Rescued & Ravished: An Alpha's Conquest (A Paranormal Ménage Romance) (12 page)

Raw power and raw desire chased through his veins. He’d never felt like such an
animal
. He needed to fight as much as he needed to mate. Tomorrow morning couldn’t come soon enough.

Exhausted with longing, exhausted with physical hungers, he closed his eyes.

Harper was almost done with their lunch—well, early dinner. She’d folded goat cheese, parsley, and onion into the eggs, whisking everything together until the scramble was light and foamy. She’d also thrown together a salad of greens from the random assortment of garden pickings he had: leafy spinach, chicory, beet greens, and tumble mustard, with homemade garlic dressing.

Hudson had watched her the whole time, arms folded and leaning against the wall. She could feel his eyes running over her body as often as they settled on her hands and what she was making.

“Are you married?” he asked as she was plating the food.

“Married?” That surprised her. She blinked at him with big blue eyes. “No. Should I be? Why do you ask?”

“No reason,” he said, shrugging. “That spread looks good.”

“Looks are one thing,” she said, setting out the table; he filled a couple glasses with water from a pitcher. “Taste is another. Try it before you render any judgment.”

They sat down and he tried the eggs immediately.

“’S’good, girl. Real good.”

“Glad to hear it.” She tried a forkful. Immodestly, privately, she agreed with him: the eggs
were
good. “Told you I liked to cook.”

“Damn right, you do. You zenned out, girl, and that’s the truth. Never seen you so calm—or so pretty.” His food was disappearing rapidly. “It was nice to watch.”

She colored slightly.

“Tell me, Harper: you got family waiting for you? Be honest.”

She colored deeper. “I have family.”
A distant aunt who forgets my birthday. And my existence.

“Yeah?” He took a swig of water, watching her. “Okay.”

“Why?”

He stared at her. “I just need to know.”

She shook her head, swallowing some salad. “I don’t know what to make of you, Hud. You know that, right?”

He smiled. “No one really does. So you got company there.”

“You mean your clan? I doubt they have to wonder whether they should be afraid of you, like I do,” she said seriously. A woodpecker drummed somewhere outside.

“You only have to be afraid of me if you’re here to hurt us.”

“Well, what if you peg me wrong?”

The gold in his eyes flickered hot. “I doubt I will, Harper. I doubt I will.”

She got a chill.

Chance was dreaming again. Dreaming of
her
.

They were in the same meadow he was in now, but it was morning—fresh, early morning—not afternoon. The sunlight lit up her blue eyes like tropical water. Her eyelashes and her hair were as yellow as gold.

“I’m supposed to be yours,” Dream Harper whispered in a low, throaty voice. “And you’re supposed to be mine.”

He touched her soft, lovely face, then ran a hand through her full, wavy hair. She was truly his vision of heaven.

“I know,” he murmured in the dream. And he did know. He’d known that even before he first saw her. He’d known it since he wasn’t sure when. Forever? “You’re my mate.”

“Almost.” She kissed him, and she tasted just like she smelled, like sun-warmed peaches. “I almost am.”

“You will be,” he breathed against her warm, sweet mouth. His hands gripped her soft, blemishless hips, squeezing them almost hard enough to leave bruises. “I’ll win you.”

“It’s not just you I belong to.” She nipped his bottom lip.

“What does that mean, baby?”

“Oh, Chance.” She bit his lip harder. “Do you love me?”

“For a long time now.”

“Then take me.”

And he did. But he knew, on some level, that it was only a dream.

He knew that in real life it would be richer, sweeter, and more satisfying. That it would be better. And that was what he needed more than anything.

Harper had told him that she was dirty, and tired of being dirty. She hadn’t bathed since the night she’d tried to run for it, and that was days ago. She still smelled like sweat and moonshine and lantern oil and balsam pine—and she needed to wash.

“Got a shower, down the hill,” Hud had grunted. “Gravity shower.”

So they’d gone down to it.

It was an incredibly simple set-up: just three caulked-up scrap-wood walls, a primitive showerhead, and a dirt floor. She couldn’t even call it a hut because it was open to the air on one side. There were earwigs, there was moss, there was birdsong—it was a true outdoorsmen’s shower. She felt exposed.

“Don’t try and run,” he said from the other side the wall. “I’ll catch you.”

