Rescued & Ravished: An Alpha's Conquest (A Paranormal Ménage Romance) (17 page)

She’d never had such satisfying sex.

“Oh, baby,” Chance gasped, clenching a fist in her sweat-damp hair. “We’re yours.”

And I’m theirs.

After a long, powerful coupling, Hudson came, and Chance came, and she came, too, her mouth and sex overflowing. If this was what she had to look forward to in this life—pleasure, wildness, satisfaction,
love—
then she’d made the right decision to leave her old one behind forever.

She was part of a shifter’s triad, and she was never going back.

It was a cold, glorious fall. The broadleaf trees burst into hot colors, the winds changed, and the wildflowers faded away. The range was getting ready for winter.

The first morning frost had come. Harper wore Chance’s jacket to check on the cabin garden she’d started. Everything looked alright after its autumn harvesting and pruning.

“Harper!” Ivy waved from the edge of the woods. Harper gestured her over. “I brought you some coneflower tincture. It’ll be good for winter colds.”

“Thanks, Ivy. You’re
sure
you people don’t hibernate?”

Ivy laughed. The collar of her pilled-up shearling jacket was turned up. “I’m very sure. Have you foreseen anything? About the winter?”

“Not really. I’ve dreamed about… well.” Harper shifted, thinking. “Fire, sort of, but just hearthfire. It’s cozy. I dreamed about snow, too, but not a storm. Just pretty snow. If I had to guess, I’d say the winter will be mild and go fine for the clan.”

“Hazel told me the same thing this morning,” said Ivy, digging the coneflower mixture out of her satchel bag. “I gave her some of this too. Here—yours. I’m glad to hear that, especially since you’re never wrong.”

“Yeah, well,” said Harper, a little embarrassed and a little pleased. “There’s a first time for everything.”

“Mm-hmm. That there is.” Ivy’s smile grew a little more mischievous. “Speaking of first times for everything, how are you holding up?”

“It doesn’t feel like much yet,” Harper answered, flushed.

“Well, give it another two weeks. Then we can start letting everyone know that you’re in
the family way
.”

“Stop! Shhh!”

“Who’s around but me? And I already know!”

“Ivy!”

“What? It’s a happy thing, ain’t it? And bound to happen, the way you were carrying on with your mates.” She trailed off, meaningfully. “You’ll be a wonderful mother, Harper. First litters are always a little overwhelming, but you’ll learn, and the whole clan will be here to help you.”

In truth, Harper had already felt the first stirrings of new life inside her. But it was too exciting to talk about yet. “I’m going into town today. D’you want anything?”

“What are you going for?”

“Just some necessities. I want to check our stocks, too.” Harper had seen no reason to abandon her professional skills. She was at Banff town twice a month to check on the portfolio she’d built for the clan. It was a sizable asset already, bringing in a very respectable income.

“Lord knows I don’t understand stocks, but I understand that money’s got its uses,” said Ivy, appreciatively. “Who’s taking you down?”

“Hud.”

“He’ll be happy. Chance’s had you all week.”

“You think spending time with this vexing creature makes me happy?” Hud asked, popping up behind Harper and throwing his arm around her shoulders. He’d just come out of the woods, a crossbow slung over his back. “She’s almost as much of a headache as you are, Ivy.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Says the most irritating man this clan has ever known. Are you taking horses to town?”

“Yeah,” Hud said, squeezing Harper close. “Aspen’s lending us a couple.”

“Sounds nice. Get me some candy,” Ivy said, her eyes twinkling. “Chocolate.”

“Come on, baby,” Hud said, speaking into Harper’s thick blonde hair now. “Let’s start off to Aspen’s. We gotta saddle up and leave.”

“Wait,” Harper said, wriggling out of his warm, strong grip. “Let me just tell Chance goodbye.”

“Sure,” Hud said, letting her go.

She left him to chat with Ivy, and hurried back up the newly replaced porch stairs of Chance’s cabin. She pulled open the door, popped in, and strode over to their bed where Chance was sleeping late. The crackle from the woodstove and the low-burning lantern on the table made it feel cozy inside.

“Chance, I’m going,” she whispered, sliding up against him.

“To town?” he asked groggily. Turning over, he threw an arm over her, and she melted for a moment into the comfortable heat of the bed and his body.

