Taming Alaska (So Not Prince Charming Book 1) (15 page)

We butt up against the rocks, me panting hard while Shane hasn’t even broke a sweat. He’s used to living with lions, tigers, and bears, and it’s sheer luck that I have him.

He assesses the damage. “I didn’t realize that knowing you would be so dangerous,” he says between gritted teeth while craning his neck to examine the wound. “It went clean through.”

I have no idea what to do, so I rip his “Alaska is for hunters” t-shirt and use it to staunch the blood.

“You could’ve used yours,” he says. “I was fond of that shirt.”

I glance down at my purple and pink plaid flannel shirt. “I just bought this, and yours is already bloody, and it has a hole in it.”

“Next time, it’s your head, Shane,” Loki calls. Julian remains silent, obviously the sheep in the group, besides being my husband’s lover. Blake was probably cheating on me with him at our wedding. Is that how they met? Did Julian talk him into coming here or did they plot this together?

“You’ll have to wait another week,” Shane yells back, digging for another shirt. “We’ll see you then if you can keep up.”

“You know I can outpace you,” Red shoots back.

I help Shane patch up the wound, then we move beyond the rocks into the cover of the forest where he repairs his pack strap with rope he cuts off from a much longer bundle.

We hike for another few miles because Shane is relentless. Where does he get his energy? I yawn, unable to speak, my legs and feet leaden. He constantly adjusts the pack digging into his torn shoulder, the blood oozing through his tee shirt. I’m freezing, even though I’m wearing a down jacket and thermal underwear, and he’s dressed for the beach where I should be.

“Keep up, Princess,” he barks at me, though I jog only a few steps behind him.

“You won’t ever wait on me, Shane,” I say through gritted teeth. “I pay good money for a personal trainer to keep me in shape.”

Shane swivels around. “We have a long way to go. I doubt seriously he prepared you for a eighty mile trek through the Alaskan Interior.”

“He better have, or I’ll fire him upon my return.” I will. I swear I will.

He laughs and eventually stops next to a small stream that feeds into a large lake nestled in the majesty of fourteen thousand feet plus mountains. The reddish brush covers a wide expanse around us, not much in the way of trees or rocks beyond the lake to hide us. If the rest of the interior lies flat and open like this, we’re as good as dead.

Shane sets up his tent. I’d like to help, but he’s fast. After standing still for only a few minutes beside the stream, the bitter cold finally sinks its teeth into me. My legs haven’t really dried from the river, my soaked panties stick to my butt, and half of my shirt is damp.

So I don’t seem completely useless, I gather firewood then plop down to dig a pit, but my fingers refuse to move. Every part of my body hurts, and we have days of this?

“Can’t they shoot us?” My voice shakes. “We’re out in the open.”

“We’re miles away from the river, and they can’t cross it for days.”

Shane rests his hand on mine while my useless hands attempt to dig in the hard dirt. “It’s okay. I’ve got this.”

Yawning, I stare at the lone sleeping bag in the tent. “There’s only one? Didn’t you have a bag for Nikita?”

Shane kindles the fire. “She was bringing her own.”

“Oh, so you’re giving me this one?” Surely he doesn’t expect me to sleep with him.

Shane gives me a half grin. “I’ll share if you’re really nice to me.”

I don’t see how he can keep his humor with what’s happening to me, probably because it’s not about him. Those men know him and will most likely let Shane crawl back into the den he was born in while Loki and Red slit my throat.

“I can’t share your bed.” This is my honeymoon, and Blake has made me a widow and humiliated me. I wanted us to be happy.

“Your loss.” Shane shucks his shirt off. The hard planes of his chest glisten with the gleam of sweat in the moonlight.

He is probably the most masculine man I’ve ever seen. Rugged is his middle name. I’m lucky it’s him here with me and not Blake, though I hate myself for that thought. If my mom had had someone like Shane, she might have survived. I only have a shot because of him.

I try not to stare at his nipples hardening on his chest. I was supposed to get the big O this week, and now, I’m being tortured by a man harder than the rocks I’ll be expected to climb over and sleep on. That was the wrong Freudian connotation. My sex clenches, and I swallow hard. “Won’t you get cold sleeping half naked?”

He gives me a devilish grin. “Not with you next to me.”

I clench my teeth and kick the sleeping bag. Shane smoothes it back down on the floor of the tent, which isn’t much bigger than the two of us and only three or four feet high.

