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

by Sophie Chevalier

  She stopped three or four feet away from him, watching him. She knew her face was closed, almost unfriendly, but she couldn’t help it.

  There was no sound but a vesper sparrow’s tittering and the groan of the woods for a long minute.

  “Have you seen yourself?” he asked quietly. His expression was half-horrified, half-captivated. “In a mirror?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Your eyes. Your eyes have gold in them.” His gaze was locked on hers. “It’s really true. About you… my God.”

  “Yeah, it’s true.” His look—too intense, too engrossed by her face—irritated her. “Pick up your jaw, Hunter, it’s not that shocking. Everyone knows.”

  “You’re one of us.” His voice was low. She could smell the sweat on him, smell the thick fiber of his flannel. Smell his salt-and-evergreen scent. “You’re like me.”

  “And fuck my life because of it!” she exploded. “This is not something I wanted! I am not happy!”

  “No—I know,” he said, raising a hand. “Listen, have you changed yet?”

  Her blood iced up. “Changed?”

  “Yeah. You know what I mean by that, Ginger, come on. Changed forms.”

  Cold anger choked her. How dare he talk about the thing she was most afraid of?

  “No,” she managed thickly.

  “That’s not good.” He was serious—worried, even. “You need to.”

  “I won’t.” The thought of being six hundred pounds of musky, furry muscle was more than she could bear. I’m human. I’m a girl! I’m not an animal! “I’m not going to.”

  “You need to,” he repeated. “It’s bad for a changeling to wait. The need builds up until they lose con—”

  “Don’t. Don’t call me that. I won’t be that. I don’t want any part of this world.”

  “I know,” he said again. “But it’s too late to go back. It can’t be undone, Ginj! I know you’re upset, but—”

  “Take me home.”

  There was a pause; she’d blindsided him. “’Scuse me?”

  “I want to go. That’s my right now. Isn’t it? I can go, I can come, I can fly off to China.” She rose her arms demonstratively, like an airplane. “I’m free. I’m equal to everyone else. I can make choices, and I choose to leave.”

  “Leave? You can’t.”

  “Yes, I can.”

  That twisted him up. “I mean… you can… but… fuck, Ginger, you have no idea. You just have no idea. You think you’re burning up with instincts now? New ones, scary ones? It’s just going to get worse. You need us. You need to—”

  “Don’t tell me what I need. I’m sick of being told what I can and can’t do, and where I can and can’t go, and whether I can or can’t live. I’m tired of hearing about who I might belong to.” Her voice thickened with disgust. “Isn’t it enough that you people turned me? Made me something—something I’m not? Something animal?”

  “Ginger…” But she didn’t want to hear or see him be sorry for her. She didn’t want his sympathy.

  “Hunter. Take me back. Back across the strait.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Take me to Saltspring Island.”

  “No.”

  Her voice rose; a real note of pleading slipped in. “Please! Please take me, Hunter. I want to go. Let me go.”

  “Ask MacAlister to take you,” he answered, getting gruffer while she got softer. She could tell it hurt him to hear her begging.

  “No.”

  “He said no, too?”

  “No, I mean I won’t ask him. I won’t talk to him. I don’t want to see him.”

  Hunter hesitated. “He saved your life, Ginger.”

  She stared at him, biting her plush bottom lip, knowing she looked upset. “Saved me, but not my life.” The wind roughened; a dead pine branch fell behind her in the woods. She was tired of the woods. “This isn’t my life. It’s not my life.”

  “Ginger…” She was wearing him down.

  “Please. I can’t stay here. I won’t.”

  He stared at her for a long time; she could see the wheels turning in his head. Finally, he bent down, picked up his axe, and thumped it into the chopping stump. “You know what, Ginger? Okay. I will take you.”

  Why? What changed his—no. Doesn’t matter. I’m getting off this horrible island.

  “Now?”

  “Yeah. Now. Come in, I’m just gonna get some stuff.”

  He went indoors and she followed. His cabin was the same as always: rustic, crowded with gear and tackle, pine and fish and charcoal smelling. She leaned on the wall near the door while he got a bag down from a hook and started stuffing things into it.

