Blue Mountain (Pack 1)

Shaking his head so quickly it made him dizzy, Simon said, “I didn’t desire them. They said scents don’t lie. They said I wanted them. But I didn’t.”

“They claimed to scent desire when it wasn’t true?”

“Not desire, but…” Simon bit his bottom lip and caught himself looking away. Hiding was weakness so he forced himself to focus on Mitch. “They said my scent was off because I wanted men like a woman, which means I wanted them to—” He gulped. “Do what they did. But I didn’t want that.” He drew in a deep breath. “And I don’t think women should have to do it either.” Women like his mother.

Mitch narrowed his dark eyes and bared his teeth, the change in expression taking him from intimidating to deadly. “Let me make sure I understand this. They figured because you’re an Omega and gay they could force themselves on you?”

Simon cringed and closed his eyes, unable to keep up the pretense that the memories didn’t affect him. “It doesn’t matter what kind of wolf they said I am. Nothing they said matters because I’ll never be part of a pack.”

Simon felt the plate of patties being gently removed from his hands. Mitch remained quiet for a couple of minutes, and Simon was grateful for the calming silence.

“I understand why your gut’s telling you to run, pup,” Mitch eventually whispered. A big hand petted Simon’s cheek, and he opened his eyes, meeting Mitch’s gaze. “From the sound of it, you’ve come across the worst of our kind.” Mitch’s eyes and lips were tight, as if he was injured. “It’ll be different now. You’ll see. In a good pack, shifters work together, help each other, and protect one another.”

“I don’t need a pack.” Being alone was better than being at the mercy of others.

“Those wolves you came across were lying about their reasons for abusing you. It had nothing to do with you or your scent and everything to do with them and their—” He paused, a look of rage crossing his face. “Shortcomings.” Mitch slowly moved his hand down to Simon’s neck and over to his nape. “They made you distrust something innate to our kind. We can learn a lot about a person from scent and body language. It’s part of our communication. I’ll teach you, but until you truly understand those senses and trust them, I will listen to your words and only your words.”

Unsure what to say, Simon simply nodded.

“Now that you’re here, you’ll see that a pack isn’t like those people who hurt you.”

“I will not be part of this pack, Mitch.”

“Well—” Mitch breathed in deeply and smiled at him. “You agreed to stay with me, so for now, we’ll be a little pack of two.” He picked up the plate of patties and put his hand on Simon lower’s back. “The grill’s ready.” He led Simon out of the kitchen, through the laundry room to the back of the cabin. When they reached the grill, he handed Simon the plate and said, “Here you go, chef. Have at it and let me know what you want me to do.” Then he stepped aside and silently watched Simon cook the burgers.

The cool breeze and chirping birds were peaceful. Mitch’s presence was comforting. And Simon let himself enjoy the moment and the company. There’d be plenty of time to worry about avoiding packs when his time with Mitch came to an end.

Chapter 7

“What’s with all the stretching?” Frederick asked as Mitch raised his arms over his head, held his left wrist with his right hand, and arched his back.

“I’m a little sore,” Mitch said with a shrug.

“Sore, huh? Good for you. I wondered how long it’d take you to handle that secret mate of yours.”

Mitch glanced away from his computer and looked at Frederick who was waggling his eyebrows in what Mitch assumed was meant to be a leer, but came across more like a grimace.

“Simon isn’t a secret. He’s just not ready to meet people.” But he would be soon. Mitch was certain of it. Wolves yearned for a pack and that instinct was winning out over Simon’s hesitation, even though it was well-justified.

“Whatever.” Frederick rolled his eyes. “At least you’re finally getting it under control.”

In the three weeks Simon had been staying with Mitch, Frederick had gone from excited about him, to wanting to meet him, to incessantly asking questions about him. So Mitch was used to his brother talking about his mate. But Frederick’s current tone raised his hackles.

“What’s your problem?” Mitch asked.

Frederick gave him his best glare.

It would have been intimidating to most people, but it did nothing to worry Mitch, so he crossed his arms over his chest, arched his eyebrows, and waited his brother out.

“I don’t have a problem,” Frederick said.

Bored with the conversation, Mitch refocused on his computer.