“I’m not sleeping with you.” I can’t. I’m supposed to be happily married. I married the perfect man, so what happened? Blake shouldn’t have died. A few tears plop onto the hard ground that I’ll have to sleep on.

“Have it your way, Princess.” He lies down on the bag.

The night air snakes its cold arms around me. “I’ll freeze to death.”

He grins. He’s so damn annoying. “Not next to me you won’t.”

“What about bears?” I ask trembling, more frightened of him than any stupid bear.

Shane digs out his gun and rests it near his head. He fishes through my pack and hands me a large spray can. “This is for your side. For your bears,” he whispers in a low husky voice, sending more shivers into me.

He lies down on the bag in his hunting pants that hug his slender hips. Curls of reddish brown hair disappear into his jeans. God, he’s sexy, but so was Blake—my very dead husband.

“Come on, Princess. I don’t bite unless you want me to.”

I spread out beside him, clutching the spray, his hard chest pressed against my back. I need his warmth, especially tonight. I lean into him, thinking of my near escape, of my dead husband, my dead gay, bi, whatever husband, and worst of all, my ruined honeymoon. This sucks, and I’m probably going to die like my mom.

The tears return and streak down my face. This should’ve been perfect. This should’ve been my night, the night of screaming out my climax. Orgasmic sex on some secluded beach, under waterfalls, in an outdoor shower, but instead I’m playing Girl Scout in the middle of nowhere. The downpour from my eyes soaks my shirt and the sleeping bag. I scoot closer to Shane because my teeth are chattering.

Shane’s arm wraps around my waist. “Don’t worry, Princess. We’ll be okay.”

“You’re so full of shit.” How can we be? They were probably trying to kill me like my mom, not hold me for ransom.

If he knew that I was bawling over my stupid missed honeymoon, he’ll think I’m shallow. I’ll let him think I’m scared. Barbarians like to feel protective.

Chapter Fourteen

Shane

Lying next to a shivering Cyn, I can’t sleep because that sweet ass grinds against my groin and we’re so screwed. Repressing my hard-on into submission, I wrap around her and eventually my warmth stops her trembling. She’s exhausted, but she’s done well for a pampered pet.

We trekked many miles tonight, forced the log off the banks, and eluded Red, and that in and of itself is a feat. Morning will come all too soon, and we have to stay ahead of them. We’re fine in the short term until we head back toward the Yukon River, then we’re fucked.

As a former Special Forces, Red’s an expert marksman, and he’s a better tracker and hunter than me. I learned everything I know about the outdoors from him. How will I take Red down when I love him?

Cyn is out cold, so I zip up the bag as far as it’ll go with two people and try to sleep but failing miserably with her intoxicating scent stirring my loins.

* * *

With little sleep, I crawl out of the sleeping bag. Cyn slept like there’s no one trying to kill her. When I nudge her, she doesn’t even stir. The scent of her clean hair lingers in my nose, awakening my original desire I felt the day I met her—no sense going there. I smirk at her dead to the world, amazing body.

I stretch and scoot out of the tent. Snowy peaks and open terrain lie ahead of us, the tall fir trees partially block our view, and the scent of them saturates the cool air. My stiff shoulder feels like someone stuck a hot poker into it, so I check the wound. It’s enflamed but not infected.

If Red had wanted to kill me, he could have, and I doubt he’d shoot Cyn in front of me. He’s trying to slow us down, so he can lie in wait in the narrow gorge we’ll have to pass through unless we climb over the pass. That really isn’t an option. Snow already covers the higher elevations, and even before winter hits, avalanches, sheer cliffs hidden by snow, and the bitter cold are a problem on the high passes.

The grey sky above us currently spits snow. It’s not sleet, and that will work better for us. I dig out a tee shirt, my boots, and my shell then put them on.

After gathering more dry birch wood, I rekindle the fire under the dense cover of fir trees to dissipate what little smoke the hard wood produces, and put on coffee. I pull out my fishing pole to catch a few dollies from the stream. I only brought enough food for a few days for me.

The stream in front of the tent rolls along, tumbling and turning over. I cast out into the water, and before too long, I reel in three good-sized dollies.

Berries hang ripe on the vine, so I pick many of them and pull up a few wild onions. While the fish and onions fry in a pan, I stick my boot into the tent and nudge Cyn’s socked foot.

