Page 6 of A Nest of Maple & Mist

Hesitation clouded her eyes. I stepped into her space, letting a purr rumble. She squeaked, her pretty brown eyes fixed on me. I longed to take her hand in mine and press it to my chest. To let her feel the strength of my purr and let it ease the tension in her limbs.

“My packmates are in and out so much with the harvest prep, you won’t even notice us. You’ll have your own space. A private room. At least until we can get things straightened out with this place.”

“Jason, I can’t just⁠—”

“You can,” I interrupted gently. I reached up, my thumb catching a stray tear on her cheek. Skin as smooth as silk glided over my finger, and a jolt of electricity zipped up my spine. “I’m not leaving you in a house with broken windows and black mold, Mi. Not a chance.”

Those dark eyes glimmered with specks of gold. For a second, the crushing weight of her sadness seemed to lift just a fraction. She leaned into my touch almost imperceptibly, a soft omega whine escaping, threatening to shred the last dredges of my self-control.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay.”

“Good girl.”

She sucked in a breath, and a smug smile tugged at my lips. The tightness in my chest abated, and a slow breath rolled over my tongue.

The walk from the dilapidated porch to my truck felt like the longest twenty yards of my life. My hand hovered over the small of her back, not quite touching but close enough for the heat radiating off her to brush over my skin.

When the wind kicked up, it tossed her maple and vanilla scent back into my face, making my alpha prowl with possessive pride.

She tossed me a half-hearted smile as she turned to get into her car. Without overthinking it, I bent down, pecking the top of her head. My lips lingered in her hair, the urge to scent her almost overpowering. Her tiny frame rolled into my chest and my hand fell to her hip, holding her there for a long pause.

We stayed like that for a beat, then another, until she pulled away. A different blush stained her cheeks—one not from the cold.

The right side of my mouth lifted, and I palmed my nape.

“Follow my truck. It’s about a fifteen-minute drive.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, a playful lilt in her voice.

All the blood in my body rushed to my cock.

Fuck.

Now I imagined her calling me what I longed to hear from her supple lips. Those tight leggings hugged every curve of her ass as I watched her slide into the driver’s seat. In a knot-drunk haze, I got into my truck, gripping the steering wheel hard enough to leave indents on the leather.

I swallowed, groaning as I adjusted my jeans. My knot was half-inflated, my dick as hard as iron.

After a tortuous drive, we arrived at the place I’d called home for almost six years. I spent my summers here, working with my uncle, tapping trees for syrup. When he passed, I was honored to carry on his legacy, running Hawthorne Farms.

A massive packhouse sat on the edge of the grounds. A sprawling cabin made of hand-hewn cedar and local stone. Steam pipes from the sugarhouse glinted in the distance, catching the afternoon sun.

Mia settled in beside me, those gorgeous eyes wide with awe as she took in the scenery.

“It’s beautiful.”

“It’s home,” I said, unspoken meaning curling around my words.

Sadness still glimmered in the shadow of her irises. I hated the ghostly haze clinging to her. I’d find a way to fix it.

And we’d be the ones to give it to her—me and my pack. Because if Mia was my scent match, then she was the pack’s scent match. All of us belonged together.

A pack bond was an instinctual pull that brought alphas, betas, and omegas together in formed family units—usually in a blend of romantic and platonic relationships. Some packs comprised of only alphas, all caring for one omega.

Others—like my pack—were a mix of alphas and one or multiple betas. Shane and I were both alphas. We saw each other as brothers and knew we were pack the moment he showed up at the farm for an interview.

We both happened to fall in love with the same beta—our mate, Ty. Ty had a bond bite from each of us, and the three of us had been a tight-knit pack for years.

Mia shifted, her sweater brushing my exposed forearm. I dusted a knuckle under her chin, loving the way she softened at my touch.