Page 1 of Eco-Activist’s Mountain Men (Mountain Men Reverse Harem #4)

Luna

G oddammit, this is steep. I'm scrambling up a heavily wooded mountainside, deep in the wilderness and miles from anything or anyone, aiming for the waypoint on my Garmin. The guy in the shop barely showed me how to use it, but at least he helped me program in the coordinates.

I'm tired and hungry, but most of all, I'm desperately thirsty. All I want is to collapse on the ground and rest. But that's not an option.

It can't be far now. Just one more rise, I think. But then I've thought that for the last three rises… or is it four now? My legs are shot after five hours of hiking from the nearest town—a godforsaken, one-horse mining outpost I only reached by hitching a ride on a logging truck.

I couldn't wait to leave that place. Looking back, it was a five-star resort compared to where I am now.

Why do I always get myself into these messes?

According to my parents, I've always been contrary.

If everyone else is too hot, I'm too cold.

If they all want pizza, I insist on pasta.

Perhaps they're right. Maybe my contrariness is what made me drop out of college, but honestly, who the hell cares about Business Administration, for fuck's sake?

That's an easy one… Daddy cares.

That's why he's made so much money, and—as he constantly reminds us—that's why we live in a beautiful home in the Hamptons and can afford ponies, yachts, and ski trips to Val d'Isère. So yeah, he's smart and he's rich… and he doesn’t let any of us forget it.

In the end, I'd had enough. I dropped out of college, dyed my blonde hair bright pink, and joined Kill Climate Change—an activist group that actually does something meaningful, rather than fucking everything up, like my daddy and his business cronies.

You should've seen my mom's face the first time she clocked my pink hair—she nearly had a heart attack. That was two years ago, when I was twenty-two and still finding my feet in the environmentalist movement.

She's over it now, bless her. I do love her—Daddy too. They mean well. They're just stuck in their ways. Can't see the truth anymore, no matter how hard I try to explain.

This has to be the place.

I've finally reached the loggers' camp. Took fucking hours and nearly killed me in the process, but I gotta say… now that I'm here, it's absolutely stunning.

The Mount Hood National Forest is one of Oregon's hidden gems. Surprisingly close to Portland, it stretches for over a million acres to the east, filled with rivers, waterfalls, lakes, glacial creeks, meadows, valleys, a wide variety of wildlife… and of course, millions of trees.

I'm here for the trees.

When I learned they were cutting them down—right in the middle of a goddamned national forest that's supposedly protected by the U.S.

Forest Service—I was fucking incensed. Government contracts sold to the highest bidder, giving logging companies the right to rip hundreds of acres of old-growth woodland out of the heart of one of our greatest resources. Unbelievable.

One of those companies is McKenzie Forestry Services.

According to Kill Climate Change's leader, Tim Collier, they've got a godawful track record—clear-cutting everything in sight and leaving devastation behind.

It's like they either don't know trees are the lungs of the planet, or they just don't give a shit.

They're not stupid, so yeah, it's the latter.

That's why we've decided to act.

My job—alongside my fellow activist, Randy Jessup—is to arrive ahead of the main group, climb the elevated walkways the loggers use to move through the canopy, and then, just as Tim arrives by helicopter with the media in tow, unfurl the banners.

Boom. Instant headlines.

That was the plan, anyway.

What actually happened is that Randy never showed up at the SleepEZ Inn in Portland that Kill Climate Change had pre-booked for us.

Which, of course, left me on my own, and that's a problem.

I tossed and turned all night in that crummy hotel bed, the old AC unit rattling like it was dying, and a blinking red LED from the sprinkler system taunting me from the ceiling. I barely slept.

In the end, I decided: fuck it. I'd go ahead anyway.

We're not supposed to act alone, but the media team and helicopter were already booked at a cost of tens of thousands of dollars.

Besides, we'd been planning this for months.

There was too much riding on it—and honestly, how hard could it be to hang a banner from a rope walkway?

When Tim gave me the assignment, he'd praised my past work and said I'd earned this starring role in what would be the biggest event our group had ever attempted.

If it went well, he said, my face would be all over social media and TV, and the coverage would help drive attention to the fight for tree conservation.

