Awakening the Alpha Book 2: Snatched

Chapter 1 That evening, Blaze stepped off the hotel elevator in Washington, DC, and stopped dead still. Logan was in the lobby. Alone. Waiting for him. One double heartbeat. Two…bigeminy. Three…trigeminy. Lungs so tight from happiness I can’t draw my breath in all the way. He put a hand to his chest to calm his happy heart. Logan turned and saw Blaze. A slow smile spread across his face, deepening the creases on either side of his mouth that lent so much character to his lover’s sensual face. “Hi.” The greeting was low-key, but his dark eyes filled with welcome and warmth. “Hi, yourself.” There were so many things Blaze wanted to say, but his body hadn’t yet recovered from the vibrant onslaught of joy in seeing him in person tonight. A video chat on his tablet these past weeks had been raunchy and gratifying, but it wasn’t the same as the feel of Logan’s smooth skin or the heat and taste of his mouth or groin. Being attracted to and loving someone was such a mysterious thing. He’d read that scientists believed it had something to do with chemistry, but he couldn’t say. Didn’t really care. Whatever sparked it between two people, two beings, was a miracle, and one he’d honestly thought would never happen because of what he was. “Miss me?” the almost-black Native American eyes teased. Blaze groaned, hand over the booming pump in his chest. “You know damned well I did.” He started forward as if to make a move on him. Palm up to stop him, Logan drew back. “My folks should be down any second. The Lincoln Town Car the museum’s sending will arrive any minute.” Blaze stopped and gave him a smart former-SEAL salute. “Your word is my command.” He wanted to spend time just looking at Logan anyway. As artist honoree for the reception in the Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Indian on the National Mall, Logan had dressed in an expensive black evening suit with a black tie and black dress slippers. His snowy-white shirt with black studs contrasted well with the faintly warm tint of his skin. An Indian earring of colorful beads swung from his left lobe. Before Logan’s parents appeared, Blaze’s overwhelming need to touch him caused him to lean in to at least enjoy the smell of the man’s cologne. He couldn’t stop himself from brushing his lips across his lover’s clean-shaven cheek. “Umm, how good you smell. That’s my favorite scent.” “I know. I wore it just for you.” Blaze softened his voice. “That’s just like you. Have I told you how much I care for you?” He stepped back to let his gaze rove from crown to shoe tips. “How splendid you are all dressed up, Mr. Rider. Glad you aren’t wearing one of those ridiculous bow ties. They’re always crooked.” He detected tones of happiness ringing in Logan’s laughter. “Don’t diss them. Some guys look fantastic in them.” “But not you. Never for you, my Shoshone lover.” “And, as always, you’re gorgeous enough to eat, but I’m surprised you didn’t wear your SEAL dress blues.” “Against regulations for this type of event, so I’m in the dark blue suit I wear to fancy military events for retirees. Besides, only the dress whites are comfortable and I’d stand out like a headlight. All the light tonight should be on you.” Logan traced Blaze’s jaw line with his forefinger, then touched the finger to his mouth as if to carry the essence of Blaze to his lips. “Thanks for coming. It means much to me.” “Only a full moon could have kept me away.” “I’d have made them change the date if that had happened.” Blaze was about to give in to temptation and press his lips to Logan’s mouth when the hum of the elevator reached lobby level, halted, and opened, alerting them to the arrival of the other Riders. They had flown from San Diego with Logan for the event. When they joined them, Logan introduced Blaze as they waited for their ride. “Mother, Kenu, Dad, I’d like you to meet my very good friend, Blaze Canis. He arrived today from Montana, just in time to shower and dress for the dinner. Since they don’t serve food on planes anymore, I’m sure he’s starving.” That broke the ice a little because they all smiled or laughed. “Blaze, I’d like you to meet my family.” Logan’s parents were dressed in formal evening wear, and if it hadn’t been for the vivid colors of the beaded Native earrings dripping from Mrs. Rider’s lobes, Blaze might have considered their assimilation into the Caucasian world complete. He knew they had left the reservation when Logan was a small boy, but Logan returned to the rez to live with his grandfather for his four high school years. Logan introduced Blaze to his father, whose given name was Robert. They shook hands, and Blaze said, “Nice to meet you, Mr. Rider. You have a very talented son.” The man, his face as expressive as a roof shingle, nodded but didn’t speak. He was a little shorter and broader than his son. “And my mother, Rosalie.” Logan smiled as he looked at her, his face filled with love. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Canis. We always enjoy meeting Logan’s friends.” “And I’ve looked forward to this chance to meet his family. You look very nice, Mrs. Rider. I like the effect of the earrings against the dark color of your gown.” She’d seemed shy at first, just nodding at the compliment, then her eyes brightened. “Thank you. An artist advised me.” Blaze kept his laugh quiet, appreciating her humor. “Well said. Well said.” The fine Native lines of their three faces were reflected in Logan’s distinctive cheekbones and slender nose. “No wonder you’re a knockout,” Blaze whispered in his lover’s ear when no one was looking. “You have terrific genes.” Logan’s grandfather’s skin was as wrinkled as a stream bed baked beneath a desert sun during a drought. His dark suit had been fitted to his tall, slender frame, but he walked as if his black dress shoes were new and pinched his feet. Two neat braids hung down his back, revealing a choker of three strands of white porcupine quills threaded at intervals on vertical rows of black beads. His dangling earrings, quills strung between two rows of dark beads tipped by soft, baby bird feathers in gray just above his shoulders, matched. Although he spoke English, there was nothing white about this impressive man. Affection shone and danced in Logan’s eyes. “Nian Kenu, Blaze is a weapons instructor in Yellowstone Gateway, and we met when I updated my skills with handgun and rifle before my recent visit with you. I’m trying to talk him into hunting with us someday on the rez.” Kenu nodded. His handshake was firm. He stood straight, pride in his grandson gleaming in his expressive eyes and face. He carried the lines in his face with grace. Blaze’s immediate perception was that he was a man of many strengths, one of which was understanding who he was in the scheme of things. With the exception of the shoes, he thought Logan’s grandfather would not be uncomfortable among the others here even though Blaze guessed such fancy dress wouldn’t be his first choice. However, as those close-to-obsidian eyes studied him, Blaze had the instant suspicion that Kenu didn’t approve of him. Blaze had felt some stiffness from Robert, but the grandfather’s response surprised as well as unnerved him because Logan admired the man so much. Disapproval wasn’t something Blaze experienced often. If you were or had been a SEAL, most people stood in awe of you. Maybe Kenu didn’t know his SEAL history? He lost no time in chiding himself for the thought. That’s pretty shallow, Canis. SEALs may be an arrogant lot of SOBs because we’re the elite among all the elite warriors in the world, but you’re not a SEAL anymore, and Kenu is a Native who lives on the rez. No doubt he’s never heard of counter-terrorism operatives, much less the navy’s finest fighters. “My grandson must bring you for a visit,” Kenu said, and there seemed to be something more behind the invitation. Maybe he wanted a deeper look at Blaze to evaluate his credentials to be Logan’s nonnative friend? What would he think if he knew they were lovers? Blaze didn’t want to hazard a guess about that. “Thank you for the invitation. I’d like very much to visit.” He smiled and meant it. He wouldn’t let any ulterior motive for the older man’s invitation dissuade him because he wanted to get to know him anyway. If the grandfather’s attitude threatened to change Logan’s feelings for him or drive them apart in any way, he would work on changing the man’s mind. A slight rush of chilled air entered the hotel lobby when a bulky black man in a navy blue chauffer’s uniform trimmed in maroon pushed through the entrance. He was polite and all business. “The Rider family?” “Here,” Logan said, After the driver identified himself as with the NMAI, Logan led them to the town car outside, and they were delivered to the museum’s south entrance for the reception.