“I’m not running off naked with no supplies,” she said flatly, tossing her dirty nightdress up over the wall. “I
am
actually smarter than that. This water is going to be freezing, isn’t it?”

“You can take it.”

She wanted to be irritated, but there was something weirdly flattering in him saying that. “Well… yeah. Is this the soap?”

“Sure is. Made it just a few months ago.”

“From what?”

“Goat’s tallow and wood ashes. Don’t be scared. It works.”

It wasn’t like she had a choice. They probably didn’t sell a lot of L’Occitane to insane bear hillbillies in the backwoods. But that was fine. She could take it, like he said.

She pulled the cord. Iceberg-cold water splashed down onto her head, and she bit back a shriek.

There’s cold and then there’s vacuum-of-space-cold! Fuck!

She showered as fast as she knew how, partly because the water was so frigid and partly because she felt odd with him waiting right there.

“Done?” he called after a few minutes.

“I guess.” She ran her hands through her wet, ash-smelling hair. Reaching for her nightdress, she realized it wasn’t there: there was a towel there instead, hanging over the lip of the wall. “Is this for me?”

“No, I put it there for you to look at. Nothing more.”

“Seriously?”

“No! Come on, girl. That was a joke.”

“Forgive me if I’m not always sure when my hatchet-wielding captors are kidding.”

“I seem to remember you coming at me with a hatchet in earnest, girl.”

“Yeah, well. That did happen, huh?”

She yanked the towel down and wiped herself off. The air was getting cool and smoky. Evening was starting. He grumbled something.

“What?”

“I’ve got… hell, I brought a clean shirt. One of mine—for you. It’ll cover you well enough.”

“You did? Just a shirt? No pants?”

“Pants? Hell, girl, with hips like yours? What do I have that’ll fit those curves? Just put the shirt on. It’s not like I’m gonna flip it up. The nightgown’s filthy.”

He flung a plaid shirt over the side of the shower, and she pulled it down. It smelled like him; she couldn’t resist pressing it to her face, closing her eyes, and inhaling. Why did he have to smell so good? Why did his scent make her wet between her legs?

“Dressed?”

“No! Wait!” She pulled on the shirt. He was right, it covered her decently enough. Decently enough to sleep in, anyway. She peered around the corner of the shower wall.

“Now?” He had his hands on his hips, waiting for her.

God, he’s handsome. Those shoulders alone.

“Yeah. I’m dressed, I guess.” She ducked around the side of the wall; his eyes shot to what he could see of her luscious thighs, then up again. “If you can call this dressed.”

“Well, c’mon. Let’s go inside.” He held out a hand to help her back up the hill. She glanced down at her wet feet, realizing she might slip without help, and took his hand. His skin was hot and rough and she couldn’t resist imagining those calloused fingers sliding up the back of her neck to pull her hair and—

“Mind the ground, girl. Poison ivy, you know?”

It was nighttime. Insects chorused in the dark woods outside. All the cabin windows were closed, the fire was going, and she was folded into Hudson’s bed.

He came and sat on the edge, handing her a mug.

“What is this?”

“A toxic brew.” He cracked half a smile. “It’s hot cider. Drink it.”

She took the mug, sitting up cross-legged under the covers. He drew the quilt up a little higher over her.

“I’m guessing you didn’t make that, huh?”

“Make what? The cider? Yes, I did.”

“The quilt.”

“Oh.” A shadow passed over his face. “No. I didn’t. It’s something I brought with me from the States.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up anything painful.”

“It’s fine. Look at you, having sympathy for the devil.” The firelight glittered in his dark, faintly amused eyes. “I didn’t think a human could feel that way about anything that happened to us.”

“Why not? Murder is a serious thing.”

“Or see it as murder.” He put a hand on one of her covered-up knees. “Look at the quilt, Harper. It tells my family history.”

She looked down. There were rows and rows of folk-arty bears, Bayeux Tapestry style, going down to its end. She couldn’t tell what each individual bear was doing—every scene was different—but she could make out castles and ships and pioneer forts.

“Obviously, the quilt’s not from the late Ice Age,” he said, gesturing to the bottom, “but that’s where the story starts. We were always like this, see. Always. Even before history began, we were like this.”

“So when is it actually from? The quilt?”

He shrugged. “Sometime in the 1830s. A great-great-great-and-so-on-aunt started it. It’s got everything about our clan from the Dark Ages through the early aughts. That’s when it stops, because they were all killed around then. 2003.”