All my teammate and I had to do was get two banners in place today, ready to unfurl at exactly the right moment tomorrow, just as Tim and the film crew passed overhead in the rented chopper. They’d capture it all live and send it to every news outlet that mattered.

Simple, right?

Now that I'm up here, it's far from the pleasant walk in the park I'd imagined. I'm out of my depth. I never should've gone ahead without Randy.

Oh well. I've been in tighter places than this.

The camp is quiet. No buzz of chainsaws or hum of vehicle engines, so maybe the tree-murdering bastards are on a break or something. Whatever. As long as I can stay out of sight until tomorrow, everything should go to plan.

It feels amazing to shrug off my backpack and sink to the ground. For early September, the temperature is unusually hot, and the humidity is off the charts—which just proves our point about climate change, right?

I sigh and take another mouthful of precious water from my canteen. Two-thirds of it's already gone on the five-hour hike. Either I find more clean, drinkable water, or this final third will have to last until the team arrives tomorrow.

Up ahead, I spot a particularly ancient Douglas fir that's easily two hundred feet tall and many feet in circumference, towering up into the canopy. A rope ladder is attached to it, together with a hooked line connected to what looks like a block and tackle.

This must be it.

I make my way toward it, stumbling over roots, pushing through lush ferns, trying not to get slashed to pieces by trailing thorns.

Insects buzz around my eyes, up my nose, and even in my ears.

I'm thankful for the insect repellent I picked up in Portland.

It seems to be keeping the little bastards at bay. Mostly.

Some good luck for once: the block and tackle are an unexpected bonus. I test it, and sure enough, when I haul on one end, the other moves upward. Great. I can hoist my backpack up there without having to wear it while climbing. Much safer.

I reach down and clip the carabiner on my backpack to the hook on the rope. As I do, I spot a piece of paper on the ground. I pick it up and examine it.

Weird. It's a hotel invoice. Same one I stayed at last night, but dated a few days ago. What's that doing here? Someone else must've passed through recently. Strange coincidence that they also stayed at the SleepEZ Inn.

I shrug, fold the invoice, and stuff it into my backpack. No need to have litter spoiling the place, as well as all the tree damage.

Hauling on the rope, I watch the backpack disappear into the canopy.

After about twenty feet, it's lost from sight.

A few more pulls and the rope bumps at the top of its journey.

I secure my end to a handy peg that was presumably hammered into the tree for exactly this purpose, then I grab the rope ladder and start to climb.

Oh my God… what a view!

From up here, I can see for miles, and I honestly think this might be the most beautiful view I've ever seen.

To the north rises the majestic silhouette of Mount Hood.

At 11,239 feet, it's the fourth-tallest mountain in the Cascade Range, but numbers don't begin to capture its true impact.

It owns the skyline. Its snowcapped summit and conical, craggy shape rise far above everything else, giving it a perfect, fairy-tale mountain look.

It's exactly the kind of mountain a child might draw—bold, symmetrical, awe-inspiring, like a scene from a Tolkien novel.

Tall, mysterious, and dazzling in its cloak of white snow, it towers above the lush green forest below. I simply stand and stare, barely remembering to breathe. This moment is special… a spiritual experience. This is why I am here. This is what I have come to save.

I drag my backpack up over the safety rail and unclip the carabiner.

In front of me stretches a walkway made of short wooden planks connected by long lengths of rope, strung between the trees for hundreds of yards.

Waist-high ropes hang on either side, serving as makeshift handrails.

These walkways are where I'm supposed to attach our Kill Climate Change banners, ready to unfurl tomorrow for the cameras in the helicopter Tim has arranged.

Hmm… what would've been awkward but doable with Randy here to help is going to be a lot harder on my own, not least because the wind seems to be picking up.

The old timer I'd hitched a ride with had warned me there was a storm coming, but I'd dismissed it as nonsense: blue skies, blazing sunshine, not a cloud in sight, and barely a breeze. I'd practically sneered at him.

Now, though… the swaying of the walkway is increasing, making me queasy. Worse still, I can see dark clouds massing to the northwest. They look ominously dark—almost purple—and they're moving fast toward me.

A sudden gust of wind blasts through the canopy, making the trees creak and shudder before settling again. I grip the guide rail tightly, my hand trembling where before it had been steady as a rock.

