Becoming His, Learning to Breathe: Part Two - The Collective - Season 1, Episode 8

by Ellie Masters

  She gestured at the helicopter and the men who’d met them. Several had mountaineering gear on, packs with shovels strapped to their backs, and snow boots that meant business. Where he’d found these men during the hour-long flight from Napa to Tahoe, she had no idea, but there they were—a private search and rescue team.

  Derek had on a suit. She had on a light pantsuit and slip-on shoes. Neither one of them was dressed for a trip into the mountains.

  “I love you,” she continued. “I really do, but if you think you’re going to keep me from going out to help find George, you’re dead wrong.”

  “Sally…”

  “No. Look, I get that I’ve given my submission to you, but this falls outside of that. George is family. I have to be there, not sitting here waiting for the men to do the work. I’m sorry if that’s not in line with what you think a submissive should do, or be, but this is who I am.”

  He pulled her toward the small building. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I don’t care. We’re not having this conversation.”

  He opened the door. With a hand to the small of her back, he led her inside. On a table, a mound of mountaineering equipment nearly spilled onto the floor. About half a dozen men waited inside. They poured over terrain maps and appeared deep in discussion. They all glanced up and stood when they saw Derek.

  “Mr. LeMark,” one of the men said. He was a brawny man, rugged and well-muscled. “Name’s Mike Cavendish; I’m in charge of this rescue.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mike,” Derek said. He turned to her and made introductions. “This is Doctor Levenson.”

  Mike shook her hand. “Nice to meet you. We’re prepped and ready for immediate departure. Just need you to change if you’re coming with us.”

  “On it,” Derek said, pulling her back to the stacks of clothing and other gear. Forest had wandered in during the introductions, and he pulled a pair of snow pants and a jacket over his impressive bulk.

  “Derek,” she said, gripping his arm. “Please, don’t leave me here. I need to be up there.”

  He gripped her arms and stooped down to get eye level. “Are you asking or telling me? Which one is it? If I tell you, as your Dom, that I forbid you to come, are you going to stay behind?”

  Her eyes brimmed with tears. “Derek, that’s not fair. This isn’t the time to test me. What would you do if that was your brother out there? Would you stay?”

  “All I want is an answer to my question. The only thing I’ve ever asked from you is to give me your trust. Your submission flows from that. I’m asking as your Dom, and I expect an answer. Will you obey me?”

  Her heart just about broke. If she went with search and rescue, she had little to contribute to the team except for her medical skills. They likely had trained personnel in basic medical care, and her skills might be fantastic with the dead, but it had been years since she’d practiced on someone living. The honest truth was she had little to contribute to the team and would be more likely to get in the way. Perhaps Derek recognized this, whereas her emotions blinded her to what would be best.

  She hated every bit of this, but when she examined her feelings, she did trust Derek. Not as her Dom, but as the man who loved her. He wouldn’t let her walk into danger. In less than an hour’s time, he’d mobilized an army to save a man he didn’t even know.

  Gulping back a sob, she gave a fractional nod.

  “I need to hear you,” he said. “Tell me you trust me.”

  “I trust you. If you want me to stay, I will.” And she would. It killed her and burst her heart wide open, but she had faith in Derek to literally move mountains and perhaps find George buried beneath the snow. As new as she was to the entire scene, she understood becoming his would never happen without three things: trust, love, and her complete surrender. He’d earned all three.

  She choked back a sob, “Please find him, and find Tank, too. He’s out there, buried like George, or free. If he is, he’s searching for George. Don’t leave Tank out there to die.”

  Derek kissed her forehead. “I would never do that, my sweet submissive.” He walked her over to a table. “Now get dressed, we leave in ten minutes.”

  “Get dressed?”

  “Men’s small was the best they could do on such short notice. You may need a double, or triple layer of socks for the boots.”

  “Derek!”

  “Love, I would never leave you behind.”

