A collar.
The bastard put a collar on him and pulled him back with a leash made of metal links.
Dane grabbed the fucking chain, but while this kept the masked psycho from choking him to death, he couldn’t summon the strength to put up any resistance and ended up getting dragged all the way into the deepest, darkest corner of the shack. His head spun by the time he descended onto the bed of furs, and only had enough energy left to pry his eyes open and look at the stranger’s boots—made of thin leather and decorated with an irregular pattern of colorful beads.
“Who… who are you?” Dane uttered, trying to push down the growing sense of panic and focus on the one thing that could still save him—trying to befriend this guy. Because if strength wasn’t enough, then his intelligence was the one weapon he still had.
The man kneeled next to him, his body tense and wary, but he grabbed the short chain hanging between Dane’s cuffed wrists and lifted a label-less bottle in his other hand.
When Dane got a whiff of alcohol, he prepared for pain.
The stranger hesitated, but then his golden-green eyes bore into Dane’s. “My name is Jaguar. And you’re mine now.”
It took all of Dane’s strength to keep from sobbing with fear.
Chapter 3 – Jag
Jag approached Frank’s house with a spring to his step. The building was strategically placed close to the middle of the junkyard, in a large cleared space, yet away from any prying eyes. Surrounded by a white picket fence and with siding the color of heavy rain, it was the perfect compromise between safety and comfort.
Back in the winter, Jag had abandoned his den and had spent quite a few nights here when it got too cold for his liking, but on this beautiful late May morning, snow was just a distant memory. Even the sun was on his side, rising early to present Jag’s sleeping beauty in shades of gold. The man’s unusual coloring made Jag’s chest rattle, and he couldn’t wait to learn the meaning of each tattoo etched into thick, soft flesh. He could have sworn he’d seen some of the images before but couldn’t place them, as if it had been only in passing.
His future mate was still asleep when Jag had snuck out of the den, but the delicious scent of warm food should ensure he’d be in better spirits once he awoke. Anyone was happiest with a full belly.
The sun was rising fast above the shining mountains of scrap metal, which glimmered brightly, casting bead-like reflections into Jag’s path, and while he knew he’d need to pace himself until his mate had warmed up to him, his blood still pulsed with excitement, as if he’d already gotten to claim him.
Jag’s feet tapped to the sound of a melody Frank often played in his home, and as his mouth puckered to whistle, his hurried footsteps soon turned into a series of leaps and pirouettes. There was a lightness to his flesh, and as he smelled sugar in the air, he could no longer wait, and ran toward the house.
Pancakes.
Jag had a preference for meat, which kept him strong and nourished, but a day like this called for a celebration, and he wanted to treat his new man to all things delicious. He was already considering how to rearrange his home to better suit the needs of two inhabitants and avoid the kind of conflict he’d often experienced with his siblings.
Sure, their relationship had had a rocky start, but any man would have been apprehensive after barely escaping death’s clutches. Jag would be the one to nurse him to health and provide the sense of safety his future partner needed. And then, love would come.
Jag leaped over the low fence and stepped into the desolate landscape of what used to be a little garden during a time when Frank had lived with a man of his own. The lot had run dry soon after that person had left and had remained so since—all weeds and raspberry bushes that had been dead for years.
Keeping his head low, Jag crept up to the building and followed the wall to the open window. Frank would often leave some of his food there, and since nothing should be wasted, Jag didn’t hesitate to help himself to it. His mouth widened in a smile when he peeked in and spotted a large stack of pancakes resting on the windowsill.
Frank could be so silly at times—making way more food than he needed and just leaving it to lie around. The wastefulness of civilization was one of the reasons Father had chosen to raise his family deep in the woods, where each resource had to be used mindfully. One never knew when nature would give and when it would start taking away. But since Frank’s waste was Jag’s treasure, he never pointed out that the leftovers were enough to feed a grown man on a daily basis.