  “You going on a trip?”

  “Mind your business, Ginger.”

  She frowned, turned away; crossed her arms.

  After a few minutes he seemed ready. He swung the pack onto his back, gripping the frayed strap.

  “Do you want a snack?”

  “Cat fed me.”

  “Hmm.” There was a glint in his eyes. “Force-fed you?”

  “Intubation, basically,” she admitted. “We good?”

  “Guess so, if you’re not hungry. Get my jacket down. You’re standing right next to it.”

  She turned, saw his canvas field jacket hanging on a peg, and pulled it down. It was surprisingly heavy.

  “Here,” she said, handing it off to him; their knuckles touched, and she yanked her hand back like she’d been shocked. Hot, almost irresistible impulses were flooding her from that simple contact.

  Images of him biting her throat hard enough to leave a mark—of his hands gripping, bruising her hips—of him holding her down—animal things, animal desires—

  “Ginger,” he said, bringing her back to reality.

  Her underwear had moistened. He was looking at her like he saw right through her. Like he knew.

  “What?” she asked, feeling herself flush. Fuck the Irish glow! It gives everything away! “Let’s go. Please?”

  “Yeah.” His eyes dipped to her breasts—her clit hardened—and then up again. “Alright. Let’s go.”

  I’m not fucking him now! Not now, not ever again!

  I’m going home!

  ***

  The closer they got to the docks, the thicker the cabins nestled together, and the more bears there were. Ginger could feel eyes on her; a passel of blond children to the side of their footpath even goggled unashamedly.

  “Attracting a bit of an audience, girl,” Hunted said, coolly.

  Ginger ignored him. But it was true that once they were nearly to the foot of the pier, and surrounded by ramshackle cabins built from driftwood and trash pine, most of the bearfolk around them were surreptitiously—or openly—looking up from their charcoal fires, their net repair, and their fish cleaning.

  “It’s not often someone’s turned,” Hunter explained quietly. “Hardly ever, in fact. You’re a novelty.”

  “Charming.”

  “And,” he murmured carefully, “they think you’re MacAlister’s woman. His, but out with me.”

  “I literally do not care what they think,” she said with savage honesty.

  “Good!” he said loudly, approvingly. “Why should you, Ginger? Think about it. You’re a grizzly bear—fiercest of the fierce. D’you what that means? It means you don’t have to take anyone’s shit, ever again. Imagine what a young, powerful sow like you could do to—”

  “Enough, thanks!” Her foot struck the wood of the dock. Finally.

  “Yeah, alright.” He paused. “But you’ll have to come around to it, Ginger.”

  “No.”

  They rattled down the length of the pier, not speaking. Finally they got to Miss Grizzly; the boat tied next to it, a troller, was loaded up with staring bears. She shot them an icy glare.

  “Try not to vaporize them, huh, Ginj?” Hunter said quietly, his back to the troller. “Go ahead, now. Hop aboard mine.”


  Ginger stepped over onto the deck, feeling like she was finally escaping Alcatraz.

  Chapter 29

  Ginger stood leaning on the side of the boat, watching the water churn and froth from Miss Grizzly’s passage. The juddering roar of its engines as it plowed through the strait was loud enough that she could—thankfully—give up on thinking for awhile. She could just watch the world go by.

  It was a fresh, brisk day, with banks of cloud rolling in from the direction of the open sea. The evergreen coasts of the islands dotted all around swayed and bowed in the cool, rain-scented wind.

  Suddenly some heads popped up in the water; she gasped as the gillnetter streamed past them. They were fat, dog-nosed seals, dark grey—and adorable.

  She’d kept away from Hunter so far, but now she clattered up to the wheelhouse where he was driving the boat.

  “I saw something in the water.”

  “Killer whale?”

  “What? No.” Wow, though. I wish. “Some kind of seal, I think.”

  “Probably harbor seals. Kind of brindle colored, right? Cute, roly-poly animals?”