  “But…”

  “Call me a selfish ass, but I needed to know. I need to know where I stand in your life.” He pulled her into a hug and clenched her tight. “I’ll always and forever be yours, but I need to be your Dom first, perhaps someday something more. I need to know if you can accept that, even when you don’t agree with me. I can’t live with anything less.”

  “I should hate you for testing me like that,” she said, “but I think I only love you more.” She glanced around to see if anyone was watching, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “I love you, Sir, and perhaps someday, I’ll be something more. Now get out of my way and let me get dressed.”

  “Be careful how you speak to me, sub,” he growled. “I’m still itching to spank that ass.”

  “As am I,” she countered, “but how about we save Tank and George first?”

  He’d already pulled on the snow pants and tugged a sweater over his head. “I suggest you hurry up. You’ve got less than five minutes.”

  Indeed, the room had emptied of the men. Even Forest was no longer there.

  “Yes, Sir!”

  Tank

  Sally tugged on her clothes, the pants laughably loose on her hips. Fortunately, there was a wide leather belt to cinch it on tight. Derek helped her, gathering the waistband and threading the belt through the loops, while she held up a thick sweater.

  “I’m going to be keeping this one,” he said.

  “Excuse me?”

  “This belt,” he said. “It’ll be perfect for reddening your ass.”

  “Oh God,” she said, squeezing her thighs. “Why does that turn me on?”

  “I plan on showing you why once we have a chance to be alone. There’s so much for us to explore.”

  She tilted her head back, taking in his strong jaw, his pillowy-soft lips, and the desire pooling within his eyes. “I want to be your everything…Sir.”

  How much of what she read did her future Master desire? There were endless variations, different depths of relationships. From bedroom promises to full confinement, from tender sex to rougher carnal delights. Simple honorifics could lead to full abasement, crawling and sitting at his feet, much like Ellen and Justine. She’d read of much darker things as well.

  “I’d love to know what’s going on in that head.” He traced a line from her chin, along the angle of her jaw, to her ear with his knuckles. Then he grabbed her by the nape and lowered for a kiss.

  His lips pressed against hers, soft at first, then more hungry as his tongue lashed out seeking entrance. She opened for him, surrendering to his need, gripping the thick fabric of his sweater and drawing herself up to be devoured. When he let up, she could only gaze at the impossibly beautiful man who’d stolen her heart.

  “What a way to steal a girl’s breath,” she said.

  “I aim to steal more than your breath. I plan on enslaving your heart.”

  “Oh, I think that’s a foregone conclusion.”

  He swatted her ass and turned her toward the door. “Let’s go save your friend, but I have to warn you.”

  “What?”

  “Once he’s safe and sound, I’m taking what’s mine. Keep that in mind when you ask to nurse him back to health. I’ll allow it, but only after you serve me well.”

  “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  It took less than twenty minutes to fly up the mountain. The charter company which had lifted Tank and George had located the avalanche. They called in, and she listened to their conversation through the headset and bounced her knees with worry. They were widening the
ir search, circling outward in a spiral. At least the weather held out. They had blue skies, calm air, and crystal-clear visibility.

  “Got it!” Forest’s booming voice rattled through the headset. “Found the dog!”

  “You did?” She tried leaning forward, but her harness pulled her back. Adrenaline spiked in her body and flowed in her veins. For the first time, she had hope.

  George had told her the sobering statistics of avalanche victims when he announced his plans to train Tank. Fortunately, most victims were centered near ski resorts, thus George’s determination to train Tank as an avy dog. The speed with which a rescue team located an avalanche victim was vital. Avy dogs used their sensitive noses to locate pools of human scent, and upon locating a potential spot began to dig. Recovery in the first fifteen minutes had over a ninety percent survival, provided the victim hadn’t suffered fatal trauma.

  She refused to think about that happening to George. He wore a helmet during his backcountry treks, along with his survival gear. She prayed that had protected him. That ninety percent number took a steep dive south to thirty percent after the first half hour, then plummeted to under ten percent after two hours.

