Rescued & Ravished: An Alpha's Conquest (A Paranormal Ménage Romance) (39 page)

She could smell them. She could smell everything about them. They smelled like their nylon-shell jackets, their Dial shop, their cotton sweaters. They smelled like skin and salt. She’d never smelled people like this before.

She could smell the coffee shop itself, too—smell everything in it. It almost swamped her. The scents were too powerful, too heavy, too intense—she had to resist the urge to pull her jacket up over her nose. The earthy, spicy scent of a light Guatemalan roast—the smooth, chocolatey scent of a Costa Rican brew—the frothy, acidic tang of a Javan blend—all devastatingly strong—

“Can I help you, miss?”

A teenager, wearing an apron. Blond, with big dark eyes. Hair in a ponytail.

“Uh—yes. Yes, you can.”

Ask her about cars. Ask her.
But Ginger was sidetracked by the smell of the girl’s pear-scented shampoo and thick cherry lip gloss. She could smell the faint electric burn of the hair straightener she’d used that morning. The synthetic fabric of her shirt.
This is torture. It’s too much. It’s too much! How do bears
handle
this?!

“Miss?” the girl asked curiously.

“Cars,” Ginger forced herself to say. “I want to rent a car. I have to get to Long Harbor.”

“Oh, for the Vancouver ferry, miss?”

“That’s right.”

“Sure. Well, there’s a rental place a street over.” The girl’s breath smelled like violet mints. “Canning and Sons. You can get a car there, miss.”

Ginger had to shut her eyes for a moment. The all-consuming scent of pecan pastries, crab cakes, pumpkin muffins, and nutty, silky Mexican coffee was driving her insane. Finally, she made herself open them; the girl looked curious.

“Thank you,” Ginger said firmly. “I’ll go there.”

She turned and shouldered through the coffee shop door again, making the bell jingle. Out on the wharf, the sea-and-ship-and-wood smells assaulted her again, and she hurried blindly in the direction the girl had pointed out. She could still smell Hunter on the wind.

The car rental office had smelled like oil, metal cabinets, old seat leather, and hard plastic. She’d had to yoga breathe while she filled out the forms, her hand shaking from the stress on her senses. The friendly, lean-faced man who’d handed her her keys had had a lunch of shrimp and macaroni—she could tell when he spoke to her.

But finally she was on the road. The Toyota hatchback handled fine, although there was no comparison to her Jaguar.
I guess I’ll have to abandon my Jag, when I get back on the mainland.

I have to get rid of anything that ties me to Dane.

She drove past shore houses, lush, pine-tangled forest, and flower farms bare with the season. Late afternoon and then sunset came down, and the sky turned a wet, luminous orange; mists drifted over the bay. Lights came on in the seashell cottages and wood-fronted homes. She saw a night heron.

“Continue for five miles,” the rental GPS instructed.

She knew she would have to stop in Long Harbor for the night—there wouldn’t be another Vancouver ferry until the morning. Maybe she’d just sleep in the car. Without Dane paying her way anymore, she’d have to start saving money. Not that he hadn’t already provided her with a sizeable nest egg…

But she was starting to feel sick. Strained. It was getting harder and harder to focus on the twisty coastal road—harder and harder, even, to remember how to drive.

I’m just tired. I’m stressed. I’ve had the week from hell.

More and more, though, she knew it was something worse.

The music on the radio sounded like noise, tinny and alien. Her hands felt thick and clumsy, foreign. Her stomach was cramping; the muscles in her legs were jumping. It was like she needed to eat as much as she needed to run.

Instinctually, she knew what was happening. She’d denied the bear for days, and now it was clawing to the surface. She couldn’t deny it much longer.

The thought hurt her—terrified her—and she wished she
had
stayed with Cat, or with Hunter. Hunter would help her through his, he—

Her time was up. She knew it. With every fiber of her body she knew it.

She cut abruptly to the left, pulling the car off the road. Her high beams illuminated the bottoms of spruces; she ripped off her seatbelt and kicked open her door, leaving it open. She could hear the warning
beep beep beep
of the security system.

It was obvious what she had to do, somehow.

She pulled off Cat’s jacket, slung it back into the car. Rolled off her shirt and pulled down her jeans, kicked off her Bean boots. Headed for the woods.

