Rescued & Ravished: An Alpha's Conquest (A Paranormal Ménage Romance) (28 page)

“But I do. And I live in the wild. I understand us. I know what it means to be an animal, which he’s forgotten, if he ever knew. And I know the problems facing us.” His eyes narrowed. “You haven’t seen me, Ginger. But believe me when I tell you I’m just as strong as he is, and just as big. If it came to a fight—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Is it supposed to? Is that how an Alpha’s decided?”

He shrugged. “If the people and the elders can’t choose.”

“You’d
fight
Dane?”

He laughed again, but this time it was humorless. “To the death.”

She stared at him, horrified. The squawking of some gulls reached them, carried by the wind.

“See, Ginger… you’re human. You don’t understand. And I don’t think Dane understands anymore, either.”

“You’re wrong.” And he was, she was sure of it. “Dane’s an animal, too.”

He smiled, tickled. “Are you defending him?”

“I’m… just saying.”

“Yeah? Fess up, Ginj… d’you belong to him? You can tell me. Seriously.”

“No!” Her voice was so loud that some white-fronted geese that had set down on the edge of their overlook took off again with irritated honks.

Hunter laughed, a real laugh, deep and pleasant; it made her pulse speed up. “Okay, alright. I believe you. I wouldn’t want to be his woman, either.”

She rolled her eyes. In silence, they watched the water rolling in the strait.

“Hey, Hunter, why don’t you have a problem with me? You and Catríona? It seems like almost everyone else on this island does.”

His look was soft. “Why would I have a problem with you, Ginger? I’m not a fucking monster. You’re just an innocent girl.”

The sun was truly westering now; it cast some pale bronze light on the greying sea. She swallowed. “I should get back.”

“Back to Dane?” His eyes were sharp.

“Yeah, back to Dane.”

“Okay.” Hunter stood. “I’ll take you to the edge of his territory.”

Dane still wasn’t back when she was, at dusk; to burn off the nervous energy, she made dinner. When he did arrive, around seven, it was ready.

“You cooked?” he asked, surprised.

“Yeah. I hope you didn’t already eat.”

“What is it?” He slung his fleece off on one of the island bar stools.

“Mushroom-and-salmon omelets.” She licked a finger. “Okay?”

“Excellent.” But his gold gaze was too intent, too fixed. “You went out today, Ginger.”

“Who told you? Everyone?”

“Ginger… it’s not that you’re a prisoner. I’m just trying to protect you.”

“I know.” She did believe that. “But I can’t just—sit in your bedroom, waiting to hear what happens.”

He sighed. Came up behind her, where she stood by the stove. And—her heart shot into her throat—put his hands on her slender waist. Squeezed.

“You smell like the sea. And the woods.” His voice was low. “And—Beaumont. What did he have to say for himself?”

“Not… not much.” It was hard to talk; being this close to him was dizzying. He’d never, ever touched her like this, and she’d always, always wanted him to. Now that he finally was, she wanted
more
of it. Why couldn’t he slide his hands up… just a little higher… and cup her breasts? Her nipples hardened.

Or maybe he could slide his hands down… along the curve of her hips… and one could slip in front and—

“He’s dangerous, Ginger.”

“How?” She was wet. Could he smell that? Her face burned.

“He’s feral.”

Maybe that was true. Hadn’t Hunter said something like that himself?
I live in the wilderness. I’m an animal.
But he hadn’t hurt her. All he’d done was bring her out to look at the sea, and talk to her. He’d been—kind. “You’re all feral.”

“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.

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.”

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.