Page 5 of A Nest of Maple & Mist

Right now, my Mi looked like she was about to shatter into as many pieces as the windows behind her.

“Jason?” she whispered.

That melodic voice released me.

I moved, the rotting floors threatening to disintegrate beneath my feet.

The closer I got, the more her scent enveloped me, making my head spin.

I wanted to bury my face in the crook of her neck. Mark her gland, and let the whole world know that Mia Birch was part of the Hawthorne Pack.

My canines ached, imagining sinking into the unbroken skin over her gland. I pressed my tongue to the tip of my teeth, soothing the subtle sting.

A tear slid down her cheek, and it made a fire burn in my abdomen. It made my instincts shift, my alpha wanting to protect our omega. Glass cracked under my boots, and I glanced around the home I hadn’t been inside for years.

Wallpaper sloughed off the walls like dead skin, mold creeping up the baseboards.

Since the car accident that killed Mia’s parents—the one she’d somehow survived—the home had been left mostly abandoned.

Once in a while, I saw seedy contractors trampling in and out of the property. I assumed Mia sold it after moving away for college, unwilling to have a constant reminder of them.

Mr. and Mrs. Birch had been wonderful people. Both betas and immensely proud of their daughter. Mrs. Birch taught algebra and had always been one of my favorite teachers. Mr. Birch worked as a butcher, breaking down the deer my dad hunted during rifle season.

Growing up, Mia embodied the spirit of both her parents: hardworking and kind. If I remembered correctly, she had received a full scholarship and had a degree in English.

It gutted me to see her so broken.

Based on the box in her arms, this hadn’t been a visit.

She’d intended to stay here.

“Mi,” I said, my voice dropping into that resonant register I reserved for my packmates. “You can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”

A shrill little laugh shook her shoulders, and she clutched the box tighter.

“I know. I… This isn’t… This wasn’t…” she sniffled, shaking her head.

The wind calmed, and the house released a groan, the wood settling. I’d spent many Saturday mornings at the Birch home. It always smelled of freshly baked bread and hot chocolate.

The Birchs never hesitated to invite me over for breakfast when they saw me in the yard.

That sugary voice spoke again, making my entire being center on her. Anger built in my gut as her scent turned charred.

“I've been paying a company for five years, Jason. All my money. They told me they were maintaining it. They sent reports.” Her voice cracked, and my heart constricted. “I have nowhere else to go. I spent the rest of my savings just getting back here.”

A growl slipped past my lips before I could stop it. I lifted my hand, my fingers flexing near a wayward curl before I yanked it back.

Some faceless corporation had scammed my Mi.

They’d let her home rot and stolen from her while she was grieving.

I’d take care of them later. Mia needed me now.

“You’re not staying here,” I said, my Apex tone filling the house. I reached out, taking the box from her trembling hands and setting it on a dusty table on the brink of collapse. “You’re coming with me.”

She blinked. “Where?”

“The pack house. At the sugary. The maple farm. It’s at the base of the mountain. I inherited it from my uncle when he passed a few years ago.”