The lights from the car slanted through the boles of the trees like searchlights. She could hear the wind in the pine needles and the creak of branches. Underfoot there was soft moss and cool earth.

Instinct brought her to her knees. Overhead, the black shapes of hemlocks and firs reached high into the dark blue sky. She put her hands, palm down, on the ground.

And changed.

Her eyes opened slowly.

It was morning. Waxwings, thrushes, and lark sparrows were singing and chittering in the tall, sun-drenched forest.

And she was lying on her stomach in the ferns, naked.

Slowly, stiffly, she sat up. Groaned, with drowsiness. Ran a hand over her arm, her neck.

She was filthy. Why was she filthy? Where were her clothes? Her hair was a mussy mess, and there was dirt under her fingernails, and her mouth tasted like… pesto, kind of, and it—

A bear.

The thought hit her like an electric charge. She cupped a hand over her mouth, her stomach tightening with nausea.

I was a bear.

It all came back to her. The night woods. Densely forested. Running with streams. Lit from above by the moon, and the salt trail of the Milky Way. Dark and quiet—quiet except for the pulses of other animals’—smaller animals’—heartbeats.

She had changed. She remembered now. It didn’t even hurt, it was so natural: one moment she was a girl, soft and human, and the next she was a bear. She had swelled and furred into a grizzly sow, black-nosed, round-eared.

She remembered wandering the woods. Remembered her big, padded feet with their wicked claws sinking into the mud by a river; remembered her bulk breaking through ferns and saplings. Remembered the size and the strength and the
wildness
of it all. Remembered snuffling in the undergrowth to dig out and eat pine nuts. Remembered the call of a nighthawk.

Her stomach seized. She threw up.

Pipits chittered while she emptied her tummy. When she was finally finished she spat, crawled over to where a clump of peaked-looking bittercress was growing, yanked some stems out, and chewed them raw. The peppery, mustardy taste was a relief.

Dane did this to me. He made me this…
thing.
This animal.

Oh, God. I’m like this for life. And I can’t handle this alone.

I can’t handle this alone! I don’t know what to do!

She spat out the chickweed, too, her mouth freshened. Then, slowly, she got to her feet. Soft, warm sunlight spangled her shoulder; the wind-weaving pines overhead kept the light shifting.

What she had to do was obvious.

It was easy to find her way back to her rental car. All she had to do was scent herself, and follow the olfactory trail: it was a queer mix of Bear Ginger—thick, musky fur and hot breath—and Human Ginger, who smelled like smooth white skin and vanilla.

Finally, she reached the forest’s edge. She was afraid that there would be a gaggle of highway patrolman around her car—left open and abandoned right by the border of the woods—but it was just after dawn, and there was no one. She hurried across to the driver’s side door.

The seats were damp with dew.
Fuck!
She used Cat’s shirt—already wet from being left on the ground—to wipe them down. Then, choicelessly, she pulled it on, shimmied into the jeans, popped on the Bean boots, and shrugged on the jacket. She got in and closed the car door.

Her face in the rearview mirror was dirty and grubby; her neck was grimy too. But she could finally see her eyes reflected back in daylight—her new eyes, her shifter eyes.

They were just like Hunter had said: hazel, with a ring of gold.

I’ll never forgive Dane for this.

She turned the key in the ignition, strapped in, and backed up onto the road. Sighing, she turned around.

The damp wood of the pier thumped underfoot as she followed it out. The boats tied up on either side of her bobbed gently in the harbor water; a few of them had men onboard, rolling up ropes.

Miss Grizzly
was at the end of the dock.

That meant he was still here.

She knew he would be.

“Ginger.” Hunter appeared on the gillnetter’s deck, then stepped off onto the pier. He wasn’t surprised to see her, that much was clear.

“You were expecting me?” she asked, in a flat, frozen voice. The wind off the water blew her messy, wavy hair out of her coat collar.

He was staring at her—at her dirty, unhappy face. She knew it told him everything.

“Oh, Ginger. Baby.” His voice was soft. “Come here.”

She wanted to resist. She wanted to hold back, to show him she hated him, and Dane, and all bears. But she didn’t—couldn’t. She was in his arms before she knew it, clutching the back of his jacket. Tears stung her eyes.

“It’s alright,” he said, holding her close just like she needed. “It had to happen. It needed to happen. You’ll get through this, Ginger, I promise. I
swear
. You’ll get through this and I’ll help you.”