  The texts on her phone had been from well over two hours ago, but she refused to accept he might be dead. Besides, Forest had found Tank’s GPS. Their pilot radioed the coordinates to the charter company, and then their helicopter’s nose tipped forward as the pilot increased their speed.

  Shoot! In the excitement, she forgot about texting the information about the tattoo parlors to Mac. Leaning forward, she tapped Karl’s knee.

  “Yes, Miss Sally?”

  “Master Karl, can you send me that list of 3D tattoo artists, please? I need to send it to my friend.”

  “What’s your number?”

  She gave him her contact info, and he airdropped the file to her. A few short words to Mac, and she had the file sent to him.

  Forest guided them in while everyone searched the vast expanse of snow outside.

  “There!” She tugged on Derek’s sleeve and pointed toward an expanse of broken snow. “Is that it?”

  Derek glanced out. “Sure looks like it.” He turned to Mike Cavendish, the leader of the rescue team. “What do you think?”

  “That’s our avalanche.” Mike let out a low whistle. “That’s a pretty big field.”

  She turned away, but couldn’t mute the rest of the conversation flowing in her headsets. Mike had the pilot make several passes while he assessed the safety of a landing site. He conferred with his team, and there was talk of secondary avalanches and unsteady snowpack. She tuned him out after the second “It’s a big field” comment.

  Peering out the windows, the avalanche was easy to spot. Broken and tumbled snow marred the pristine white of the surrounding landscape. The fall was massive, and somewhere down there George was buried and fighting for his life.

  “How are we going to search that?” She gripped Derek’s knee. “They have a way to search, right?”

  Derek’s expression was grim. They lacked one very important thing. Their team hadn’t brought an avy dog. According to George, an avalanche dog could search two and a half acres in half an hour. He said twenty humans, using avalanche probes, would take four hours to accomplish the same. With the survival statistics dropping with each passing minute, dogs were the true saviors for avalanche victims.

  “Where’s Tank?” She turned to Forest. “Have you located him yet?”

  “The precision isn’t that refined,” Forest said. “We’re basically right over him, but I’m tweaking the signal.”

  The helicopter hovered a few hundred feet above the snowfield. Mike assessed the stability of the surrounding snow and where would be safest to land. She itched to get down there and begin looking, but her gut clenched thinking about George’s stats. They had maybe fifteen men tops between the two helicopters. Mike said others were coming, but there was no way they would be able to search all of that. Not in time to save George.

  He was a survivor, though. If he were alive, he would do whatever he could to maximize his chances.

  The sound of gunshots cracked through the air. The concussive force smacked into the window she leaned against. “What was that?” she screeched, surprised to hear anything over the noise of the rotors.

  Derek tapped his headset and turned the dial several clicks. She followed suit, realizing he was changing channels. One click returned static, as did the next two. Another pop of a gun sounded. Then she clicked to hear chatter on the com.

  “It’s a damn black bear!” Someone shouted. “Can’t get a clear shot…it’s running for the trees. It was dragging a body.”

  “Derek!” The ambient noise swallowed her shout. She tugged on his sleeve. “Tell them to stop shooting. It’s Tank!”

  He shook his head. “They say it’s a bear.”

  “That’s Tank!” Tank weighed in well over two hundred pounds. He was black, shaggy, and enormous. Please don’t shoot him. She clasped her hand over her heart. It could have been a bear, but what were the chances? Slim to none. A bear wouldn’t cross a fresh avalanche. Animals somehow knew to stay clear. Then it hit her. The voice on the other end of the com channel had said it had been dragging a body.

  Ever loyal Tank had somehow dug George out, but there was no reason for Tank to be dragging George unless George was unconscious or worse. Lord knew the dog was big enough and strong enough to pull a man. They’d always teased how he looked like a bear. Poor thing had to be exhausted, and now the helicopters had scared him off.

  “Don’t you lose him,” she cried out. “Derek, you promised.”