“Mm-hmm.”

“You have fun.”

“Mm-hmm. Do you want anything?”

“You, back.”

“Anything
material
?”

“Some screws… I already told Hud what kind, though.”

“Okay.” She sat up on an elbow to kiss him on his warm, dry mouth. “Be back in a couple of days. Love you.”

His gold eyes brightened and he stroked some hair behind her ear. “Love you too, darlin’.”

She crawled out of the bed and left for the porch. By the time she reached Hud again and was back in his jacketed arms, there was the
bang
of the cabin door. They glanced back to see Chance standing on the deck. He raised a hand in a wave.

Hud, Ivy, and Harper waved back. The bonding ceremony had worked. Hud and Chance were friends again, and she was loved by both of them. It surprised her and pleased her—pleased her deeply—how well their triad worked. She was happy.

“I’m gonna go force him to make me breakfast,” said Ivy, winking. “You two go on.”

“Bye, Ivy,” Harper said, letting Hud guide her toward the wood track. “I’ll get you chocolate.”

“I’ll get you squat,” Hud called to Ivy teasingly.

They walked off into the woods. The firs were lacquered in a thin layer of frost and the fallen needles underfoot crunched like glass. It was a beautiful morning.

“I love you,” Harper said, closing her hand on the front of Hud’s jacket.

He tightened his arm around her. “Well, don’t think that I don’t love you.”

“Nah?”

“Nah.” He kissed her.

It was a gorgeous morning in the Rockies, her home, and she was mated.

She was the luckiest girl alive.

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Alphas of Storm Isle

Werebear Shifter Menage Romance

(Parts 1-5)

By Sophie Chevalier

Copyright 2015 © Enamored Ink

Courting Rivals

(Alphas of Storm Isle: Part 1)

By Sophie Chevalier

The old man and old woman sat far back from the shore, at the fringe of the dense forest. They were listening to the waves crash, the shorebirds chatter, and the western wind roar.

Drift logs lined the beach; flocks of excited black turnstones hopped among the sea-battered sandstone rocks; double-crested cormorants watched the rough ocean closely, spreading their wings to dry in the sun. It was early winter, and cold on the islands.

Someone was coming up the beach, leaning on an ash staff. The man and woman traded a look.

“Riona,” the stranger said ingratiatingly, when he had come close enough; he was a grey-haired man, although not very old, and one of his eyes was white. “Torin. Respected elders.”

Torin grunted; he was white-bearded, but still powerfully built. Riona—handsome, and willowy as a girl, even given her age—said nothing. Both wore shag cloaks.

“I know you do not support my claim,” the stranger wheedled, smiling an unpleasant smile. “You would prefer MacAlister. Or even Beaumont. I know.”

“Begone, Gunnar,” Torin snapped. “You spoil a fine morning.”

“But I ask you: how can a man who spends his life in a human city, doing human business, lead us?”

“We have had this discussion,” Riona said, quietly and coolly.

“Furthermore, I ask: how can an unmated man lead us? Would you have no woman at his side, Riona? No woman to be Alpha with her man?”

“I told you to leave,” Torin growled, bristling; gold flashed in his rheumy eyes.

“I just wanted to remind you of his deficiencies, respected elders. I have spent my life among the clans, deep in the wilderness—where we belong. I am fit to lead. I know our affairs.”

“You have no mate, either,” Riona pointed out, her face stony.

“Would any woman have him?” Torin muttered.

“One will!” the man declared. “I will find a mate first. Before MacAlister. Before Beaumont. And then you will have no grounds to dispute my suit. I will find a woman, a shrewd and beautiful woman, a fine woman, and I will be Alpha. I will find a woman, a mate, and then I will be fittest to lead us—the most manful, the most established, the most responsible. Even you two won’t deny it.”

They stared at him, leadenly.

Suddenly, Torin leapt to his feet, rose his arms, and roared—like an animal, scattering birds up and down the beach—

“Come back when you
have
this woman!”

Ginger had silenced her alarm an hour ago, more to avoid the day than to keep sleeping. But now it was going off again—loud, staccato
breep breep breep
s—the sun was streaming in through her room curtains, and the smell of French vanilla coffee was filling the apartment. That meant Laila was up. It was time for her to get up too.