  “Yeah, exactly. That was them. Harbor seals?”

  “Sure. They’re common around here.”

  Ginger hesitated, leaning on the steel wall of the wheelhouse. The shuddering and lifting of the boat reverberated deep into her tissue. “Are there a lot of whales here?”

  “Yep,” he said slowly, and just a little archly. “You hang around and I’ll be happy to take you whale watching. We got orcas, grey whales, minkes… even humpbacks, sometimes.”

  She felt a little throb of longing—Whales, with Hunter—but mentally swatted it away. “Hmph.”

  “So… how are you planning to get back to civilization once I drop you at the marina?” he asked, and now there was a real shade of concern in his voice. It made her look at him more closely. “Do you have—I mean, do you have an ID, or anything? Money? ’Cause I’ve got some, if you don’t, but it won’t get you too far.”

  That touched her, a little. “I picked up my wallet before I left Cat’s.”

  “Without her seeing it, and her watching you like a hawk and all? Shit, Ginger. You should’ve been a thief. That’s some real skill.”

  She shrugged. There wasn’t a lot of skill in shoving a wallet down the front of your pants, but let him believe. “I’ve got cash, and cards, and my ID. I’ll be fine.”

  “It’s gonna be awhile before there’s another ferry to Victoria… you picked an odd day for it…”

  “I’m not going to Victoria. I’m going to Vancouver.”

  “Vancouver?” He sounded surprised. “By way of Tsawwassen? Ginger, that ferry leaves from Long Harbor. It’s far away from this mari—”

  “I’ll rent a car,” she cut in. “I just want to be back in a city by tomorrow morning.” She wasn’t prepared to wait and follow through on all the steps needed to get back to Seattle. A mainland Canadian city would do just fine.

  At least it won’t be here. At least there will be no bears.

  “Okay,” he said slowly. She could tell he was bothered.

  “Listen, can you do something for me?”

  “Nah. When have I ever done anything for you?”

  “I don’t know. Have you ever? All I remember is that time you brought me to an island full of man-hating werebeasts.”

  He was silent. “What do you need?”

  “Give Cat this jacket back. I can’t give her back these other clothes, because… well… But this is hers. She should have it.”

  “And you’re gonna go without a jacket?” he asked, throwing her a concerned, skeptical look. “It’s winter, Ginj.”

  “I don’t want to—steal more of her things than—I have to,” Ginger stuttered, quietly, and a little awkwardly. She could feel her face coloring.

  “Oh, sweetie,” Hunter said, in a truly soft voice. “She wouldn’t see it as stealing. She’d want you to have them.”

  “It is stealing. I’m not coming back.” An idea. “I could mail them, I guess… If she even has an address.”

  “Ginger, to her, you’re family.” He was serious. “You’re a bear. You’re part of the clans. She’d give you anything you needed. And even before that was true, she liked you.”

  “But…”

  “Keep the jacket, Ginger. You’ll need it.” He chuckled darkly. “And if I came back with her coat but no you, she’d fucking snap my neck. Just keep it. She’ll worry less.”

  ***

  They finally landed on Saltspring. The white forest of boat masts in the harbor reassured her like nothing else—so did the cars in the narrow village streets, and the normal, non-bear people going about their normal, small-island business.

  The only thing that bothered her was how intense the sounds and smells were. They weren’t like that last time she had been here.

  But she was human then.

  Hunter had tried one more time, after Miss Grizzly was tied up, to stop her going.

  “Come on, Ginger. Stay with us.” He’d gripped her arm, hard. “We want to help you. I want to help you.”

  But she’d shrugged him off. “Thanks for the ride, Hunter. Take care of yourself.”

  His expression was tight. “You take care of yourself. God, Ginger, it worries me… you going off like this all alo—”

  “Would you save it?” She glared at him.

  And as she did a strange thing happened. She was full of bitter, peppery anger, but the thought that she was leaving him for good—severing their ties completely, forever—made her momentarily soft. She threw her arms around his neck, hugged him hard—sense-memories of his body and sight-memories of his smile rushed her—and then let go, rushing down the dock.