How the hell she can sleep I have no idea. “Rise and shine, Princess.”

Her sweet Kardashian-like ass rolls under the bag. God help me. “Get up,” I say. “We need to eat and get going.”

She curls my sweatshirt between her breasts. “Oh, Blake.”

If I have to watch her screw my clothes for the next week, I’ll have to take several mountain lake plunges to squash my libido. “Come on, Cyn.”

She startles awake, jerking upward. When she realizes where she is, she throws my sweatshirt she’s been humping at me and crashes back down onto the bag. “Why is this happening to me?”

“Time to wake up, Princess.”

She pulls her knees into her chest. “This is supposed to be my honeymoon where I get to sleep until noon.”

“It was your honeymoon.”

She zips up the tent and a few minutes later emerges in a fresh shirt and no doubt, clean, sexy panties meant for Blake. Letting out a slow breath, I suppress those thoughts.

“Can’t you see the smoke for miles?” she asks, eyeing the small fire. “It’ll tell them where we are.”

I let out an irritated breath. I’ll have days of dragging a princess through the rough interior to endure. “They already know where we are, and hard woods don’t let off enough smoke for them to see.”

I scoot over to let her sit down by the fire while I dig into breakfast. The aroma of coffee awakens my dulled senses from lack of sleep. The strong and black brew will get me through the day.

She rolls her shoulder. “I feel like I slept on rocks.”

“That’s because you slept on me, keeping me awake most of the night.”

She rubs one shoulder, avoiding my gaze. “Sorry.”

“The hard ground is part of the camping experience. Here. Eat.” I hand her a fish, some onions, and berries.

“Coffee.” She takes a mug and inhales. “Fresh cream, caramel?”

“Left that at the cabins along with your dead husband, Widow Waits.”

She smirks, her eyes bloodshot and poufy from crying. “Don’t remind me.” She sips on the coffee and gags it down. “This is awful. Didn’t you bring good coffee?”

“This isn’t Starbucks, Princess.”

She picks at the fish and sucks on a berry, the juices darkening her pouty lips that I’d love to lick after her firm ass rubbed against my hard-on all night. A sharp intake of breath burns in my lungs.

“You need to eat,” I order.

“You’re grumpy,” she says, nodding while continuing to pick at the fish while I pack up the tent and sleeping bag. Cyn cleans up the cooking utensils in the stream before stuffing them in my pack. It’s one less thing for me to do.

I tromp away from the campsite to relieve myself.

I don’t know how we’ll beat Red to the gorge, even though Loki and Julian will slow him down.

Stuffing myself back in my pants, I wander back into camp where Cyn waits. She’s bundled up with her hood pulled over her head while I wear only a tee and shell to repel the spitting sky. It hasn’t even gotten cold yet and we haven’t reached the high country.

She chews on a nail while teething her plump lower lip, which encourages the growing lump in my pants. “They killed my mom,” she says, scrunching her face in pain.

I glance up from my coffee because this just adds more problems onto us. “How do you know?”

She swallows, her lower lip trembling. “I found her engagement ring and her shoes at the cabin. I scratched one of our abductors, and Loki has a small scar on his cheek, and our other captor had really blue eyes and blonde hair.”

Julian.

Cyn and I set out across the alpine tundra, the ripened blueberry bushes immersing the landscape in a brilliant red. Evergreen conifers poke out of the broadleaf shrubs blazing across the basin. The Alaskan Range rises up to the south of us where Denali is banked in fog. Cold wind brushes its bitter hand across the dwarf brush, sending a flurry of ripples into the sedge grass.

“Where are we going?” Cyn asks, stumbling across the rocky terrain broken up with threads of spiny plants.

Other than caribou and muskox trampling the grasses, trails are few and far between out here, so it’ll be slow going and even slower with Cyn not used to the backcountry. We’ll be lucky to hike twelve miles a day.

“Are we there yet?” she asks, trying to be funny.

The agony in my head from worrying over our predicament matches the ache in my wounded shoulder. “Don’t speak.”

She’s amazingly quiet for the next few hours as we trek across the barren landscape for three hours, the pain growing worse in my shoulder. We reach a river where the boreal forest and slender black spruce flank the marshes, and lush moss and lichen cover the ground and fallen trees. A bull moose, shoulder-deep in a pond, munches on watercress.