Stiffly, reluctantly, she sat up and stretched. Her back cracked in several places.

“Ugh. Like fishbones,” she muttered, sore.

Throwing off her pilled, scuzzy covers, she crossed the room, opened her door, and padded into the kitchen.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” Laila said over her shoulder as she took a cup of fancy yogurt from the fridge.

“Morning.” Ginger could see that her own shelves in the fridge were almost out of food. She didn’t want to bum another of Laila’s yogurts or string cheeses; she’d just go without if there was no breakfast stuff left.

“Looking sexy,” Laila teased, closing the fridge.

Ginger glanced down at her animal-print onesie. “What? You don’t think men love a lazy zebra?”

Laila laughed, pouring her expensive coffee from the pot into a thermos.
She
always looked sexy, in her impeccable makeup and tailored suits, her hair pin-straight and dark as onyx, her skin ginger-brown and dewy. “How’d the search go?”

Ginger shrugged, eyeing the apples in the fruit bowl. A long night of checking the job listings on Monster.com, Craigslist, and the Seattle Times classifieds had left her bleary-eyed and pessimistic. “Whole Foods needs baggers.”

Laila clucked. “
Ish
, that’s not ideal, is it?”

Of course not—but Ginger had been chronically underemployed since graduation, two and a half years ago. An unpaid intern at the corporate office of a fair-trade chocolate company. Personal assistant to the senior designer of a hemp-based organic-fiber fashion house. Front-desk girl and greeter at an upscale salon. Pizza deliverer. And, most recently, nanny for a family where both parents worked full-time in Seattle’s tech sector—until she was replaced by a glamorous
au pair
who could teach the kids Danish and German. Ginger only spoke a little bit of French.

She was really starting to regret that major in Journalism and minor in Medieval Studies. Laila had been smart, getting an undergrad degree in Business and then zooming through law school: now she was gainfully—very gainfully—employed. Gainfully enough employed that she was moving out when the lease was up, in three months, and Ginger would be scrambling for a place to live. Maybe she could fight the bums down at the intersection for the choicest spot under the overpass.

“Maybe not, but I need some money. My savings are getting pathetic and—”

“Have an apple,” Laila interrupted. “I bought them for you.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Ginger sighed, but she took an apple anyway. It was a Red Delicious, her favorite.

“You know,” Laila said, watching her take a bite, “I might be able to help.”

Ginger winced. Laila had helped her enough already—buying extra groceries, extending the lease last summer for Ginger’s sake, texting Ginger’s parents that everything was
fine, smiley-face!
“Laila…”

“I’m serious.”

“I’m not a lawyer.”

Laila rolled her eyes, then lifted a wrist to check her watch. It was a sparkling Movado, a graduation present from her parents. Ginger had gotten a Barnes and Noble gift certificate and a charm bracelet. “I’m not saying you could get hired as a lawyer. But there are some openings at the firm that you’d be a decent fit for. They’re looking for internal applicants, but, you know, if you just slip me your resume, I can get you in the candidate pool…”

“What kind of openings?” Ginger asked, crunching through the apple.

“Secretarial, mostly. But there’s one for a personal assistant.”

“I don’t know if I’m qualified to be a lawyer’s PA.”

“You’ve been a PA before, at that fashion house. You could do it again. It wouldn’t be that different.” Laila stared at her, penetratingly, with her big brown eyes. “Email me your resume. I’ll print it out at work and get it into the right hands.”

“I’m not sure, Laila—”

“I’m sure for you. Email me the resume.” She grabbed her Coach bag off the counter of the kitchen island. “I have to run. If you don’t email me, we’re not best friends anymore.”

“Yeah, like I believe that threat.” Ginger had to smile.

Laila winked. “I don’t make idle threats. See you later, Ginj.”

Ginger did it. Why not? She could use all the help she could get. She emailed Laila her resume, then spent the rest of the day emailing it pell-mell to everywhere else. H&M: fine. Starbucks: fine. Whole Foods: fine. Ikea: fine. Target: fucking fine.

She even called a dog-walking service to see if they needed anyone else, but they didn’t. How was that possible? Didn’t Seattle have a dog obsession? There were more dogs than
kids
in Seattle, for fuck’s sake. How could they not need someone?