Rescued & Ravished: An Alpha's Conquest (A Paranormal Ménage Romance) (44 page)

Miss Grizzly
turned, slowly, in the water; Ginger got a long, lingering view of the stony, driftwood-choked coastline of their island. Then, suddenly, the boat found its speed and cut away through the wave caps, bringing her back to the place on Earth she least wanted to be—and closer to the man she thought she least wanted to see.

Storm Isle.

And Dane.

Taming Two Bears

(Alphas of Storm Isle: Part 5)

By Sophie Chevalier

She knew something was wrong as soon as Storm Isle came into view.

There was smoke.

And there was fire.

The coastline was burning.

Hot tongues of flame shot up behind black pines, sloughing thick smoke into the air. A smoking spruce toppled crashingly into the waters of the strait. She was so shocked that for a long, sweaty moment, all she could do was grip
Miss Grizzly
’s railing and stare.

Storm Isle is on fire.

“Hunter!” she yelled up finally, toward the wheelhouse.

“Ginger, get up here!” he shouted back from where he was piloting the gillnetter. His voice was tight, tense—angry.

She ran across the deck and swung up into the wheelhouse. Crushing herself right up against the skipper’s chair, she gripped its tatty, peeled-leather back and put a hand on his shoulder—being close to him calmed her down, a little.

As the boat came around the island’s side, they could see more fire: red, fast, hungry fire, eating through the islet’s forest. The outlines of cabins were burning close to the shoreline, sending up showers of sparks.

“Oh my God. Hunter, what’s happening? What’s—”

“I dunno, baby.” His jaw was tight. “I have no idea.”

She stared out the windows, watching the way the island was smoking and flaming. It made her think of a big, burning pie pan.

“Damn,” he muttered. They were sailing by the pier now. It was on fire, its timbers dropping like black matchsticks into the steaming water.

“Why didn’t we see the smoke before? On our island?” Ginger asked, shocked deep. Was Cat still alive to take her jacket back? Was Dane still alive to see her? Was he alive, or was he dead?

Dead.

“The wind,” he said, trying to watch both his instruments and the coast. “It’s been southerly for days. It blew all this smoke away from us… so we never saw it…”

“What’s
happening
?” she pressed. “It’s winter. It’s damp. This can’t be natural.”

“No. It’s not. Flash fires don’t …ah, shit. There’s my fucking cabin.” He gestured resignedly toward a plot of land engulfed completely in flame. “Could be worse, I guess. I could’ve been in there.”

“Maybe someone started it? Accidentally?” The sight of hemlocks and firs standing tall and dark against red sheets of flame chilled her to the core, stiffened her with fear. She felt like her stomach was full of ice.

“Or on purpose,” he said darkly. “Hang tight, baby. I’m gonna take us to Riona’s inlet.”

“Her inlet? Where is that?
What
is that?”

“Exactly what it sounds like. I’ve got a gut feeling this was no act of nature, and if it’s what I think, then Riona’s inlet is right where we should be.”

She had the same feeling—that this wasn’t natural, that it was intentional. It made her sick.

What if Dane’s dead, and he died thinking I hate him?

She thought she might have to go and throw up over the side of the boat.

Hunter had to anchor far off from Riona’s inlet. When they rowed ashore, he told her quietly that they were “going to hoof it now.”

This was a barer and rougher side of the island than she’d seen before: it was all steep, pitted rock faces, topped with windblown scrub and greeting a violent sea. She and Hunter had to shimmy between gaps and cracks in the lunar landscape of coastal rock, and she cut herself more than once on sharp edges of stone.

Finally they reached the inlet: it was walled in cliffs of rock, inaccessible except for the footpath they’d taken—its arms of stone only gaped out on the water, about fifteen meters from shore, and the waves were too rough to sail through that natural gate.

She followed Hunter along a curved beach of fawn-colored sand, one shadowed by the sea cliffs. Birds screamed overhead, disturbed by the inland fire.

“This is Riona’s?” she asked loudly, over the crash and hiss of the waves. “All this? This whole… cove?”

“Shh, Ginger. I don’t know if we…”

“
Halt where you are
!”

Ginger jumped and threw up her hands—automatically—at the sight of gun barrels. Hunter growled.

“It’s me, Dunahan, you fucking moron. I didn’t have any part in whatever wickedness was done here. Been gone for weeks. You seen me? No. You haven’t. Use that sad thing you call a brain.”

