aren’t you accustomed to the touch of ursine men?”

  “Don’t touch—” she repeated, but then he was touching her. The loathsome feeling of his knobbly hand holding tight to her chin, forcing her to look at him, made her stomach turn.

  “Well,” he hissed, “human you may be, but no man would deny your beauty. Still…” He turned her face this way and that, admiring it. “I thought better of MacAlister than that he would sacrifice his ambitions for a woman. No matter how lovely a woman she is…”

  “You’re going against the elders,” Ginger managed to say, keeping her voice cold and still. She didn’t want to show him how afraid she was. Any moment he could skinchange, become a bear, rake her, bite her, murder her—

  “How so, little bird? Am I attacking you? Has blood been spilt? No.”

  “You’re in Dane’s territory. That’s against your laws, and you know it.”

  Gunnar chuckled, and so did the other men, slavishly. “A man who has debased himself with a human woman is not a man who can claim and hold territory, girl. I do not respect his title to this land. He is no bear!”

  He ran a hand through her thick, wavy hair, enjoying it. “Has MacAlister ever told you what he finds so lacking in ursine women, that he prefers a fragile, fangless thing like you? Has he explained this deviant preference?”

  “Get out of my way, you walking pile of garbage!”

  She didn’t know where the boldness had come from, but it blazed up—vocal and loud and irresistible. He is a walking pile of garbage. Fuck him! He’s got no right!

  Gunnar chortled wheezily. She could see the filmy white of his sightless eye even in the dark. “Mouthy. Interesting.” He leaned close to her, inhaled the scent of her neck. “I can smell the fear on you, little bird—like salt. Delicious.” Another dry chuckle. “Don’t pretend I don’t scare you. I do scare you. I should scare you. I’ll be Alpha of the West before the week is out, and you’ll be dead. You, and—if all goes accordingly—your man, too.”

  “Catch on fire!” Ginger hissed, repulsed and terrified, her heart hammering.

  “I hear your heart,” Gunnar breathed, close to her ear. “Do you know what it reminds me of, girl? A fawn’s. A fawn’s heart. The way its little heart speeds as I stalk it, slink close to where it’s hiding, thrust through the leaves—”

  “Get off of me!” She tried to shove him away, but he was surprisingly strong. He threw his staff to the ground—did he not really need it?—and put both hands on her, one in her hair, one on her waist.

  “Mind yourself,” he breathed, pulling her hair. “Although… I confess… I do love your nerve. A woman like you… a man might even be tempted to turn her… to claim her for himself…” His hand slid up over her breast and squeezed it, far too hard. “Fertile. Supple. Spirited. Mmm… how would you like that, girl? Would you prefer to be my consort?”

  “I’d rather be roadkill’s consort,” she hissed. “Someone should turn you into a rug.”

  He laughed—but the laugh became a growl, distorted, animal. He sprouted fur; his face lengthened and broadened; his hands on her became big, heavy paws; he rose over her head, taller and taller, a snorting black bear with burning eyes. The men in the ring laughed and laughed.

  She screamed.

  She screamed the loudest she’d ever screamed in her life. The sound of it shattered the quiet of new night.

  The bear chuffed and groaned and snuffled her hair—it licked her face. Its breath was swampy, reeking of rotten fish. Claws dug into her shoulder, through the nylon of her parka. She wanted to run, but she knew that if she did, it would maul her. She just knew. It was playing with her.

  “Gunnar—watch out! He’s back!” one of the men shouted.

  Hunter?

  An immense grizzly bear crashed suddenly out of the ferny undergrowth, snapping yearling red maples as it came. It barreled toward where she stood locked with Gunnar, roaring like a jet plane. She’d never seen a more terrifying sight.

  The men yelled in fear and scattered, some of them changing into bears to lope off into the brush, whining and howling. Gunnar let go of her, swiveled toward the grizzly, and snarled, his scruffy neck fur bristling.

  The grizzly was not intimidated. It reared up, bellowed, and cuffed Gunnar across the face with one enormous, long-clawed paw. Blood sprayed—some of it splattered across Ginger’s front.

  Gunnar moaned and hissed, cringing; then, striking fast as a snake, he tried to land a bite on the grizzly’s thick, muscular neck. The grizzly batted him again, roaring thunderously—its breath smoked in the dark like volcanic steam.

  Finally, Gunnar gave up, and, beaten, cut away from the fight—he ran clumsily and quickly into the forest, barking. The staff he’d thrown down was still on the ground, next to Ginger’s foot.

  She was frozen.

  The grizzly in front of her was gigantic, primordial. A swipe from one of its massive forepaws would be enough to take her head off—easily. She stared into its panting, slavering face, her breath coming in mouse-shallow gasps.

  Who was it? She couldn’t tell.

  It growled, a slow, rumbling sound.

  “W…who?” she made herself ask, haltingly.

  The grizzly burred and woofed, then pressed its big dark muzzle against her middle. She whimpered—she could feel the raw power behind the bump of the snout—but all it was doing was nudging her. Nudging her… nudging her back up the track, toward the cabin. It pushed and prodded her until she started to walk.

