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  ALPHA'S RESCUE

  RENEE ROSE

  LEE SAVINO

  Copyright © June 2022 Alpha’s Rescue by Renee Rose and Lee Savino

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  All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this e-book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without prior written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

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  Published in the United States of America

  Midnight Romance, LLC

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  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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  This book contains descriptions of many BDSM and sexual practices, but this is a work of fiction and, as such, should not be used in any way as a guide. The author and publisher will not be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained within. In other words, don’t try this at home, folks!

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  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

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  1

  Teddy

  The sun warms my side of Bad Bear Mountain by the time I set out on the trail for my morning run. Something in the wind pulls me toward the summit.

  Typically, I head past the town or towards the family cabin, but it’s later in the day than usual, and I don’t want to be accosted by my neighbors or any of my brothers. The town of Bad Bear has a population of only two hundred spread over the mountain, but some days, it feels like a fishbowl, and lately everyone's been beating a path to my door.

  If I go this way, I can avoid seeing anyone and get some peace. That’s what I tell myself, anyway, but the decision feels less rational than instinctual. My bear’s guiding me.

  Maybe there are early berries up on the peak.

  I need a good hard run, and then maybe a long flight to take my mind off things. How long has it been since I’ve been in my bird? The helicopter taxi business has been slower than usual, but that’s another thing I don’t want to think about. I could contact the Black Wolf pack up in Taos to get jobs, but I keep putting it off.

  Maybe my brothers are right, and I am becoming a hermit. But my bear has been riled up, more surly than usual, ever since our last mission. I took a break, even stopped doing flights up to Taos or visiting my wolf pack friends. I told myself I was giving them space, but the truth is, the sight of them happy with their mates brings up too much shit.

  No matter how hard I run, I can’t outpace the past.

  The day is fine with a clear blue sky, but a gust of wind tells me we’re getting a rain storm this afternoon. It’s been a wet spring, and more flowers are blooming than usual. But the flash of bright pink ahead of me on the trail isn’t a native flower blooming in the wild.

  There. My bear wants me to charge forward. Instead, I stop running and slip into stealth mode, sidling up to a cluster of pines that can hide my bulk.

  The pink color belongs to a floral scented human. Her dark skin is set off by bright pink. Even her water bottle is the same outrageous color. Who goes hiking dressed like that?

  The wind shifts, and I catch her scent again. Flowers and honey, and something more. Most human women smell fussy with the fake scents of body lotion. But this human smells clean as rain, like creosote.

  I stalk her a few paces before I realize what I’m doing. Usually, I stay away from humans, especially females. They’re trouble, and I’d ban them from the mountain if I could. Which I can’t. Our little town loves tourists, and no matter how much I protest, the mayor keeps coming up with schemes to lure more of them here.

  Of course, if more of the tourists looked like this one, I wouldn’t mind. After a few minutes of stalking, I’m close enough to get a clear view of her when she stops to drink some water. With her free hand, she flips her long braids–black with neon pink tips– behind her shoulder, then props her fist on her well-rounded hip. The move makes her breasts jiggle. There's some glorious cleavage packed into that eye-wateringly offensive outfit. I don’t normally have anything against the color pink, but this shade is bright and blinding, as subtle as an ice pick to the eye.

  I can’t stop staring.

  She moves along the trail, head high, braids swishing over her swaying backside.

  I keep following quietly, keeping my distance. I’m barefoot, in old jeans that have more holes than denim and a shirt so threadbare it’s almost see-through. My beard is reaching Biblical proportions. It’s soft though.

  I realize I’m rubbing my face and drop my hand. Why do I care what I look like? It’s not like I’m heading to a date. I don’t date. Not anymore.

  Even if I did date, I wouldn’t date a human again. I made that rule when I was eighteen and haven’t broken it once since then. I haven’t even been tempted to break it.

  So why is the scent of this little human hitting so hard?

  Overhead, a bird lands on a branch and chirps. Then it sees me and falls silent.

  The little human whirls around. “Bentley? Is that you?”

  I freeze, but like all werebears, I’ve been hunting and tracking since I could walk. What didn’t come naturally, I learned in my special forces unit. There’s a vale of pine trees, three laurel bushes, and a boulder between her and me. The distance and the sun dappled shadows camouflage me, and I’m standing downwind. Not that she can scent me. Humans never can.

  “Bentley,” she calls again. “I know you’re there. You’re not funny.”

  From the trail above, another human comes crashing through the brush. A male human, pasty pale and smelling sour.

  “I’m right here. Jesus, Lana,” he says. “I had to take a leak.”