The couple of tired-looking men who’d popped out from behind the rocks slowly lowered their rifles.

“Hunter… shit, brother, we thought you were dead! We thought he’d killed you! But you were with this girl the whole time? Where? And why?”

“I have a name,” Ginger heard herself say loudly. “It’s not
That Girl.
”

Hunter reached behind him and gripped her wrist, dragging her forward. “Damn right she has a name. Remember, brothers, this girl’s one of us now.”

“Sorry, sister,” Dunahan said, and to Ginger’s surprise, he met her eyes and meant it. “What do they call you, again?”

“Ginger. Ginger Graham.”

“Alright, sister Ginger. Look, you two follow me.” His face was slack and exhausted—and Ginger saw a shadow of fear there, too. “Riona will want to talk to you.”

There were a series of caves in the center of the cove; the largest one was crowded with people, sleeping bags, camping generators, tents, tussling children, dogs, and iceboxes. Fishing gear was stacked by the mouth, along with a mess of boots; she could smell trout, bass, and bait on the air.

“This is bad,” Hunter murmured.

It certainly looked bad to her. The shifters in the cave seemed like refugees.

“Hunter!
Ginger
!”

Ginger would have recognized Cat’s voice anywhere. Sure enough, she exploded out of nowhere to clench Ginger in a bone-breaking hug. The strength of the brown bear was just below the surface of Cat’s soft, pale skin.

“Where have you been?” she asked, her voice more relieved—painfully relieved—than angry. “We had no idea. No one knew. Dane said you were with Hunter—you
were
with him, weren’t you?—but no one
knew
—I didn’t
know
—we thought you might be dead, Ginger, we were so scared—”

“You were?” Ginger gasped, trying to get Cat’s squeezing arms off her middle. It was like disengaging from a safety lock. “I’m sorry I scared you, Cat.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Cat sighed, her grip slackening; Ginger took a quick, deep breath. “I know you were confused… mixed up… I was just so worried. And then, with everything that’s happened—”

“Yeah, about that. What’s happened, exactly?” Hunter cut in, arms folded.

Cat shot him a sharp, startled look, like she’d only just noticed him. “Hunter.”

“Last I checked.”

Cat rolled her eyes. Ginger couldn’t help but notice the dark circles under them. “You’re a riot, Hunter. You should do Letterman.”

“Brothers, sisters, Riona’s waiting,” Dunahan put in, sounding exhausted. “Cat, you could come along, I bet. You’re close with the lady.”

“Yes, come, Cat,” Ginger said, closing a hand on Cat’s jacketed arm. “I want to hear from you what’s going on, too.”

“I—I don’t know,” Cat said slowly. “Eimhir’s alone with the cubs if I skive off. Because the men are all inland, looking for…” But she trailed off.

“Please?” Ginger pressed, squeezing her arm. “Just for a few minutes.”

Cat nodded slowly. “Okay. But Ginger, first, promise me—you’re really alright?”

“I’m fine.” More than fine. She’d finally learned to control her new self…well, mostly. Thanks to Hunter. “Let’s go.”

Riona had a small cave for her own, close to the tideline of the surf. A driftwood-and-sea-charcoal fire was burning inside, throwing hot light on the rock walls.

Some of the people seated around it were old, cloaked, and sinewy—elders, Ginger guessed. Others were strong and muscular, smack in their prime. It looked like the little group had been going over maps and sea charts.

Dunahan didn’t even need to announce them. Riona saw the little party approaching, and she stood, glided away from the fire, and came to them at the cave mouth. A grizzled man, elderly but powerful, limped out behind her leaning on a staff. Dunahan melted away.

“Hunter,” Riona said placidly. “You have been away.”

“I’m sorry,” he said seriously. Ginger glanced at him.

“Don’t apologize.” Riona waved his words off. “This changeling you love had need of you.”

“Hardly a changeling anymore,” Hunter said, with a hint of pride. “She’s a real bear now.”

“Hmm.” The old, strong-looking man at Riona’s shoulder grunted, then stroked his beard. “We’ll see. The girl still smells fresh—and human.”

Did she? What did it even mean to
smell
human? The humans she’d smelt on Saltspring had smelled like their soaps and their polyester clothes and their hair creams. Did she smell like that?

“Peace, Torin,” Riona said calmly. “If Hunter says she’s a sow, she’s a sow.”

“What happened here, Riona?” Hunter asked, one of his hands settling on Ginger’s shoulder. She liked the strength of it. Liked the heat of it, even through the suede of her coat.

