Alphas in the Wild (7 page)

She shoved feebly at his chest. “But the birds. And the storm. And I’m supposed to be working.”

“We can’t do anything about the storm. Now that I’m looking for them with my power, I don’t feel the birds, not nearby anyway. And there’s not much work you can actually do right now.” He tightened his hands on her butt. “We won’t take too many clothes off. Please, darling. I’ve dreamed of doing more than kissing you since I was fifteen.”

Heat raced through her. Breath caught in her throat. Her nipples hardened where they pressed against his chest. All the moisture in her body headed straight for her nether regions because her mouth was suddenly dry with anticipation. She heard herself moan low in the back of her throat. He rocked his pelvis against her. Sandwiched between them, his cock twitched with what could only be need. She couldn’t wait. She wanted Tim with a desperation borne of years of denied need. Wanted to see all of him, touch him, taste him, and draw him into the empty, aching place deep inside her.

“I know you want me. I feel it in the energy dancing around you.” His voice was husky with passion. A hint of an Irish lilt had crept into it, making her feel as if she’d come home. Moira knew all about Irish brogues. Both her parents spoke the Irish version of Gaelic. And it had been her grandmother’s preferred language.

“Of course I want you. How could I not?” She cupped his face between her hands and ran her fingers down the stubbled lines of his cheeks and chin.

Understanding slammed her between the eyes. She’d always loved Tim beyond grace or reason. Something in him sang to her soul. She’d felt it since they were children. It hadn’t dimmed with the passage of time. If anything, the light within him that called to her burned even brighter than it ever had before.

He led her to one of the low cots lined against the sloping tent walls, sat, and wrapped his arms around her waist. The warmth of his breath seared her even through her clothing. He pulled off his gloves. They made a small, swishing noise as they hit the floor. Then he unfastened the belt, snaps, and zipper on her pants and storm pants. He closed his mouth over her belly button and lingered over it before working lower. She pushed at her clothing, eager to have it out of his way, but he made a grab for the fabric layers once they hit the tops of her thighs.

Tim stopped kissing her long enough to murmur, “This is all I need for now. It’s colder in here than you think.”

You couldn’t have proven that by her. Fire sprinted along her nerve endings. The swollen nub between her legs throbbed. All she could think about was pushing herself against his mouth and the fingers that had insinuated themselves into her pussy.

He licked and sucked, sending sparks of desire arcing through her. When he slid his fingers farther into her, Moira felt a climax spool deep in her core. He had to feel it too, from the tension in her muscles gripping his fingers. He shoved into her faster, and sucked hard on her clitoris. Spasms shook her. She heard herself screaming for him not to stop. To never stop.

Moira wasn’t sure if she collapsed on top of him on the narrow cot or if he drew her down next to him. Her legs were shaking, and there wasn’t enough air in the room. Snaking a hand between them, she curled it around his erection. It felt wonderful, thick and full of promise. He groaned and drove himself against her. She tugged off her gloves and fumbled with the zippers on his inner and outer pants.

Finally, his cock was in her hand, flesh against flesh. He thrust against her, breath coming fast. Even though she wanted him inside her as much as she’d ever wanted anything, Moira understood the wisdom of not getting undressed. If something happened and they had to move quickly, being half-naked could be lethal. She pumped her hand up and down his shaft and his cock swelled, on the verge of coming.

“Look at me,” he gasped. “I want to look into your eyes, into your soul, when I come.”

She met his gaze, shaken by the intimacy of the moment.

“Now,
mo ghrá
. Harder. Hold me harder.”

She tightened her fingers, and he exploded against her, crying her name again and again. Except it was the Gaelic pronunciation. His body heaved against hers one last time, then lay still.

The only sound in the tent was their ragged breathing as they clung to one another.

“Just think what we could do if we had a proper bed,” he murmured, his gaze still locked on hers.

She started to giggle.

The sound of ripping canvas froze the laughter in her throat and drove her to her feet, her heart beating furiously. Still fuzzy from her orgasm, she tugged at the zippers of her pants so they wouldn’t fall down. Then Tim was standing next to her, doing the same thing. He put an arm around her to stabilize her.

