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

by Sophie Chevalier

  “Why, Ginger? There are others looking for you… not just me and Dane… Gunnar’s people…”

  Her blood thinned. “Yeah, thanks for that added difficulty. Just let me go.”

  She pulled her shirt on, then her Bean boots. Her bra was snapped at the closure, unwearable. “Here. You break it, you buy it.” She thrust it against his chest, and he took it.

  “Ginger, don’t—”

  “I know where I’m going. The moon’s out”—she pointed up, to the white disc cresting the treetops—“and it’s hanging in the east, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Yeah. And Dane’s yacht is on the east side of the island. So I’m good. Bye.”

  She headed off in that direction, not looking back. The sea of deer fern and salal whispered as she broke through it.

  Why had she fucked him? Where was her self-control? Her self-respect? How had she ever ended up in this situation? Once was understandable, but twice…

  If there hadn’t been a storm last night, would she be back on the mainland by now? Or not, because she was such a terrible canoer? Probably not, since yes, she was a terrible canoer—and because Hunter had sent out the cavalry to get her. Damn him! Not that he didn’t have that right, especially since she’d stolen his boat… what a horrible mess…

  “Ginger! I’ll still speak for you!” he called after her; it was a struggle not to glance back at him. “I still like you!”

  I still like him, too. So much that it scares me.

  But I want Dane now—if he’ll talk to me.

  I really want Dane.

  ***

  There was no sound but the rustling of the trees and the rush of the strait’s salty waters. Ginger had been following the moon eastward for forty minutes, and now she was almost to the island’s other side.

  The forest was thinning; it was all storm-gnarled Sitka spruce and shore pine now, and the ground sloped down to a small, gravelly inlet. The moon was so bright that she cast a shadow.

  And there: she saw Dane’s yacht, anchored just past the shallows.

  Thank God it’s still there. That means he’s still on this island.

  Finding a big rock, she sat on it, facing the water. His boat shifted and bobbed, riding the wavelets. She drew her legs in close and leaned her forehead on her knees, waiting.

  Time passed. She dozed.

  It was the sound of someone crunching up the gravel beach that brought her back to reality, and made her raise her head.

  It was Dane.

  He was dressed like someone who’d been on the water all day, sailing through cold wind—gloves, a rain shell jacket over a fleece, dark jeans. She felt guilty that he’d gone out on the winter sea to find her.

  And he looked beautiful. Strong and tall, straight-backed, self-possessed. The cold, frosty color of the moonlight desaturated him, but she knew his tousled hair was light brown—almost dark blond—and his eyes were hickory-and-gold. She wanted to get up and go to him and throw herself into his arms.

  But she didn’t. She slid off her rock and waited for him, near where he’d landed his dinghy. By the time he reached her—he didn’t hurry—she was near tears.

  “I’m sorry,” she said very quietly. For what, exactly, she wasn’t sure. Maybe everything.

  He crunched closer, staring at her face—examining her, she could tell.

  “You’re filthy, Ginger,” he said surprisingly gently, and he raised a gloved hand to tuck some dirty hair behind her ear.

  “I’m sorry, Dane,” she repeated, biting her lower lip. She could still taste Hunter.

  “I know. Forget it for now. We need to get you back, and cleaned up.”

  “Are you mad?” she blurted, knowing it sounded stupid. Childish.

  “Come on.” He took her arm, guided her to the dinghy. “Let’s get on board.”

  “Dane?” she pressed, feeling suddenly afraid—vulnerable.

  He hesitated, gazing at her. “I’m glad you came to me. All I want is to keep you safe, Ginger.”

  Is that yes or no?

  Well. At least he doesn’t hate me. I’ll take that.

  She let him lead her to the dinghy.

  ***

  His yacht was nice. Ergonomic.

  The interior space was smaller than she would have expected—for something he owned—but it was roughly elegant, and very practical. The walls were paneled in beechwood, and the galley was clean, smooth steel; she could see a berth with rich, dark covers through a half-open door.

