Rescued & Ravished: An Alpha's Conquest (A Paranormal Ménage Romance) (6 page)

Thankfully
.

By the time she was finished and stepping back into the sunshine, the chickens were clucking and fussing from inside their coop, ready to be let out. She could hear some kind of small-sized livestock snuffling and stamping from inside a shelter, too.

Wow. I bet these people are totally self-sufficient. What are they growing here, anyway?

She paused to look at the garden. It was orderly and green, neat-rowed; she recognized lettuce, onions, potatoes, carrots and—

“Morning.”

Startled by the deep voice, she looked up. It was a man.

And what a man.

He was tall, just over six feet. He was also broad and muscular, with shoulders that pulled at the seams of his shirt. He had a build like a lumberjack’s, she thought. Blonde and strong-jawed, with thick stubble just shy of a beard. Manful. Big-handed. Hard-waisted. Cut like granite.

Gorgeous
.

And he was one of the men she’d dreamed about. She was sure of that. Looking at him made her remember that, like someone had flipped a switch in her memory.

Yes, he’d
definitely
been in her dream. But doing what? Saying what? She couldn’t remember.

“Morning,” she said slowly, unsurely. “Have we… met?”
We must have. That’s the only way I could dream about him.

God, he’s handsome. Who
is
he?

“Not really.” His voice was thick, husky. Almost bedroom husky, which surprised her. “You laid eyes on me for a moment. I helped you inside last night.”

“Oh! Oh. Well, thank you.” She felt awkward, standing there in a borrowed, lightweight nightshirt. It might be oversized on willowy Gentian, but on her it was tight. He could surely see every curve.
“You’ve all been very kind to me. I owe you a lot.”

He looked her up and down slowly. A shiver went down her back like cold water.

“You shouldn’t wander,” he said finally. “This is still the wilderness. There are animals.”

“I’m—I’m not wandering,” she stammered. “I was just looking at the garden.”

He had strange eyes—brown, but with an outer layer of gold. The gold looked weirdly bright, almost metallic, but that had to be a trick of the sunlight.

“If you let Ivy know you’re awake,” he said slowly, with effort, “she’ll make you some breakfast.”

“Breakfast?” Harper ran a hand through her hair, considering his words. “Maybe I could make it instead. I hate to wake her just to wait on me. I’m good in the kitchen.”

He was quiet, looking slightly pained. She glanced at the cabin uncertainly, wishing Ivy or someone would look out the window and see them.
Is this mountain man male model all there?

“I’m Chance. Chance MacFadden,” he said, his voice even lower and hoarser than before. The rough sound of it turned her on, she had to admit, even though his behavior confused her. “You should go inside now. Let Ivy look at you.”

“Chance,” she repeated slowly. “I remember that name.” Someone had said it last night, hadn’t they? While she’d been in a fog of pain and shock?
Chance MacFadden.

“I’m glad you do. But please. Go in now.”

She glanced around. Was there something he didn’t want her to see? All she saw were pine trees.

“Alright. I’ll go.”
I’m a stranger here. I can’t offend them. I need to do what he says.

“Wake Ivy up. Please.”

She had to pass close to him to get back to the porch; the look he gave her as she did so heated her skin by several degrees. He smelled like warm flannel, hot skin, and crisp pine—raw, manly scents.

Hurrying up the porch stairs and through the front door, she let it slam closed behind her. She didn’t know who he really was or what his deal was. All she knew was that he was very strange, very familiar… and
dangerously
good-looking.

He could hear and smell the women having breakfast in the cabin. Feeling stupefied, he shouldered his way back into the shed and yanked the door closed behind him. The darkness inside calmed him down.

The scent of eggs and cheese was still trickling in under the door. But it wasn’t enough to make him forget her sweet, soft, natural fragrance.

She was
so beautiful
. Everything he wanted. Everything he’d dreamed, literally.

The sight of her in the garden, wearing that tight, white nightdress. He couldn’t have faced a worse temptation on the first morning of the Season if he’d tried.

That sinful gown had clung to her like it’d been painted on. Her figure was luscious, seductive, and he’d gotten a damn good look at it: thick thighs and wide hips, with a small waist, a soft, flat stomach, generous breasts. He’d even been able to see the dark circles of her nipples through the thin cotton fabric.