A raven’s head poked through a hole in the tent.

“Shit.” Moira dove for her gun and clicked the hammer back.

“I suppose we should count ourselves lucky it took them some time to break in here.” Tim glanced at her .357 magnum revolver. “What are you planning to do with that? Decimate the tent?”

“If I have to.”

Tim grabbed his staff. She did a double take. The intricately carved walking stick glowed with a bright, white light. Tim’s jaw was set in a hard line. Head high, he turned in a full circle, staff extended before him.

“Lying, cheating whore,” someone shouted from outside the tent. “You’re doing the same thing you’re divorcing me for.”

Tim looked at her. “Is that—?”

“Sounds like it, but I don’t have any idea how. He hates the backcountry. Wouldn’t have a clue how to get himself back here—or what to bring. The storm would’ve finished him off if he tried to follow me.”

“Ha! I did follow you. Wasn’t all that hard. That big pack of yours slows you down.”

I’m not losing my mind. That was the other set of footsteps I heard.

“If it was so easy, why didn’t you catch up?”

“Once I realized you weren’t alone, I got smart. There are many ways to travel.”

“I thought you were descended from all those generations of Indian scouts—the ones who braved ten feet of snow to hunt.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

Moira heard a tinny, discordant note in Ryan’s voice. Something clicked. Her ex wasn’t really out there, except as some sort of magical projection. And she’d bet her last buck his father was helping him.

“Did you tell Singing Bear what really happened?” she snarled.

Silence.

A different voice sounded in her mind.
“Maybe not. Why don’t you tell me? You don’t need words, daughter. Images will do.”

Tim tightened his arm around her. “Be careful. That one has real magic.”

“Yes, but he always liked me. Give me a minute.” She sent one image to her father-in-law. The one that had dogged her ever since she walked in on Ryan and his bimbo.

“Thank you. That is all I needed. You cannot lie when you send mind-pictures, and that one came from your soul.”
A hesitation, then,
“I am sorry, daughter.”

Muted squawks rose from outside the tent, barely distinguishable above the howl of the wind. She heard Ryan tell his father that she was a scheming, lying slut. Here she was fucking some man in the wilderness like he figured she’d done every other time she left on Park Service assignments...

Moira listened, horrified. How could she have spent ten minutes with the bitter, angry man spewing malicious crap about her—let alone almost a year?

“None of that could possibly be true.” Still holding his staff, Tim turned her toward him. His face held a drawn look, as if hearing Ryan’s accusations hurt him as much as it did her.

She shook her head. “No. Ryan was the only one in my bed for the few months we spent together. Actually, he’s the only man I’ve ever had sex with. Until what we just did.”

Tim closed his arms around her. She felt the staff, warm where it rested against her back.

“Thanks for believing in me.” Her voice was muffled against his shoulder. Incredulity vied with joy. Ryan had never believed anything she ever told him.

“Of course I believe in you,
mo ghrá
. I love you.”

She shook her head. “It’s just—”

“Hush. That part of your life is over. Let’s concentrate on getting ourselves out of here, so we can see what the next part looks like.”

“Why was your walking stick glowing?”

“It’s a magic staff. I didn’t understand why it wanted me to bring it along last night, but I do now.”

She let herself rest against him for just a moment, shutting out the reality of their predicament. Too much snow had fallen for them to just walk back over the pass, and the blizzard didn’t show any sign of letting up.

M
oira reluctantly, disentangled herself from the comfort of Tim’s arms. She went to the tent door and peeked through it. The storm hadn’t abated one whit, but the birds seemed to be gone, along with whatever projection Ryan had managed. She looked at her watch. Just past four.

“I need to radio headquarters.”

“I agree.” Tim gestured at the storm. “You’ve got eleven people out there. Some of them probably aren’t going to make it since they’re not back yet.”

No one would make it, including them, if it didn’t stop snowing, but Moira kept that thought to herself. There was no way a rescue chopper could fly in this weather.

“While I try to raise headquarters, could you check on the mules? They’re probably in a paddock just beyond the tents. Follow the line of tents. They’re pitched right next to one another. When you reach the end, you should find the mules. If you don’t, come back and we’ll look for them together.”