  “We’ll be back on Storm Isle in thirty minutes, maybe less,” he said, not dropping off the ladder between the deck and the cabin. “You can shower there, or do it here. There’s a head to your right.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  He gazed at her. “I understand why you ran, Ginger. If I thought you could escape this by running, I would have let you go.”

  “I don’t want to go back to that island,” she said quietly. “I don’t want… that dock… I don’t…” She couldn’t finish her sentence—couldn’t say just how much she dreaded the coming walk-of-shame, landing at the island’s public dock up and then trekking back to his secluded cabin.

  “I know.” From the way he said it, she knew he understood her. “I’m not going to tie up at the dock, Ginger. I’ll anchor on the island’s far side and we’ll walk through the woods.”

  She stared at him. “You—really?”

  “Really. I’ll sail it to the pier tomorrow. For now, I just want to get you safely home.”

  It’s not my home, she almost said, but that would be asinine. It was his home—one of them. “Thank you.”

  “Lie down.” He gestured through to the berth. “I’ll wake you when it’s time to get to shore.”

  “I’ll get your covers dirty.”

  He almost smiled. “That’s fine, Ginger.” Then he disappeared above deck, to pilot them back.

  Hesitantly, she stepped through to the berth. The paneling in there was high-gloss burl-elm, and the bedclothes of the leather-boarded mattress were plush and black. She crawled on top of them and instantly fell asleep.

  Chapter 23

  It had been a long walk back to his cabin through the moonlit, breezy forest. She’d heard owls hooting more than once while she’d stumbled uphill in the dappled darkness; Dane had guided her the whole rocky way, saying only, “Go quietly, Ginger.”

  Now they were finally home. She’d gone straight to his bathroom and stripped down naked, tossing her filthy clothes on the floor. The antler-bordered mirror showed her as both men must have seen her: grimy, pale, too-bright-eyed, her wavy hair dull and roughened from sea spray.

  Gross.

  Although… she had to admit there was something attractive about it, too: something raw and wild and desperate. Something messily sexy.

  I guess Hunter thought so, anyway. She wiped away a white smear on her high inner thigh. No, he definitely thought so.

  She turned on the shower, feeling grubby—she smelled like sweat and dirt and brine.

  And sex. If she could smell it, Dane certainly could. Her face and neck flushed.

  Testing the water with her fingers and finding it warm, she stepped in. Not caring if she used his things or not, she lathered up her hair with some musky-smelling perfume: buttered rum and amber musk, if she was any judge of scents. It reminded her of him, as well it should.

  It smells good. Really good. Manly.

  She was rinsing her hair when she heard the bathroom door open and shut; she jumped, almost slipping.

  “It’s me.” Dane. “Slide back the door.”

  What? “Why should I?”

  “Please.”

  “Why, though?” She could see his distorted shadow through the frosted, rippled glass of the shower door. Why exactly should she show him her body? For what purpose?

  “I’m looking for something.”

  “On me?”

  “Yes.”

 
That baffled her. But it was his home, he’d saved her more than once, and she was too tired to fight about it. So she slid back the door.

  He leaned on the shower frame, gazing in at her. The gold in his eyes brightened to a hot, near-orange ring.

  Why? Did he like what he saw? She swallowed; the hair, even wet, rose on the back of her neck.

  “Well?” she asked, half-enjoying his perusal, half-resenting it.

  He said nothing, his burning eyes slowly sliding down her body.

  “Well?” she asked again, louder, coloring. “What are you looking for?”

  “Teeth marks.”

  “Teeth marks?” she repeated, blankly. “What? Why?”

  “To see if he claimed you.” His voice was so low and his gaze so intent that there was a throb of pleasure from her pussy.

  “Claimed me? What—you mean Hunter?”

  “Who else?” His eyes were moving up again; they settled, briefly, on her breasts. “Turn around. Let me see the back of your neck.”