“Fuck,” he muttered, unfastening his belt. Ripping his jeans open, he let his rock-hard, blood-thickened cock out. It stood stiff and high, throbbing.

The Season had turned his blood to fire. He wanted nothing more than to mount and claim every woman in sight. A beautiful girl like Harper, a girl who would have enticed him on any day of the year, was almost unbearable to look at without touching, without taking. He would have sacrificed a kingdom for the chance to sink into the soft, pink heat of her pussy.

The image of her standing there, dressed in white, curvy as a figure eight, her blonde hair shining like gold thread in the sunshine—

He had to grip himself and start to stroke. An orgasm gained this way wouldn’t give him much relief, not during the Season. What he needed was a
woman
, but this would cool him off, at least a little.

Harper. Harper. Harper.

She’d smelled so good, too. Under the scent of the soap Gentian had used on her last night and the bedclothes she’d slept under, there was her natural fragrance, something soft and sweet and peachy. It was painfully feminine.

It was so, so easy to imagine coupling with her. He’d pull that nightshirt right off of her, right up over her head, as cleanly as if he were shucking corn.

Those big, pert breasts of hers, he’d give them real attention, like no man ever had. He’d close his mouth on her hard, pink nipples—suck them—circle their nubs with his rough, hot tongue—bite them gently, but not
too
gently—

His cock pulsed in his fist.

He’d kiss her mouth. He’d glide his teeth over her neck, suck her shoulder, make her gasp, press his face into her soft blonde hair. Put his hands all over her, run them up her back and close them on her waist. Her skin looked as pure as whipped white butter and he wanted to feel it on his fingers, feel it pressed up against him. Just imagining having her smooth, soft stomach flush against his abs made him groan.

What would she feel like inside? What would she say to him while he took her?

His hand was damp, smeared with pre-come; his breath was coming rough and fast. Fantasy Harper was moaning things to him:
“Oh, Chance—you feel so good inside me! Take me! Mate me!” “You’re an animal!” “Oh Chance, oh Chance, oh Chance—”

He was close, and he knew it. His powerful stomach clenched.

The image of her underneath him, working with him, her legs locked around his hips—that was too much. He came with a feral, ursine growl.

It was a strong climax, and it felt good. It overflowed his hand. But even as he sighed and leaned against the shed door, he could feel a second heat coming.

The Season was relentless. And as long as Harper was around, it would be hell.

Chance threw a rock at the cabin’s side, near the kitchen window. That made Ivy come to the front door to see what he wanted.

She looked flushed.
The Season.

“Chance?”

“Ivy.” His voice was dry; looking at her tightened his throat.
I need a woman.
“Can you give me something?”

“Something?” she blinked at him. “What something?”

“For the Season. Is there something I can take for the Season? Something you can mix up that will calm me down?” It was a struggle to think clearly. He wanted to climb up onto the porch and mate with Ivy, then shove his way into the kitchen and take Yarrow and Harper too.

“Oh.” She blinked at him with overbright eyes. “Yes. There… there are things. Let me think a moment.” Leaning against one of the porch posts, she ran her hands through her messy hair fretfully. “Valerian root tea. Hops fruit. Marjoram essence, too, they say. I could whip you something up to cool you off, if that’s really what you want. It’s not usually done, though, I mean.”

“I can’t keep an eye on Harper like this.” He squeezed his hand into a fist. “I need a clear head, Ivy. I’m supposed to watch her. Right now all I want to do is push her down and—”

“Alright. I’ll make you something—and maybe I’ll have some of it, too, if you’re so set on doing this. Harper can tell something’s wrong with me. It’s making her suspicious.” That was no surprise, Ivy looked like she had a fever. Even the dimmest human alive would have to notice her pink, dewy color and bright, golden eyes. “Wait here. I’ll brew it up.”

“You’re the best.”

“And you’re sweet. Sit tight.”

Harper had spent the morning with Ivy and Yarrow. They seemed a little distracted, and looked a little flushed—a little feverish?—but they were kind and warm and they made sure she was paid attention to, so she tried not to think about it.

Yarrow had been sitting with her in the guest bedroom, telling her a funny story about learning to beekeep as a child, when a loud knock at the front of the cabin startled them.

“Me first,” said Yarrow, gesturing Harper behind her as they moved into the hall.

A stranger, an old man, was entering the house, shuffling through the front door that Ivy held open.

