The burger patties were done, water was heating for the broccoli, which was rinsed and chopped, and Simon was digging through the fridge for the can of rolls when footsteps sounded. His muscles seized, and he instinctively braced himself.
“I’m here,” Mitch rumbled.
“I heard you.” He wanted to turn around and verify exactly who was behind him, what they were doing, and how he could get away if necessary. But he knew it was Mitch, and he didn’t want to come across as scared by confirming the obvious, so he stayed in place.
“Good.” He felt warmth behind him. “I didn’t want to startle you.”
Having someone approach when his back was turned and he was effectively cornered had ended badly for Simon enough times that being startled was reflexive. But he knew that wasn’t Mitch’s intention, and he didn’t want to expose his fears and insecurities, so he lied. “You didn’t startle me.”
“Take a deep breath through your nose.”
“What?”
“You’re a wolf just as much as a man. Use all your senses.”
Simon followed Mitch’s advice and inhaled.
“What do you smell?”
“Uh.” Simon closed his eyes and focused. “The fruit and cheese in the refrigerator. The meat on the counter. The pine in the breeze wafting in through the window.” And then there was the scent he noticed above all those.
“What else?”
Simon gulped. “You.”
A large hand brushed over his hip. “Anyone else?”
He shook his head, his throat too thick to respond with words.
“That’s right. We’re the only two people here, and that’s how it’ll stay for as long as you want.”
“It’s your house. You can invite anyone—”
“You’re living here now, so it’s our house.” Mitch stepped forward, pressing against Simon from neck to shins. He moved his thick, hairy arm over Simon’s shoulder, into the refrigerator. “And if you need to keep this space as a sanctuary away from the rest of the pack, that’s fine.” Mitch picked up the can of rolls, kissed the top of Simon’s head, and then moved away. “I’ve been careful about doing that very thing, which is lucky because you won’t ever have to worry about scenting others in our den. We can see the pack at gatherings or at my brother’s house until you’re more comfortable with others.”
“I’m just…” Visiting wasn’t the right description because people didn’t visit strangers, and Simon hadn’t come to Blue Mountain to see Mitch. “I’m only…” Passing through didn’t quite work either because he’d be staying there for a month. Simon sighed. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to live with a pack.” No pack would want him, and even if Mitch had enough clout with the Blue Mountain Alpha to get permission for Simon to stay, he wouldn’t be welcome. Or safe.
“How about me?” Mitch asked quietly.
“You?”
“Can you live with me?”
Simon dropped his chin to his chest. “I don’t know you.”
“You keep saying that.”
Because it was true.
“Who are you trying to convince?” Mitch asked.
Simon twisted his head over his shoulder but Mitch wasn’t looking at him. He was dropping broccoli into the boiling water.
“What do you mean?” Simon turned around, releasing the refrigerator door in the process. It banged against his shoulder and he shuffled away.
“Remember what I said about your senses?” Mitch got a baking sheet out from the cabinet next to the stove and placed it on the counter.
Simon nodded before he remembered Mitch couldn’t see him. He opened his mouth to answer, but it seemed words weren’t necessary because Mitch continued speaking.
“You know me in your gut and in your heart.” He popped open the tube of rolls and arranged the rounded dough in straight rows on the sheet. “What do those senses tell you?”
“My gut tells me I’m not safe here.” Or anywhere. And his heart hurt.
Mitch sighed and turned around. The sides of his mouth and eyes were pulled down. “Because you think the pack will hurt you?” he asked gently.
“I’m a male Omega and my scent’s off.” Simon stepped over to the plate of patties on the counter. “They will hurt me.” Or worse.
“What do you mean off?” Mitch scrunched his eyebrows together and inhaled. “There’s nothing wrong with your scent.”
Simon shrugged and looked away.
“Simon?” Mitch turned off the stove burner, slipped the baking sheet into the oven, and walked over to Simon. “Tell me what you meant about your scent.”
Shame was akin to weakness, and he wouldn’t be weak, so he squared his shoulders and said, “They say my scent means I want men to do things to me I don’t want.”
“Who’s they?”
“Shifters.”
Mitch nodded slowly, his jaw ticking. “And what kinds of things do they say you want?”
No shame. No weakness. “Physical things.” Simon swallowed hard and prayed his voice wouldn’t shake. “Sexual things.”
Mitch froze and his nostrils flared. “Scents can say a lot about a shifter. We can scent an Alpha wolf. We can scent pack. We can scent fear and excitement. Sometimes we can scent if a wolf is gay or straight.” He paused and peered at Simon. “And, yes, we can scent arousal and desire.”