  What an asshole. I hate the way he talks to her.

  “Oh,” her voice softens. “Just tell me next time. I thought you were a bear.”

  “I’d be so lucky,” the guy mutters, and I have to stifle a growl.

  “I heard that,” she retorts, with more fondness than her rude companion warrants. If it were me, I’d bite his head off.

  Maybe I still will.

  The two continue huffing and puffing their way up the mountain, bickering like a couple on a sitcom. I follow, listening closely. I don’t know why I don’t just move on. They’re two hikers. Nothing special. But my bear doesn’t want me to lose sight of them.

  “Mom and Dad would have loved this,” she says. Her voice is smooth a
nd musical as a dove’s, while her companion whines like a circular saw.

  So Lana and Bentley are not a couple—they’re brother and sister. Stepsiblings.

  He’s munching on overpriced beef jerky and tosses the yellow wrapper on the side of the trail when he finishes his snack. The female whirls on him. “No. Absolutely not. We do not litter.”

  He mumbles something but picks it up and thrusts it in his pack. Next he goes to toss away a half eaten granola bar and she chides him again. “We’re not supposed to leave human food, Bentley. Remember? Don't feed the bears.”

  “Yeah, yeah…” He waves a hand like he’s swatting a fly.

  Disappointment flashes over the woman’s face, and I find myself a few feet closer to the hikers than I should be, half a second from introducing my fist to the asshole’s face.

  She flourishes a bright pink canteen. “Do you want some water?”

  “No.”

  “Trail mix? I made it myself.” She pulls out a bag filled with what looks like almond slivers and M&Ms. “Only the good stuff.” She scoops a handful into her mouth and chomps. “Mmmm, so good. Come on, big bro, have a taste.”

  “Let’s just get this over with. How far do we have to go?” He props his boot up on a rock and ties it, glowering at the white flowers blooming at his feet as if they’re a pile of dog poop.

  “All the way to the top.”

  “They won't know if we just dump their ashes off the side here.” He gestures to a nearby ledge.

  She props her hands on her hips. “We're supposed to be remembering them. This is a memorial hike. Just you and me.” She swings a pink and black pack down and pulls out a fancy urn. The gold leaf painted in swirls along the side flashes in the spring sunlight. She holds it up. “Look, I know this is hard…”

  The brother crosses his arms, a bored expression on his face. He looks as though he’s waiting for his latte order, not grieving dead parents.

  “...but it’s what they wanted,” she forges on. “They cared enough to stipulate this memorial hike in the will.” She presses the urn to her chest. “They wanted us both here, to make memories.”

  The guy’s mouth twists like he saw something distasteful. “The only reason I’m doing this is because it’s a requirement in the will. As soon as we’re done, you’ll inherit your half of the money, and I’ll inherit mine. Then we never have to speak again.”

  “Look, Bentley. I know we didn’t get along as kids.” She gives a forced laugh. “I know you’re the one who ripped the heads off my Barbie dolls and stuck them on shish kebab skewers when I was six. I’ve forgiven you, by the way.” She waits for him to respond, but he keeps on hiking.

  “And I’m still sorry for telling mom and Roger you were the one who filled my favorite teddy bear with fireworks and set my bed on fire. I didn’t know they would send us both to boarding school for the rest of our education.”

  Bentley acts like he didn’t hear.

  “I'd love to have a relationship with you now that we’re adults. I thought we could use this hike to connect.”

  “Think again.”

  What a dick. I don’t know why I care, though. Why am I even eavesdropping on this sad but irrelevant conversation? I should retreat, but my feet don’t want to put distance between me and the female.

  Which is crazy. She’s human. Off limits.

  Not mine.

  My bear seems to disagree.

  Which is why I hover just out of sight like a stalker, sipping down her scent.

  No. I grit my teeth and force myself to slip away. The sooner I get distance between me and the sweetly-scented female, the better. Nothing good can come of hanging around a tempting human.

  I learned that the hard way.

  Lana

  I can’t shake the feeling that someone is watching.

  After I’ve turned and scoured the woods for the nth time, I ask Bentley, “Did you hear that?”

  “What?”

  “There’s something in the woods. I thought I saw…” I stop and shade my eyes. My memory tells me there was a shadow gliding between the trees a second ago, but now there’s nothing there. “...Maybe it was just a bird.”

  “Maybe it’s a bad bear going to come out of the woods and eat you.”

  I wrinkle my nose at him. “You sound like you’re looking forward to that.”

  “Maybe I am.”

