Blue Mountain (Pack 1)

“I scented someone else at your mate’s campsite.”

“You did?” He flipped around and scowled. “Who?”

“I don’t know.” Frederick tipped his chin toward the bag Mitch held.

“Her scent’s on his things.”

Mitch raised the bag to his nose and inhaled deeply. Frederick was right. In addition to Simon’s scent, he smelled another shifter. A female Omega. “You didn’t see her?” Mitch asked.

“No.” Frederick shook his head. “And her scent’s a couple of days old so she didn’t stick around.”

His mate had said he was a lone wolf but clearly he hadn’t traveled into the Blue Mountain territory alone. Mitch would need to find out who had been with Simon and where she went. Right after he learned what had brought Simon to Blue Mountain. And every single other detail possible about his mate.

Chapter 6

When Mitch left him alone in the house, Simon immediately considered scoping out exits and running while he had the chance. But despite years of following that very approach to every interaction with shifters, he couldn’t make himself leave.

He liked the cozy cabin. He liked the stocked kitchen. He liked the prospect of staying in one place for longer than a couple of nights. He liked the idea of sleeping in a warm bed instead of on the hard ground. And even though the gruff, aggressive, mammoth Alpha who had captured him and held him hostage should have been first on Simon’s list of reasons to run, rather than being a reason to stay, he admitted to himself that he liked Mitch.

So Simon didn’t escape. Instead he walked across the house toward the bathroom, intent on freshening up before cooking dinner. The space was different than he remembered, making him question if he truly knew where he was. He’d expected to step into a tiny room with a wall-mounted sink, toilet, and small shower, but what he found was an open space with a long cabinet and dark soapstone counters. To his right, where a wall should have been, was an opening leading to an even bigger room with soaring ceilings, windows all along one wall, a sectioned off corner with a toilet, a large, glass-enclosed shower, and a massive hot tub.

Simon walked around the space in awe, wondering if he’d be allowed to use it. He imagined soaking his worn out body in the tub, surrounded by hot water, bubbles, and Mitch. The last part of that fantasy startled him and snapped him back to the present. Trusting Mitch enough to accept his offer of shelter was risky, but Simon was desperate and weary enough to do it. Exposing any vulnerability was dangerous to the point of being reckless.

After using the facilities and cleaning his hands and face, Simon headed back to the kitchen. Mitch was sitting at the table with a neatly stacked pile of clothing in front of him. Simon’s clothing.

“What are you doing?” Simon asked.

“Going through your bag,” Mitch said shamelessly. He looked into Simon’s backpack, pulled out a T-shirt, and held it out in front of him. “Bun Huggers?” He snapped his gaze toward Simon. “Explain.”

“Uh, it’s a hotdog and hamburger place in Arizona. I washed dishes there about five years ago when—” Realizing what he was doing, Simon snapped his mouth shut and, with a huff, yanked his shirt from Mitch. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” But he wanted to. Not responding to Mitch felt wrong. “You shouldn’t be looking at my clothes,” he forced himself to say.

Mitch calmly reached his hand out, plucked the shirt from Simon, and his expression unchanging, said, “Why not?”

“What do you mean, ‘Why not?’? Because they’re mine.”

“And you’re mine.” Mitch folded the shirt and carefully placed it on the table.

“You don’t own me.” Simon gulped and fidgeted. His brain shouted at him to hit the Alpha and prove his strength or take his belongings and get away. But his chest and stomach burned with pleasure and need in reaction to Mitch’s interest and close proximity. He wanted to curl into a ball on Mitch’s broad lap and rest.

“I didn’t say I owned you.” Mitch began methodically placing each item back into Simon’s bag.

“You said I was yours.”

“You are.”

The conversation was circular. “See? That means the same thing.”

“Being mine doesn’t mean you’re a slave.” Mitch raised his black-eyed gaze and looked at Simon hungrily. “It means you’re mine to touch. Mine to care for. Mine to protect. Mine to know.” He sighed. “You’re mine, and I hoped I’d learn about you by going through your belongings.”

All the anger whooshed out of Simon’s body in a rush, leaving him trembling. He yearned for what Mitch offered. But he had enough life experience to know it couldn’t be real.

“If you want to know something about me, ask me.”

“Would you answer?”

Normally Simon’s response would have been no, but something about Mitch put huge chinks in his hard-earned armor. “What do you want to know?”