I take a deep breath.

"This will not do, Luna Wildchild," I mutter. "Pull yourself together, girl. You're an experienced climber on a walkway with a safety rail, for fuck's sake."

Then, with one long, heartfelt sigh, I step away from the relative safety of my Douglas fir and start inching my way out along the walkway, banner in hand.

Good. I've got one end of the banner's top edge connected. Now I just need to secure the other end. When the time comes, I'll pull the release cord, and the banner will unfurl into place:

Kill Climate Change

Stop the Logging

Save the Planet

Two-foot-tall red letters on a white background will stand out perfectly against the green and brown of the forest.

Now for the other end.

Who the hell decided our slogan had to be this long? Jesus—the banner just keeps unrolling in my hands as I shuffle, inch by inch, along the increasingly swaying walkway. The breeze is stronger now, and the sky has definitely darkened. I feel a drop of water on my shoulder.

Amazing how fast the weather's turned. Why couldn't the blue skies have remained just an hour or two longer? Then I'd be safely back on the ground, looking for a place to hole up for the night, unobserved.

Instead, here I am, swinging from side to side on a flimsy rope bridge, fumbling with cord and fabric while tightly gripping both the rope bridge and the banner itself at the same time, and all while trying not to puke from the motion.

Shit… was that lightning?

Yes. There it is again—a brilliant flash that lights up the whole sky, followed by a massive CRACK of thunder that sounds almost directly overhead.

Dammit. This isn't a game anymore. Honestly? I don't feel safe.

What should I do? Keep going and try to fix the other end? Or retreat to the safety of my nice, solid Douglas fir?

But if this banner doesn't go up, the whole mission fails. We were supposed to put up two banners, and I haven't even finished one. It's no good, I have to do it. Somehow.

I grip the banner tightly in my left hand, my right clinging to the guide rail. I edge my right foot forward. Then shuffle my left foot to meet it.

Good. One more step.

The rain is falling now—huge drops, the size of dimes, though not many yet. The wind's picking up too, and the sky to the northwest has turned a horrible, purple-bruised color I've never seen before. The sun is gone.

It's darker.

Colder.

Windier.

I shiver in my thin T-shirt, wishing I'd put on another layer when I'd had the chance. Too late now. No way to change clothes up here, not in this wind. It's all I can do just to stay upright.

CRACK. Another peal of thunder, and almost at the same moment, the sky lights up again with angry flashes of lightning.

I take another tentative step… but something feels different.

The walkway feels looser, less sturdy, like it's not properly attached to anything.

Then, in a heartbeat, and before I can even register what's happening, the ropes give way, and I'm falling.

My pink hair whips around me, and my backpack is gone. The banner flaps around me like some kind of demented albatross. I open my mouth to scream, but before I can even make a sound, I hit the ground, hard, with a brutal oomph that knocks the breath right out of me.

My head hurts. I must've hit it on something. I try to sit up, but my left wrist is useless. When I try to get up, a sharp pain shoots through my right ankle.

Oh Jesus. I hope it's not broken. How the hell am I going to get out of here with a broken ankle?

Then, just to make things worse, the heavens fully open and the rain starts coming down properly, soaking me to the skin.

Thank you very much, Mother Nature.

I'm shivering now, and it hits me I could actually be in danger. Cold, wet, injured, no food, no shelter. The storm isn't letting up. If anything, it's getting stronger.

I need to act fast, because staying here could mean hypothermia. Or worse.

I try to move again, but I immediately stop, letting out a yelp from the pain in my ankle.

I can't stay, but I can't move. Fucking wonderful.

My phone is gone, along with my backpack. Presumably it's nearby, but I can't see it. It could've fallen anywhere within a twenty-foot radius.

My only hope is the logging crew. Maybe if I crawl, I can reach their camp. It's only a few hundred yards away. I gather my strength for one final push…

But as soon as I move, I scream in agony, and this time the pain doesn't dissipate. It's too much to bear. I'm fighting it, but I can feel myself losing consciousness.

Just before I black out, I look up and I swear I see a huge animal standing on the track ahead, staring back at me.

It looks like… a wolf?

Oh, fucking fantastic. A wolf. That's all I need.