“I really am sorry,” she said, meaning it. She could see the pain and the loneliness on his face, and the lingering bitterness, too. “I really am.”

“Me too.” He rubbed his face. “But that’s enough melancholy out of me. Drink up and go to sleep.”

She glanced down at the mug, then thrust it out at him. He raised an eyebrow.

“You first.”

“God, are you still suspicious, girl? Give it here.” He took it and downed half in a swig, then handed it back. “See? Not poison. Drink up.”

She swallowed the rest in one hit. It was warm and sweet, with a slightly oaky tingle.
Alcoholic for sure.

“Was that hard cider? It was!”

“Not too hard. Just enough to help you sleep.”

She put the empty mug on the bedside table, watching him.

“You’re not so bad, Hudson.”

“Whoa, there… don’t go crazy. Restrain that wild praise.” He smiled, a real smile. It was more intoxicating than the cider.

Impulsively—driven by some need, some certainty she couldn’t articulate—she leaned forward and kissed him. He tasted like the cider, but better. Hotter. Saltier.

For a minute he kissed her back, and it was delicious bliss. But then he stopped.

“Ah, shit, Harper,” he growled against her mouth. She put her hand on his rough, unshaven cheek; he gripped her wrist, like he was going to pull her arm down, but then he didn’t. He just held on, squeezing her. “You’re a beautiful girl. Too beautiful.”

“Are you seriously stopping me?” she whispered, kissing him again.

“Trying to.” He half-kissed her back, obviously trying to restrain himself, trying not to give in.

“Isn’t it your Season?”
Am I seriously that unappealing? Like, unappealing enough that he can shake me off when he’s in rut?

“I can’t feel the Season.”

“What? How?”

He smiled slightly. “’Cause I’m hopped up on hops, Harp. Ivy gave it to me in a tea.”

“Hops? The plant? What’s it do?”

“Kills libido. Or… well… it’s s’posed to kill libido.” He swallowed. “It worked, until now. Why are you kissing me, girl?”

She wasn’t wholly sure. “I wanted to. I don’t know. It doesn’t feel wrong, does it?”

“No.” He frowned, the gold in his eyes the color of yellow wildfire. “It sure doesn’t. Damn.”

She nuzzled his stubbled neck, certain and uncertain at once that she should be doing this. But there was no way she could stop now.

He ran his hand through her still-damp hair, grunting when she pressed her teeth teasingly into his throat.

“I’ll take you out,” he murmured thickly.

“Out?” She loved the smell of his skin.

“Out. Away from here. Back to Banff.” He groaned when she bit him harder. “Hell, the clan keeps a few jeeps garaged down in town for emergencies. I can drive you all the way to…
shit
, that’s good… to Calgary.”

She looked up at him. “Why?”

“Why would I do that, you mean?”

“Mm-hmm. I mean… the elders.”
I shouldn’t argue with him about this. He’s offering me an escape! Come on, Harper, shut up! Just say yes!

But she didn’t want him to lose his place here just for her sake. What if the Alpha and elders got so angry that they exiled Hud, forcing him to go wandering alone again?

“It would work itself out.” His thumb traced her ear. “You
are
just a girl, aren’t you? I can smell it on you. I know it’s true now.”

“You can? What do you smell?”

“Softness. Honesty.”

“Those aren’t scents.” Her eyes closed as he squeezed the back of her neck, possessively, pleasurably.

“They are, if you’ve got the power to smell ‘em. They’re kinda… milk-smelling. And that’s all you smell like, along with your natural scent, ‘course.” He kissed the side of her mouth. “God, Harper, I want you. I know it’s wrong, I know that. But I can’t—”

“Why is it wrong?” she managed, her underwear wet. Giving herself to him felt impossibly, meltingly right and impossibly, vitally important. “I want you, too. I really do. Bad.”

“You’re not one of us. We don’t tumble with human girls.” He growled, obviously tempted by her despite himself. “Generally speaking.”

“I’ll break the rules if you will.” There was an ache between her hips.

“We terrify you people. You think we’re monsters. Why would you couple with a monster, Harp? A bear?”

“You’re not a bear. You’re a man.”

“I’m both.”

She wriggled out from under the covers, into his lap. He gripped her waist through the oversized shirt of his she wore.