  Mike Cavendish finally determined a stretch of snow was safe. They landed an agonizing few minutes later. When the doors opened, she looked down upon the expanse of white, and how the skis sunk in several inches into the snow. Mike and his team pulled snowshoes out of their gear and strapped them on their feet. Despite three layers of socks, her boots were horribly loose.

  “You have to let me go,” she said to Derek, knowing his instinct was to keep her safe.

  “We’ve got enough men to get to George,” he said. “At least we don’t have to find him in all this snow.”

  “No, you don’t,” she quipped. “Tank found him. Tank dug him out. And Tank was dragging him to safety until those assholes started shooting at him.” The poor thing was probably cowering in the tree line, desperate to get back to his master. He wouldn’t come to any of the men. They were strangers.

  “You have to let me go,” she pleaded.

  “It’s not safe out there,” he said. “And the snow is deep. It’ll be almost impossible to walk.”

  “I can cut a path,” came a deep, gravelly voice. Forest lifted the tablet. “Besides, at least we have an idea where the mutt might be.”

  Mike Cavendish and his men trundled out of the helicopter. The idiots in the charter helicopter never landed. With George’s body exposed, their manpower wouldn’t be needed to dig through snow.

  “We’ll cut a path,” Derek said. “Against my better judgment, let’s go find Tank.”

  “Thank you,” she said, then stepped out of the helicopter where she promptly sank to her knees in snow. She should go after George, but there were two medics in Mike’s team. Besides, George would kill her if she didn’t find Tank.

  Forest climbed out, then peered at the tablet. “Says this way.”

  Mike and his team headed straight into the expanse of tumbled snow and ice. It looked to be hard going. Forest led them onto smoother snow and toward the trees. Behind them the whomp, whomp, whomp of the helicopter blades cut through the still air. She’d never been a skier and didn’t understand the appeal, but under the pristine blue sky and looking out over the expanse of snow, she understood a little of George’s passion.

  There. Up ahead. Tracks in the snow. Broad and deep, Tank had headed away from the deafening thumping of the rotors.

  She called out, cupping her hands around her mouth to direct the sound,
and prayed Tank would hear her call.

  Nothing.

  “Tank!”

  Derek chimed in, then Forest as well.

  She turned to them. “Stop! You’ll just frighten him more. He doesn’t know you, and he’s still a pup.”

  “That beast’s a pup?” Forest crossed his arms over the expanse of his chest. “You’re crazy.”

  “He’s not done growing.” The vet said he would put on another fifty pounds before he was fully grown, making him easily twice her size. “Tank,” her voice echoed across the snow.

  They followed Tank’s tracks into the woods, moving further from the noisy helicopter. A light pink tinged the snow where he’d barreled through, running from the gunfire and helicopters.

  “He’s bleeding,” she said.

  Derek bent down and examined the deep depressions. “Looks like he’s limping, too.”

  A low, mournful woof sounded.

  “Tank! Come here, boy. Come here.” She lifted her voice, trying to encourage him out from his hiding, but only received a low whimper. “Tank? Come on boy. It’s me. Come on.”

  He whimpered again.

  Derek spoke up. “Something’s not right. Let’s go in.”

  They trudged through the snow, the going more challenging as they entered the tree-line. Here, snow drifted against the trees. Next to the trunks, the heat of the trees melted the snow, making dangerous funnels deep enough to trap a man. They found Tank whimpering at the base of one of these trees. He’d fallen in and couldn’t get out. The funnel was easily six feet deep.

  His soulful eyes blinked up at her. His face and muzzle were caked in clumps of snow and ice. His hair was similarly laden with chunks of white. He’d tried to claw his way out, leaving bright red marks on the snow.

  “Oh Tank,” she said, surging to the rim.

  Derek put out his arm, preventing her from falling in. “Hang on, we’ll have to dig to get him out.”

  Forest shook his head. “Didn’t even occur to me to bring a shovel. But I think we can cut a way in. Maybe like a ramp?”

  “Yes,” Derek said. “Let’s get to it. I don’t want to keep them waiting.”