  Quickly, it herded her up the trail, chaperoning her to the front porch of the cabin. It growled and snapped, shaking its head—she understood that it wanted her to go inside, so she did, slamming the door behind her and standing trembling in the dark.

  Chapter 18

  Dane was in right after her, filthy and sweaty, his eyes molten gold. If the moment had been different, she would have enjoyed the way he looked: as naked and grimy and muscular as a feral god.

  But he was in a mania. He shoved her up against a cabin wall, one hand crushing her arm, the other tight on her waist.

  “Jesus, Ginger! Do I have to lock you up?” His voice was hoarse and angry, raw. Loud. “Didn’t I tell you to stay inside? Didn’t I tell you? Didn’t I say he would hurt you?”

  “Dane—”

  “He’ll kill you, Ginger! Why don’t you believe that?”

  “I do!”

  “Then why won’t you listen to me? I’m trying to help you!”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “I know it’s hard! I know you’re scared! But you have to trust me! You have to listen to me!”

  “Dane, let go of—”


  “What is it, Ginger?” The anger in his voice thickened. “Do you think Beaumont can protect you better? Is that why you leave me to go to him?”

  “I just want answers, Dane! He talks to me!” she shot back, shouting. “You disappear and I don’t know what’s happening!”

  “God damn it, Ginger! I’m doing all I can to convince these people not to take you apart!” He slammed the wall over her shoulder. “I’m trying to save you!”

  “Stop, Dane!—let go of me!” Her voice cracked. Then, overwhelmed, she started to cry.

  He kissed her cheek, the bridge of her nose, her neck; everywhere his lips touched, her skin prickled, burning white-hot. The pleasure of his kisses short-circuited her meltdown, and her eyes flickered open—their lashes wet—to fix on his.

  His gaze was pure gold, as hot as liquid metal. For the first time she was aware of just how close their bodies were—the hard pressure of his muscular body against hers; the grip of his hands; the halo of his body heat.

  “Stay in this cabin, Ginger,” he whispered roughly. “Stay in my territory. I’ll defend you. You just have to believe in me.”

  She wanted to tell him I do.

  She wanted him to kiss her on the mouth.

  She wanted to run her hands down his chest, all the way to his big, heavy cock.

  But instead, she swallowed thickly; her nerves were jangling back to life. “Dane…”

  “Ginger—”

  “I need to throw up.”

  ***

  Dane had put her to bed after giving her some antiemetic pills, stroking her, calming her, kissing her hair. Even after he’d left the bedroom, he stayed for awhile—she’d heard him pacing the living room—but then there’d been voices on the porch, including his, and he’d left with whoever had come.

  She was alone. She wasn’t asleep and wasn’t going to sleep.

  She was getting off this island.

  Sitting up, throwing back the covers, she went to get dressed and get moving.

  ***

  The canoe was heavier than she remembered, and she was clumsy trying to drag it out of Hunter’s boat shed alone. It was extra difficult while wearing a heavy backpack, one pilfered from Dane’s cabin and loaded with his food.

  She hit a rock, stumbled, and smacked the side of the boat into the wood of the shed. It was late, but not that late; Hunter would still be awake. She’d been as quiet as she could, but now—

  Shit! She heard his cabin door opening. She dropped the canoe’s rim, thumbed off her pack, and sped around the cabin’s side, to head him off before he could check the shed—and see what she was doing.

  “Ginger?” He shone a flashlight on her face. “God, what are you doing down here? I heard what happened—everyone’s riled up—”

  Distract him! Don’t let him stop you!

  Stick to the plan!

  She rushed him and kissed him, crushing the front of his flannel shirt in her hands. He was so surprised, with her mouth glued to his, that it was easy to press him back inside the cabin.

  “Ginger, what’re—”

  “I wanted to be with you,” she whispered thickly. “You’re strong, Hunter. Strong enough to protect me.”

  “Ginger—”

  “I like you. Is it wrong for me to say that?” It wasn’t a lie—she did like him. More than she should. “I like you—and I want you. Kiss me.”

  His eyes were glazing over with desire—real, heavy, unfightable desire. “I am strong enough. God, Ginger, stay with me. I like you, too… I… I’ll protect you, I…”

  His restraint broke; the sentence went unfinished. Crushing her close, he kissed her over and over.

  They were hot, rough kisses. His facial hair was sharp, his mouth slightly chapped; his hands on her face were coarse with calluses. The harshness of it turned her on.

  He tasted good: mild, with the slightest trace of salmon and juniper. When he slid his tongue into her mouth, she accepted it, sucked on it. She could feel him hardening against her, his cock trapped by denim.

  She bit his bottom lip. He twisted a hand in her thick hair; squeezed the full curve of her ass. She was starting to lose her breath—the kissing was getting rawer, hungrier, more desperate; her nails bit into the back of his neck, and he growled. The heat between her legs was syrupy.

  “I didn’t know you wanted me like this, Ginger,” he murmured, hoarse.

  “Fuck me,” she hissed plainly.

