Primal (Wrong Side of the Tracks 2)

He’d chosen the small, elongated valley between the junk hills for its discreet location, and it had served him well even during the rainy seasons. The two rusty trucks on one side provided excellent support for the containers collecting water for Jag’s shower, and the den itself—a mound of metal and plywood covered with dark green tarp—was safely tucked against a massive block of concrete that had iron bars sticking out.

He frowned at the frantic rattling coming from inside the house. Was his mate delirious? One of his brothers had once wreaked havoc in their house after eating the wrong kind of mushroom, and an infected wound might cause symptoms like that too.

Jag grabbed his mask from where he’d put it away, close to one of the outer walls, hid his face behind it, and rushed in to see what the commotion was about.

His mate froze with cuffed hands holding a fork to the padlock on his collar. It was a good thing he hadn’t attempted to wrestle the thick iron hoop Jag had attached the chain to, since it was rusty and might have infected his blood. An uncle of Jag’s had perished as a result of a similar wound, his back broken by spasms that followed days of delirium, and it was a fate Jag wouldn’t have wished on anyone.

Two eyes shone at Jag from the bruised face—one brown, one blue. Ah, the man was even more beautiful in the bright light coming through the single window Jag had repurposed from one of the many cars in the junkyard. With soft padding under the skin and a pillowy belly Jag would love to rest his head on, he was handsome like a young bear, yet in need of protection and nurturing. Just the kind of specimen Jag liked to imagine writhing under him in the night.

And while he remained wary, Jag would make sure to use all the tools of persuasion in his arsenal to make this man his.

“Um … it’s too tight on me,” his future mate said in the same smooth yet soft voice that had made Jag shiver with desire last night.

Jag dropped the backpack and got to his knees, but kept an eye out for sudden movement, because the man had proven volatile and had enough weight to throw around to overpower Jag. “Oh. Let me fix that then, and we can eat. I wasn’t sure what your favorites are, but you’ll have to eat a lot now to regain your strength.”

His mate pulled his knees to his chest and covered himself with a blanket, tense as if he anticipated punches, not food and gentleness. Whatever had happened to him last night must have been traumatizing, not only to his bruised body but to his spirit as well, so Jag stalled and, instead of kneeling by him right away, opened the backpack to show this morning’s bounty.

“I brought you food,” he said and opened the metal tin which he used to store the pancakes.

The other man opened his mouth, and his chest expanded as he breathed in, watching Jag place all the scavenged foods onto a wooden box. Jag hoped to notice what caught his mate’s eye, but the handsome man looked at him blankly and showed his cuffed wrists.

Jag tapped his forehead. “Right. I will open them, but you have to behave. Understood?”

When the man nodded, Jag shifted closer, fantasising about the colorful bracelet he’d present to his mate after breakfast.

“You’re safe here. You will always be fed, and I even brought you clothes that you can wear once you shower. What’s your name?” Jag asked the question that had been on his mind since yesterday.

The sun shone through the pale hair on the left side of the man’s head as he leaned forward, offering his shackled hands to Jag. “Dane. Dane Whitaker. And you?” he uttered steadily despite his arms trembling as if he were cold.

Jag stroked Dane’s hair and smiled. “Oh you poor thing. You don’t remember what happened last night? I’m Jaguar.”

Dane flinched under his touch and pulled away so fast he hit his rib on the edge of the rusty iron loop sticking out of the concrete wall. Fortunately, his skin was intact there. “I—uh. Thank you for saving me… Jaguar,” he added.

When he met Jag’s gaze, it became clear how little the mask allowed Jag to see through the narrow cut-outs it had for eyes. Maybe he should make a new one, one that allowed him to eat freely in Dane’s presence?

“I will always take care of you from now on, so you have nothing to worry about.”

Dane exhaled, and his Adam’s apple rolled against the inner side of the collar, so delicious Jag wished he could bite in and feel sweet juice explode onto his tongue. “I don’t even know your face.”