  I shake my head. I give up–I can’t bridge the relationship between Bentley and me. Our parents would’ve wanted it–I think that’s why they contrived this little memorial ritual for us–and I did my best to connect, but he’s an ass. I have my standards.

  I tromp on, rubbing away the prickling sensation at the back of my neck.

  Bentley rounds on me and screws up his face like he smelled sweat-soaked wool socks. “And what the fuck are you wearing?” he asks like he's been criticizing me out loud all along.

  “I’m so glad you asked.” I strike a pose. “This is the all-new hiking line by GoddessWear.”

  Bentley sniffs and brushes past me, screwing the top back onto his water bottle. He doesn't even appreciate the high-tech fabric cut on a bias to lay flatteringly across my curves. I am a short queen and wonderfully round, and my new outfit is sporty and sexy at the same time. “No one makes cute hiking clothes in Goddess sizes,” I tell Bentley. “So I set out to do something about it.” I can’t hide the immense pride in my voice.

  “Did it have to be that color?”

  “What’s wrong with pink? It’s my favorite color.”

  Bentley looks me up and down and sniffs. “It’s so bright, they’ll be able to see you from Santa Fe. Does it glow in the dark?”

  “Yes,” I say with triumph. “In case I get lost or fall in a ravine. Easier for the rescuers to find me.”

  He marches on, grumbling under his breath.

  “Accidents happen,” I trill and scramble after him.

  “They sure do.” I don’t know why it sounds like Bentley’s gloating. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Why did my dad want to be tossed off this mountain anyway?”

  I bite my lip before I bite his head off for referring to the spreading of our parents' ashes as getting tossed off this mountain.

  I am made of sunshine. That’s what my mom used to tell me, anyway. It was probably a learned coping mechanism for living with a stepbrother who hated me and being raised by nannies and very uninvolved rich parents.

  My mom and my stepdad, Roger, weren’t very present as parents. After boarding school, I moved out on my own.

  I pause to rub my chest, but it’s an automatic gesture, not a necessary one. The tight knots under my breastbone have eased. I did love my parents, but the shock and horror of the private plane crash that took their lives has worn off. I'm tired and a little bit empty, and I'm ready for this step in the grieving process. The urn with their ashes has been on my mantle in my house in Hollywood Hills for a year and a half.

  “They had fond memories of visiting here,” I say. “It was the third stop on their honeymoon. After Park City and before Taos.”

  “I’m sure it was your mom’s idea. Why anyone would willingly come to this shitty mountain is beyond me.”

  “What are you talking about? This mountain is perfect. It’s like a postcard. Everything about it is so picturesque.”

  “Picturesque? What the fuck about this place is picturesque?” He wrinkles his nose like he’s smelling dog poop.

  “Everything,” I rush to defend. “The pink mountains, the little town. Even the name is cute.”

  “Who names a mountain, Bad Bear Mountain?”

  “The people who lived here, obviously. Maybe there’s a bear problem.” Oops, that probably would’ve been good to know before we went on an extended hike in the wilderness.

  I try to search the internet for more info about Bad Bear Mountain and how it got its name, but the web page won’t load.

  We reach the summit around noon. I don’t have to check my phone for the time– I can te
ll because the sun is directly above us. I’m practically a boy scout.

  “Okay.” I drop my poles and pack. Everything I’ve been carrying has gotten heavier in the past thirty minutes. “This is it. You want to do the honors, or shall I?”

  Bentley makes an impatient gesture. “Get it over with.”

  “Not exactly the respect Mom and Roger deserve, but okay.” I pull out the urn and head for a crop of rocks and a boulder that juts out over a scenic overlook.

  While Bentley waits at the base, his arms crossed over his chest, I creep up the long ledge, planting each foot after the other with care. At the end of the rocky plank, I hold the urn close and peer over the edge. The long drop makes me dizzy. This high up, exposed, the wind whips my braids around my face.

  “What are you waiting for?” Bentley calls.

  “I'm waiting for the wind to blow the correct direction,” I holler back. “I don’t want to get a mouthful of Mom and Roger.”

  He grunts, conceding the point.

  I stand at the edge of the world, hanging on to the urn. Now that I'm here, sweating in the hot sun, I wish I had done more to make this moment special. I should’ve prepared a speech. “Should I say a few words?”

  “Lana, for fuck’s sake,” he shouts back.

  Fine. I open the urn. “Goodbye Mom, Roger,” I whisper to the wind and let the ashes stream away. I think about all the good times we had, the handful of winter break holidays and my graduation from boarding school. Our parents traveled a lot and lived their own lives, but the time we did share was special. And we certainly lacked for nothing. When I needed funds to start my company–