“I’m scared, Hunter. I don’t know myself anymore.” Her voice shook.

“You’re still you, Ginger, and I’ll show you that. I’ll show you everything you need to know. Come with me.”

He smelled so good—so masculine—and it felt so good to be held by him, so good to have him reassure her. She wanted to believe he could help her. She wanted him to help her.

“Take me away from here,” she whispered, drained and overwhelmed by Saltspring.

“I will, baby. Get on the boat. I’ll get us off this island.”

“You waited for me.”

“Shh, baby. Just get on. Let’s go.”

She squeezed him tighter, hot with gratitude, hot with relief—sick with anger, sick with love. It took a great effort of will to let go of him and his hard, warm body.

He guided her up onto
Miss Grizzly
’s deck, hand on hers.

“There’s a berth, Ginger. In the foc’sle.” He pointed. “Go and lay down. I’ll get us underway.”

She didn’t know where he was taking her—back to Storm Isle? Off to Nanaimo? All the way to Shanghai?—and she didn’t care. She did just what he said and dragged herself into the foc’sle, collapsing on the unmade, Hunter-smelling blankets.

When she woke up, it was to the burr and judder and bump of the boat. The berth was wood-lined, and the bunk she’d slept on was a wood frame with drawers built into its foundation. All that timber creaked with the movement of the water.

She stared up at the low, rounded ceiling with its curved red-pine beams. This wasn’t as luxurious as Dane’s glossy yacht, but it was cozy. Damn cozy.

Fisting a hand on the warm, thick bedclothes, she traced the same beam with her eyes over and over. She felt filthy and sore and lost. At least she finally toed her boots off; they fell with clunks onto the wood-surfaced floor.

The roll and rhythm of the water felt good; it almost lulled her back to sleep. But the boat started to slow, and then it stopped. Her eyes ran over the berth’s ceiling, following Hunter’s muffled footsteps; she sensed he was anchoring the gillnetter. They weren’t tying up at a pier?

Eventually, she heard his feet coming down the stepladder to the foc’sle. He appeared, looking windswept, and smelling like cold brine and cold pines. She squeezed her thighs together as a heat sprang up between them.

“Hey, Ginger. How’re you doing?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bunk and putting a hand on her hip.

She shrugged.

“You look miserable,” he said gently, eyes running over her.

“I guess I am.” Her voice was soft, exhausted.

“Kills me to see it.”

She gazed at his face—so handsome, so masculine: a strong jaw, strong cheekbones under a short growth of beard; hot, gold-ringed caramel eyes—and felt animal appetites warming between her hips. His broad shoulders—his strong neck—his big, hot hand on her body—she was getting dangerously wet.

“Where are we?” she managed, swallowing.

“I’m going to help you, Ginger.” He was serious. “I’m going to show you how to be one of us. I’ve anchored us off an empty island. There are caves there, and they’re easy to live in; you can see ’em from the water. We’ll spend as much time here as we need to.”

A thousand considerations occurred to her. “But—I only have one outfit—and the food—we need supplies—”

“What did you think I packed in that bag before we left? What do you think I have on this ship? I’ve got everything we’ll need. And”—his voice roughened a little, with embarrassment—“I bought you some more clothes on Saltspring. While you were gone.”

She had to bite back a smile. “You—what?”

“From the Salvation Army.” He glanced away from her, then back. “Just… sweaters, and things.” His voice gruffened even more. “So you’d be comfortable.”

She was touched. Sitting up, she kissed his unshaven cheek. He grunted.

“Thanks, Hunter.”

“Don’t think about it. Hope it all fits you.” Unconsciously, his hand strayed to where she’d kissed him. “Listen, Ginj. You’ve got a lot to learn, but I know you can handle it. All I need you to do is trust me, and we’ll come up roses.”

She hesitated. “I don’t know if I can trust any—”

“Just enough that you’ll listen to what I have to teach you,” he cut in.

“Alright,” she said slowly,
feeling
how the gold in her eyes brightened. “I can do that.”

“Okay. Good.” His hand slid up her hip, onto the inward curve of her waist. The heat of his palm bled through the shirt and warmed her skin; she felt goose bumps breaking out. “We can row to shore and pick a cave. Get set up.”

“Are you sure we’re alone here?”