“Can’t you guess, boy?” Torin growled. “It’s that damn dog-hearted mischief-maker.
Gunnar
.”

“He did this?” Ginger asked, as shocked as she was unsurprised. “Why would he burn this island? It’s a bear island.”

“It’s not quite like that—like he planned to burn everything,” Cat said quietly, glancing at the two elders as she spoke. “He fired Dane’s cabin first.”

“
What
?” Ginger asked, sharp as cut glass. “Where’s Dane? Where’s—”

“He lives,” Torin interrupted briskly. “Mostly whole.”

“
Mostly
?” Ginger was horrified.

“What Gunnar started here will quickly become a war that will engulf the clans,” Riona said, her cool voice silencing them all. “He has convinced his people that those of us who do not share their values or their view of the future weaken our race. They think we must be converted by force—or purged.”

“What values?” Ginger asked, bristling. “What future?”

“You know what values, and what future,” Hunter said, and she heard the animal in his voice. “They hate humans and they hate the human world. They hate shifters who won’t fall in line with their fantasy of domination over humans.” He snorted; Ginger saw his eyes flash gold. “It’s all just a platform for Gunnar, that’s what it is. A means for him to raise himself up as some kind of—shit, I don’t know, visionary king.”

“He’s too weak to win a traditional contest for Alpha,” Cat explained quickly. “So he poisoned peoples’ minds and got them to believe that we need the old laws and the old ways to be strong. You know what the old laws are like, Ginger.”

“Sure,” she said tightly. “They almost killed me.”

“They did,” Riona agreed evenly. “He would like to finish the job.”

“You embarrassed him, Ginger,” Cat said quietly. She gripped the elbow of Ginger’s coat. “His rivals protected you and he couldn’t get to you. Then he wanted you and you rejected him. Then he lied that you were dead and then you showed up at that clanmeet,
alive
. And you’re a symbol.”

“A symbol? Of what?” she asked, taken aback.
Of Snuggies? Of always getting whipped cream on your coffee? Of losing all your hairbands?

“A new world,” Hunter said shortly. “You were human—a
condemned
human—and now you’re a shifter. Dane made you, and he’s as integrated into human society as a bear can get, isn’t he? You represent
coexistence
.” Briefly, his hand found its way to the curve of her hip; he squeezed. “You’re everything that’s threatening to Gunnar, Ginj. You’re an example of how we can live alongside the wider world, rather than fighting it—and of how we can choose to move past our stale old laws. We didn’t execute you. A bear loved you and he saved you and now you’re one of us. He didn’t choose violence and he didn’t follow Draconian rules about ‘trespass’ or ‘purity in coupling.’ Why should he have, and why should we? It’s not like we’re going to take over the world by murdering girls from Seattle.”

“And you’re a symbol of his humiliation,” Cat said cannily. “He talked about how you should die, but he wanted to mate you. You fought him off and you chose his rival. His pride’s hurt.”

“I don’t think I like being a symbol,” Ginger said stiffly. “And I haven’t
chosen
anyone, just for your informa—”

“Gunnar’s made war here,” Riona cut in. “That’s why our island burns. He attacked Dane first, but his people woke other fires and started other fights.”

“We need to extinguish this spark, here and now, before it catches the wind and chars the continent,” Torin said darkly. “Gunnar must die. We elders have decided.”

“What about his people?” Hunter asked, frowning.

“Use your judgment,” Torin growled, his eyes narrowing. “But I won’t shed a tear if they share his fate. Spare them if you think they merit it, but look around you, boy. They lit the woods on fire.”

“Our cabin’s gone,” Cat whispered to Ginger. “Most cabins are. At least it wasn’t really our home.”

“Still,” Ginger murmured back. “It was yours.”
And now it’s gone.

“What can I do?” Hunter asked darkly. Ginger could sense a kind of heat coming off him. A powerful, controlled male anger.

“Kill him,” Torin said bluntly.

“Come inside,” Riona said, more civilly, “and we’ll discuss where the fighting has been.” Her eyes strayed briefly to Ginger and Cat. “Daughters, go and rest.”

“What? But I—”

Cat was tugging her away already, silencing Ginger.

“I don’t need to rest,” Ginger protested. “I want to know what’s happening, I—
Hunter
—”

“I’ll come and find you soon, baby,” he said, sounding distracted, although the look he shot her was soft. “Wait for me.”