Primal (Wrong Side of the Tracks 2) - Page 23
Jag was glad his mate had so much meat on him, as winters were cold, but for now the weather allowed them to walk around shirtless, at least until the others awoke and started work in the junkyard. He’d been cautious to keep to the rarely used paths in his domain, because Frank prided himself on never going back on his word and expected Dane to be rotting away somewhere underground.
But nature was wiser than any of them, and if she decided to let Dane live, then who were they to contradict her?
“Wait. I think I saw something glinting there,” Jag said and turned to where several mattresses were stacked on each other high up on the junk mound.
He pulled on the long chain attached to Dane’s collar. At this point, the leash was just a formality, but better safe than sorry.
But his mate didn’t try to oppose him and followed his lead, yawning as he scratched the hairy patch in the middle of his colorful torso. “Not sure we should be sleeping on those after they’d been out here for so long.”
Dane could be so silly sometimes, and Jag had learned that, like most city people, his man had few survival skills. Jag needed to explain to him how to manage a fire, how long to cook a rabbit for, and even such a basic thing as how to listen. Many dangers could be avoided if one noticed the presence of a predator before seeing it, but Dane was too accustomed to constant background noise to catch subtle cues.
Dane was also noisy and didn’t seem capable of speaking in a hushed tone or treading lightly, no matter how many times Jag had tried to teach him. But nobody was perfect.
“We don’t need new mattresses. Maybe we’ll look for some before winter, but it’s too early.”
Jag also hoped that come winter, they would be sleeping snuggled up like baby rabbits and sharing warmth under the furs after vigorous rutting. The kisses Dane allowed him had to do for now, but every time their lips locked, or they sat close, Jag’s desires rose like steam. Dane stopped him each time, and as frustrated as the unfulfilled pulsing between his legs made Jag, he always withdrew, knowing he’d gain nothing from trying to force himself on the man he wanted to share his life with.
His mate needed to trust him in everything and love him just as much as Jag loved Dane. Such things could only be won with kindness.
“Then what are we looking at?” Dane asked, and Jag almost rose to his toes when warm fingers rolled across his back.
Jag hesitated, but slowly put the chain down. Dane had been behaving well whenever given more freedom, so Jag chose to test him. “No running, okay?” he asked and stroked the blond side of Dane’s head.
The bi-colored lashes fluttered as he inhaled, more receptive to the touch than he liked to reveal. But that was okay. After being brutalized, Dane was bound to have issues trusting someone new, and Jag was willing to wait for as long as his mate needed.
Oh, how Jag wished to hunt down the bastard who’d beaten his colorful bird and delivered him here, to be disposed of like trash. Maybe that was what he should do to show his dedication—bring Dane the bastard’s head? But considering how shocked Dane had been when he saw Jag skin a rabbit for the first time, a bloody revenge might not be the key to his heart.
Dane didn’t say anything, but he did seem to get the point, so Jag gave him a quick kiss and climbed the piles of discarded furniture, inching toward the item he could swear kept winking at him from one of the mattresses. He loved those things. People stuck the strangest things inside them—from thick wads of money, to weapons, to various trinkets that he personally found most useful, and as he dove his hand into the foamy innards, his fingers found a thick metal band with some kind of pattern on the outside. A plastic bag of money had been hidden away along with it, but Jag could get it later.
The wind felt cool on his skin when he pulled out the bracelet and had a quick look at its geometric pattern. It was polished and had a few colorful rocks embedded in the metal.
“I think it might be raining soon,” Dane said.
Jag wasn’t scared of getting wet, so he waved at Dane from the top of Furniture Mountain. “Come over here!” He laughed when Dane shot him a hesitant glance. Jag’s mate got frightened of the silliest things sometimes, like climbing or insects bigger than half a thumb. “It’s fine! The hill’s sturdy!” Jag yelled and hit the dresser under his boot with his heel several times to prove his point.
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