  Abruptly, he picked her up around the middle and carried her to his bed, dropping her on the mattress. She toed off her boots and shimmied out of her jeans while he pulled off his own things. His eyes were hot and smoky, single-minded; it gave her an erotic thrill just to see how lust-drunk he looked.

  She reached up to help unbutton his shirt, loving how more of his hard chest was revealed with every snap; the sight dampened her panties. When it was open, she leaned forward and pressed lewd, open-mouthed kisses to his cobbled abs, the divot of his navel, the upper curve of his Apollo’s belt. He groaned.

  “Ginger… I can’t… I can’t wait.” His voice was strained, half-animal. Before she knew it, he’d gotten his jeans off and she was on her back with his hard, muscular weight on top of her. He kissed along her jawline, nipped the soft hollow of her throat, licked her ear. She was gasping, rocking her hips against his, clutching his hair. She hadn’t expected to be this turned on, but she was—she wanted him. Badly. Really badly.

  Her pussy, lushly swollen, had soaked her panties. Through the wet thinness of the fabric she could feel his rock-hard cock between her legs, drooling pre-come on her thigh. He’s so big. So so big.

  He rolled them, so she was on top and straddling his lap. His big hands slid under and lifted her bra; she let him pull it over her head and throw it across the floor.

  “Fuck, Ginger,” he muttered gruffly, staring at her high, full breasts. “Gorgeous.”

  “Don’t just look,” she begged, breathlessly. “Touch—ahh.”

  Her head lolled back as he kissed the sensitive undersides of her breasts, then the dip between them. Her skin was alive, goosepimpling, flushing—and when he actually fastened his mouth on one of her hard, rose-pink nipples, sucking it, she moaned.

  When he bit it, she cried out. A man had never done that.

  She liked it.

  “Hunter,” she whined, “more. More.”

  “Ginger. Ginger,” he whispered, mostly to himself; he pulled her closer, stroked hair away from her flushed face, teethed her neck. She was moaning, rolling her hips.

  She wanted him—needed him—inside her.

  Leaning on his shoulders, she rose and angled her hips so he could get in, pulling aside the gusset of her panties. “Take me,” she breathed throatily by his ear.

  He gripped the base of his cock, guiding it into her, and she wriggled against the fat, flared head—finding the right position, easing it inside. The hot, slick helmet pressed against and then sinking past her lips felt so good, so obscene, that her vision blurred.

  He was so thick that entry was slow, but she enjoyed every inch. As she sank down on his veiny shaft, she let out a low, throaty moan; he growled.

  Finally their pelvises touched. She could feel him throbbing inside her—no doubt he could feel her clenching, squeezing. It felt so fucking good, being full of him.

  “Ginger, shit,” he rasped. “You’re so—soft, so—”

  She started to rock on his cock, slowly, unhurriedly. His arms stayed tight around her.

  “Ohhh, fuck, Hunter,” she moaned, biting her plump, kiss-swollen lower lip. “Fuck, yes.”

  Warmed up, adjusted to his size, her hips worked faster.

  “I can’t get enough of you,” he growled. “You feel so good, I can’t—”

  Faster, firmer she rode him, hitting her stride, fucking him outright. The sound of their flesh slapping together overwhelmed the settling of the cabin and the shushing of the pines. She forgot her plan, fo
rgot about her escape. All she cared about was enjoying this moment—the feel of him buried inside her, the sting of him biting her neck—building their fire higher and higher.

  He was slamming his hips into her now, thrusting up to meet her descending pussy; his strokes were hard and deep, and she could feel the veiled power of the bear in them. That aroused her—that the animal in him was so close to the surface, so strong, so passionate. Rutting away, her tits jiggling as they fucked, she pounded against him, lost in her pleasure.

  “You feel so good, so tight,” he gasped, piledriving her. “Fuck, Ginger—I’m close!”

  She didn’t slow down, riding him with abandon. Gasping, moaning, she kept up the thumping of their hips, the natural rhythm of deep fucking.

  “Ginger—shit—you want me to pull out?” he asked, voice gravelly, breathless.

  “No!” she cried, just as raspy. “Come inside me!”

  He gripped her hips, hard enough to bruise, and groaned, going rigid against her. She arched her back, brows knitting with pleasure as he felt him come.

  His was a long, hard orgasm—her muscles locked down on his pulsing, firing cock, trapping him deep inside her, prolonging his climax until he was spent.

  Breathing hard, he relaxed slightly beneath her, covered in sweat. “You didn’t…”

  She smiled, amused. “Just don’t move,” she whispered raggedly. “Stay in me.” He was still hard—she pressed her hips down on his shaft, as deep as she could take him, and rolled them in a circle. “Mmm.”

  He gasped, pumping slowly against her as she masturbated. Her fingers were a blur as they rubbed her clit, her hips rocking fast on his cock. Finally, suddenly, she came too, going stiff as a ruler. Her pussy seized on his dick, rippling and squeezing. Overstimulated, his hips bucked in jerks as her contractions sucked and pulled at him.

  Panting, she eased off of him. She laughed breathlessly; he did too, squeezing the soft, hot taper of her waist. Running her fingers through her damp hair, she drew great, steadying breaths, eyes closed.

  “That was so good,” he said at last.