“Good. Only women here,” he grunted as he came clicking into the kitchen, leaning heavily on his walking stick. He had a sharp, lopsided face and a thin, frowning mouth. But more than that, he was dressed in a—well, she wasn’t really sure. It looked like a homespun tunic and a hemp half-cloak.

“Who is that?” Harper whispered to Yarrow.

“Galangal. Come on, he’s looking for you.”

“No, I don’t… wait!”

Yarrow dragged her out by the dining room table, in full view of everyone.

“So, this is the girl,” the old man said, his scowl deepening. “A beautiful stranger! That’s just what we need this time of year.
Hrmm
.”

“This is Harper Hanson,” Ivy broke in quickly, moving to guide Galangal into a chair at the table. “Would you like tea, elder? Or lunch? I could make a rabbit roll-up.”

Elder? What kind of title is that?

“Tea,” he grunted. “No food. You, girl! Sit. Sit with me.”

Yarrow pushed Harper gently into a chair.
I guess I don’t have a choice then.

“So, girl—”

“Harper, please.”

There was a second of electric silence.

“Why are you here?” he grunted. “Among us?”

“Why? I’m not sure I understand. I got lost hiking.”

He snorted as Ivy set some tea down in front of him. “Hiking. Alone, were you?”

Harper hesitated. But she’d already told Ivy she was alone, so she couldn’t lie now.

“I mean, I registered at the ranger station before I set out.”

“Mmm.” He stroked his wiry beard. “Do you know what we are, girl?”

Girl again!
“Homesteaders?”

“Homesteaders?” He glowered.

“She’s right about that,” Ivy put in, but her tone was strange—too leading, like she wanted Galangal and Yarrow to agree.

“Mmm,” snorted Galangal slowly. “Tell me, girl, where do you come from?”

“Chicago. In the States.”

“Oh, even better, another American.” He slurped his tea. “Wasn’t one enough? Hudson never shuts his mouth.”

“Harper’s hoping someone can lead her out of the range,” Ivy said carefully. “In a few days or so. When the weather’s better, maybe.”

Harper glanced out one of the windows. The garden outside was lit up with sunshine.

“Perhaps,” Galangal said, his droopy eyes narrowing suspiciously. “If she agrees to be blindfolded. Then it might be possible. Except, of course, for one simple fact: the fact of who she really is.”

“I’m not… I’m not here to get anyone in trouble,” Harper said slowly. “If a blindfold makes you feel better, then that’s fine. I just want to get back to Banff.” She paused, then added: “Please.”

Galangal slammed his tea down on the tabletop, sloshing it across the wood. “Enough of this rot! ‘Please’ and sweetness—pah! Ivy, Yarrow, put her in the shed!”

“What? Elder, why?” Ivy soothed, kneeling and putting her hands on his arm. “She hasn’t done anything. She’s just lost. Aren’t you, Harper?”

“Lost? Lost? Don’t be a cub, Ivy. You’re too young to remember the last time a Hunter came among us. It was wretched, child—horrible! This girl is nothing but another tracker!” He raised a gnarled finger to point at her. “She’s a viper. She’s playacting. She’s here to kill us all! We have to do away with her first!”

“That’s not what Hazel said,” Ivy pleaded, and the fact that she was pleading froze Harper cold with fear. “She said a young woman was coming, she said she saw—”

“The girl she foresaw was no human,” Galangal scoffed. “The girl she foresaw was a sow. This stranger is not one of us, child, and never will be.”

Human? Us? Sow?
Harper was starting to sweat.
These people are insane.

“
Never
!” Galangal repeated. “We need to be rid of her!”

Ivy’s mouth tightened. “I’m sorry, elder, but I won’t lock her up or harm her without the Alpha’s command. Your word is not enough. She doesn’t deserve that kind of treatment. I can tell she doesn’t, I swear.”

“You can tell better than me? Ha! See how she already works her poison on you, Ivy. She makes you disobedient, impudent, proud. She’s a cancer!”

Harper flashed a frightened look at Yarrow, who met it. But the other girl didn’t say anything.

Galangal stood stiffly, using his walking stick for leverage; he shrugged off Ivy’s help. “Fine, let her roam free until Jason says better. But mark my words, child: she’s here to destroy us. Yarrow! Help an old father to the door and down the steps. Leave Ivy here with her false friend!”