He nodded, finished refastening his clothing, put on his gloves, and slipped out the door. “I’ll check the other tents for Mitch and Jake while I’m at it,” floated back to her, garbled by the wind.

She pulled her satellite phone out of her pack. Despite her worries about her boss hounding her, she’d made a point of charging it before leaving home yesterday morning.

Something made her shiver. The sensation was so intense she looked over her shoulder, wondering if one of the birds had somehow gotten in without her noticing. She didn’t find any of the ravens, but invisible strands of hopelessness dragged at her. It reminded Moira of when her superstitious mother used to natter on about evil spirits discovering your gravesite—and desecrating it.

She closed her eyes, knowing what the bleak premonition meant. Ryan hadn’t given up. His father wouldn’t help him anymore, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t cast his own warped spells.

Moira forced herself to take a deep breath. And then another. She and Tim were probably safe for a while. It would take time for Ryan’s magic to recharge. At least she knew that much about how shamanistic castings worked.

Will we manage to get out of here before he tries to kill us again?

Because she didn’t have any answers, Moira concentrated on setting up her phone’s antenna to get a signal. She dialed as soon as she could.

“National Park Headquarters. Kings Canyon-Sequoia.”

The cheery sound of Betty’s voice almost brought tears to Moira’s eyes. “Betty. Moira, here. I’m at Baxter Lakes. Cannot locate any of the trail crew. Repeat. Cannot locate any of my crew. More than a foot of fresh snow has fallen, and it’s still snowing heavily. Visibility deteriorating, currently at ten feet or less. Requesting rescue operation.”

“Oh my God.” Betty’s gasp was so loud, Moira had to hold the phone away from her ear. She could picture the plump blonde with her long, red fingernails, her mouth curved into an
oh
of horror. “Right away, hon. I’ll get it called in right away. We were all worried about you. This freak storm just came out of nowhere. None of us were expecting it.”

“I have the solar charger, but it’s worthless without sun. I’m signing off to preserve my battery. And turning off the phone. Will turn it on from five minutes before six until five minutes after if someone needs to talk with me.”

“Roger. Understood.”

The line went dead. Moira didn’t know if the satellites had dropped the call—which they did with annoying frequency—or if Betty was so freaked out, she’d been in a rush to call Search and Rescue. Moira took care to turn off the phone and return it to its case. She tucked the whole mess deep in her pack where it might stay a little warmer. Cold was hell on battery life.

Wind rushed through the door as Tim came back inside. He looked rattled. “Didn’t find any people. There are four mules in the paddock. Five if you count the dead one.”

“What?” She shook her head hard. “It couldn’t have frozen to death. Not yet, anyway.”

“Looks like the birds pecked it to death. Opened up either the jugular or carotid. I didn’t get close enough to tell which. Not that familiar with equine physiology.”

She brushed past him, heading toward the door, but he caught her arm. “Uh-uh. Not a good idea. It’s pretty gory.”

She yanked her arm away and bent to pick up her gloves. “We need to free the other mules. The blood will draw every predator within a ten-mile radius. Mules are pretty resourceful, but they’re sitting ducks in that paddock. And I need to see if there’s more ammo for my gun in the supply tent. Looks like we’re going to need it.”

Tim set his mouth into a grim line. “Any chance there might be another weapon?”

“How long since you’ve shot one?”

“A long time, but I’m sure it will come back to me.”

“Can’t you use magic or something?” She pointed at the staff. No longer glowing, it just looked like polished hardwood, with something that might’ve been runic writing circling its girth.

He shrugged noncommittally. “I could, but the destructive side of power is so vast, it scares the crap out of me. That’s part of my problem with taking Liam’s place.”

Despite the desperation of their situation, something like a small sun bloomed in her heart. Tim was finally talking with her. He wasn’t hiding behind a wall anymore. “Thanks for trusting me.”

“You’re welcome. It’s long overdue.”

She bit on her lower lip, chewing on chapped skin. “Back to your question about other weapons, you probably know they’re not legal in national parks. Rangers are the only ones allowed to carry them. Every once in a while, though, one of the crew sneaks something in.”