  “No! He didn’t bite me hard enough to leave any marks!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I would remember.”

  “Would you?” His gaze fastened on her face. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen the gold in his eyes that bright. “You might not… if the moment was—passionate enough.”

  She blinked.

  Is he jealous?

  Why? I mean—he can’t possibly—he doesn’t feel anything for—for me. He just—he feels responsible for me, and that’s—that’s it. That’s all. Isn’t it?

  I thought he’d be mad I went behind his back, trying to get more protection… mad I went to his rival… not mad because I… how can he care? Does he?

  “I wasn’t bitten like that. That hard.” She frowned at him. “He didn’t ‘claim’ me.”

  “Good,” Dane said very quietly, very gravely. She’d thought she’d melt under the heat of his eyes.

  “So you can stop… staring at me.” Her nipples had hardened to aching points. She knew she was wet between the thighs. Can he smell that?

  “I’m trying,” he said, just as softly and huskily as before. “You are beautiful, Ginger.”

  She flushed bubblegum-pink. “Stop.”

  I’ve had all the bear men I can handle for one night.

  “Forgive me.” With a visible effort, he reached for and shut the shower door himself.

  There was a hot, charged silence, the only sound the drum of the shower water.

  “I laid out some sleep things Cat loaned you on the bed,” he said finally, and his voice was closer to normal. Still smoky, though. Still thick. “We can talk in the morning. I know you’re exhausted.”

  She covered her breasts, even though the door was closed. “Dane…”

  “I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  “Wait.”

  He did. She could see his shadow past the steamy, dimpled glass—could feel him, standing just past the pane.

  “So… you knew I was with him.” A pause. “With Hunter. I mean… with him.”

  “Of course I knew, Ginger. He told me himself.”

  She didn’t know what to say.

  “He smelled like you. And tonight, you smelled like him.” There was something stiff in his voice. Anger, maybe? Carefully controlled?

  “I’m sorry if that… hurt you.” She wasn’t sure what else could be said. She wasn’t really sure what was happening.

  He laughed, but it was brittle, humorless. “If it hurt me?”

  She bit her lip—confused, guilty.

  “Do you like him, Ginger?”

  “I guess… yes.”

  “Would you rather be with him?”

  “No.”

  Another pause. When he spoke again, there was something lowly pleasing in his voice.

  “Alright. Finish up and rest. You’re safe here.” She heard something like a growl; it gave her goosebumps. “With me.”

  ***

  But she couldn’t sleep. Rolled up in his bed in a blanket burrito, all she felt was tense and bleak and alone.

  Nothing made sense—Was Dane actually jealous of what she’d done with Hunter? She struggled to comprehend—much less believe—that he might be. He didn’t care about her in that way. Right?

  Nothing seemed hopeful. She was back on stupid Storm Isle and back in his cabin, trapped, awaiting sentencing for “trespass.”

  And there was no way she was going to nod off. So she got up and padded into the living room, where, unshockingly—she’d smelled the smoked-cedar-and-sweet-moss scent of the fire going—Dane was still awake.

  “Ginger.” He looked up from where he’d been sitting on the couch, staring into the grate across the cottonwood coffee table and the back of the matching, facing sofa. “You’re awake.”

  She was wrapped in a quilt, sad-faced. “Can I stay up with you?”

  “Come here.”

  She padded over to the plush leather couch and sat next to him, tucking her legs up off the floor. The fire was dancing beautifully past its screen.

  “You can’t sleep?” he asked, watching her.

  “No.” She hooked some hair behind her ear. “Really hurt my own case, didn’t I? Trying to scarm?”

  He hesitated. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”

  “The judgment’s tomorrow, isn’t it?” She tightened the quilt around her shoulders.

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “What’s it going to be like?” She looked at him. “Tell me what’s going to happen.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. She wished she could do that to him. “The elders will be there. Other important bears from the clans. Think of it like a law court.”