  Just pull the band-aid off and leave. This is your chance to escape, Ginger.

  His eyes were on her the whole length of the pier—she could tell.

  She speedwalked into the village, not looking back once, refusing to feel sad.

  ***

  The bell tingled as Ginger pushed into a coffee shop. It was mostly empty—there were only two or three people seated at the hardwood tables—but she still felt overwhelmed by their presence. Overpowered, almost. Stricken.

  She could smell them. She could smell everything about them. They smelled like their nylon-shell jackets, their Dial shop, their cotton sweaters. They smelled like skin and salt. She’d never smelled people like this before.

  She could smell the coffee shop itself, too—smell everything in it. It almost swamped her. The scents were too powerful, too heavy, too intense—she had to resist the urge to pull her jacket up over her nose. The earthy, spicy scent of a light Guatemalan roast—the smooth, chocolatey scent of a Costa Rican brew—the frothy, acidic tang of a Javan blend—all devastatingly strong—

  “Can I help you, miss?”

  A teenager, wearing an apron. Blond, with big dark eyes. Hair in a ponytail.

  “Uh—yes. Yes, you can.”

  Ask her about cars. Ask her. But Ginger was sidetracked by the smell of the girl’s pear-scented shampoo and thick cherry lip gloss. She could smell the faint electric burn of the hair straightener she’d used that morning. The synthetic fabric of her shirt. This is torture. It’s too much. It’s too much! How do bears handle this?!

  “Miss?” the girl asked curiously.

  “Cars,” Ginger forced herself to say. “I want to rent a car. I have to get to Long Harbor.”

  “Oh, for the Vancouver ferry, miss?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Sure. Well, there’s a rental place a street over.” The girl’s breath smelled like violet mints. “Canning and Sons. You can get a car there, miss.”

  Ginger had to shut her eyes for a moment. The all-consuming scent of pecan pastries, crab cakes, pumpkin muffins, and nutty, silky Mexican coffee was driving her insane. Finally, she made herself open them; the girl looked curious.

  “Thank you,” Ginger said f
irmly. “I’ll go there.”

  She turned and shouldered through the coffee shop door again, making the bell jingle. Out on the wharf, the sea-and-ship-and-wood smells assaulted her again, and she hurried blindly in the direction the girl had pointed out. She could still smell Hunter on the wind.

  ***

  The car rental office had smelled like oil, metal cabinets, old seat leather, and hard plastic. She’d had to yoga breathe while she filled out the forms, her hand shaking from the stress on her senses. The friendly, lean-faced man who’d handed her her keys had had a lunch of shrimp and macaroni—she could tell when he spoke to her.

  But finally she was on the road. The Toyota hatchback handled fine, although there was no comparison to her Jaguar. I guess I’ll have to abandon my Jag, when I get back on the mainland.

  I have to get rid of anything that ties me to Dane.

  She drove past shore houses, lush, pine-tangled forest, and flower farms bare with the season. Late afternoon and then sunset came down, and the sky turned a wet, luminous orange; mists drifted over the bay. Lights came on in the seashell cottages and wood-fronted homes. She saw a night heron.

  “Continue for five miles,” the rental GPS instructed.

  She knew she would have to stop in Long Harbor for the night—there wouldn’t be another Vancouver ferry until the morning. Maybe she’d just sleep in the car. Without Dane paying her way anymore, she’d have to start saving money. Not that he hadn’t already provided her with a sizeable nest egg…

  But she was starting to feel sick. Strained. It was getting harder and harder to focus on the twisty coastal road—harder and harder, even, to remember how to drive.

  I’m just tired. I’m stressed. I’ve had the week from hell.

  More and more, though, she knew it was something worse.

  The music on the radio sounded like noise, tinny and alien. Her hands felt thick and clumsy, foreign. Her stomach was cramping; the muscles in her legs were jumping. It was like she needed to eat as much as she needed to run.

  Instinctually, she knew what was happening. She’d denied the bear for days, and now it was clawing to the surface. She couldn’t deny it much longer.