  “‘Like’ a law court?”

  “Well… think of it like a law court from the Neolithic.” He sighed. “It’ll be outside, at night. By bonfire. Gunnar and I will bring our charges against each other, and then each of us will speak in our own defense. The elders will listen and ask questions, then render their verdict.”

  “What happens to me if they… if we lose?”

  “Nothing. I said I wouldn’t let—”

  “Dane.” She interrupted him soberly. “Answer me seriously.”

  He gazed at her, the firelight reflected in the curve of his eyes. “Traditionally… human consorts and interlopers were… savaged.”

  “Savaged.”

  “Mauled.”

  “By who?”

  “It depends.” His mouth tightened. “They could sentence me to do it. Gunnar could agitate for the ‘right.’ One of the elders could enact the penalty. But like I said, I won’t let—”

  “Well, given the fact that there are hundreds of fucking werebears on this hellish little island,” she whispered thinly, feeling faint, “I don’t think you have much of a choice.”

  “Don’t assume you know my chances. They’re afraid of me,” he said lowly, and she heard a spark of violence in his voice. “Afraid, and with reason. I could keep them back, Ginger. Fight them off. Hold them long enough for us to make it to the yacht.”

  She looked at him closely, trying to see if he meant it—really meant it. But as far as she could tell, he did: his expression was serious.

  “Are you going to leave the cutter anchored off the island’s shoulder, then? So it’s easier to reach?” she asked quietly. “Not bring it back to the dock?”

  “No. I have to tie it up again, or it will be obvious that I’m not planning to respect a negative verdict. I’m doing everything I can to convince the council that I won’t run, and take you with me, if they rule against us.”

  “I see.” She did. “That’s why you brought me back, isn’t it? When I ran. To prove you can be trusted to respect these laws?”

  “There’s still a chance they’ll clear us, Ginger,” he said, putting a hand on her thigh and squeezing. “Then you won’t have to run and hide, or live in fear. It’s worth waiting until the council meet
ing to find out.”

  “Is it?” She put her hand over his, for the comfort of it; he threaded his fingers up through hers. “I’m scared.”

  That was an understatement. Just thinking about the trial made her feel like she had the stomach flu—queasy and cold and sore. If she threw up on his coffee table, would he blame her?

  “I’m so scared,” she admitted unsteadily.

  “Ginger… I promise I’ll—”

  “And I’m sorry,” she cut in, swallowing. “I’m sorry I’ve complicated your life like this.” Her voice wavered. “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused. For putting you in this situation. I never meant—never imagined—”

  “Shh.” He leaned close, spoke into her hair. “Don’t apologize, Ginger. You have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t know you’d find this world here.”

  “I want you to protect me,” she whispered shakily. “I need you to. But I hate that you’re risking everything you have here for the sake of some stupid secretary. I feel so guilty, Dane—I’m scared, really scared—but I also just feel so guilty, I—”

  “Some secretary?” he repeated, his voice low. “Is that what you think, Ginger?”

  “What? What should I think?” She twisted back to look at him, and was shocked to see his eyes were bright as fire. Her skin prickled with goose bumps.

  “Tell me what you think you are to me.”

  “I—don’t… your assistant.”

  He stared at her; a shiver ran up her back.

  “No.”

  “Well, obviously I’m fired, but—”

  “My God, Ginger, have you never seen the way I look at you?”

  What? “Look at me?” she repeated quietly. She wasn’t sure she’d noticed much of anything these past few days, with the stress and the shock and… but the way he was looking at her now—intent, piercing, his gaze hot enough to melt metal—she could see that.

  “Dane?” she murmured, uncertain.

  “I’ve always wanted you,” he said, and his voice was rough—hungry. “Always.”

  She flushed; a hand came up automatically to cover her mouth. What!?

  “And the longer I’ve spent with you, the more I’ve felt for you.”