Omega's Submission Read online

  Table of Contents

  Epilogue

  Foreword

  Kitchi

  Toby

  Afterword

  Also by Aspen Grey

  Claiming His Mate

  Scent of the Author

  Omega’s Submission

  Aspen Grey

  Copyright © 2017 by Aspen Grey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Foreword

  1. Kitchi

  2. Toby

  3. Kitchi

  4. Toby

  5. Kitchi

  6. Toby

  7. Kitchi

  8. Toby

  9. Kitchi

  10. Toby

  11. Toby

  12. Kitchi

  13. Toby

  14. Toby

  15. Kitchi

  16. Toby

  17. Kitchi

  18. Toby

  19. Kitchi

  20. Toby

  21. Kitchi

  22. Toby

  23. Kitchi

  24. Toby

  25. Kitchi

  26. Toby

  27. Toby

  Epilogue

  Afterword

  Also by Aspen Grey

  Claiming His Mate

  Scent of the Author

  Foreword

  Kitchi, Kitchi, Kitchi, Kitchi!

  Sorry, I had to. You love him — I love him. We all love Kitchi! So, of course I had to make my first book in my new series about him.

  But, fear not! The Scarlet Mountain Pack series will definitely continue, and some of them will sprinkle about this series as well. I just wanted a chance to spend some time with the foxes for a bit before getting back to them.

  Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, and thanks to everyone who picked up a copy of Claiming His Miracle!

  <3 Aspen

  Kitchi

  “Give me another,” I growled, my eyes unfocused at the empty glass in front of me.

  “You’ve had enough,” the bartender replied, with an arrogant tone that made me want to gouge his eyes out. “We close in less than an hour. Drink some water and sober up, or you’re not getting your keys back.”

  Son of a bitch, I thought, balling up my fists against the grubby copper countertop. I was at least five drinks deep at the Steel Mill, a dive bar in Courtland, Maine. Today was my twenty-sixth birthday, and I should have been back at the lodge with the rest of the Scarlet Mountain Pack, celebrating. But I couldn’t – not tonight.

  Tonight was the tenth anniversary of the day I’d run away from home. Sixteen years old. I’d been sixteen when the cops pulled me over for speeding, a half a kilo of my dad’s product in the back of the pickup. He’d managed to grease enough palms to keep me out of jail, but it had cost him, and that had cost me.

  It had been a three-day beating that started with his palms, then progressed to his fists, then all the way up the ladder to a belt and cane. He was a miserable bastard, and there was nothing my mother could do to stop him.

  I knew if I cried too hard she’d try to intervene, and then he’d turn on her, so I learned to keep my mouth shut and my eyes dry. If there was anything good to be said about my old man, it was that he taught me how to hide my pain, a valuable skill in this world.

  After the third day, I’d realized I’d had enough. I stole his car and made the five-hour drive south from Grey Forks to Berrett. My father’s job was smuggling drugs from Canada across the border into Northern Maine, poisoning clean communities with that trash, and I had to get far, far away. I’d have gone farther if I could, but the little money I’d been able to steal from him only went so far, and I needed work.

  So I lied about my age and started working the door at bars. Another plus to having a dad that beats you, is that you turn into a tough little fucker, which has its advantages when you’re dealing with drunks and dickheads all weekend.

  I managed to scrape by, moving from town to town, never settling in one place in case I ran into any of my father’s old “business associates.” Being a doorman did have its perks. I met all kinds of good-looking omegas, and drowned my loneliness in an almost perpetual flood of warm bodies and soft skin. I did everything I could to push my past aside and never acknowledge the pain within me.

  Finally, one night when I was taking out the trash, I’d run into another fox. He said his name was Red and was starting his own pack. He was tall and tan with strawberry blond curls. My first thought was that he was nothing more than a pretty boy, but I was wrong.

  I had nothing better to do, so I went with him and met the rest of his “pack.” There were only three of them in total. A beta named Ethan and a girl named Osana, who was covered in freckles and had the biggest mane of red curls I’d ever seen on a girl. He had a lodge on one side of a mountain. It had taken a little bit of convincing, but eventually I took him up on his offer and moved in with them.

  It wasn’t much, just a small place, but it was better than any of the shit apartments I’d rented since I left home, and it wasn’t long before we were out of there anyway.

  Through a series of events, we eventually met a wolf shifter named Tate, and the rest of his pack. We had a common enemy, an alpha by the name of Lucas, and joined together to fight him off our lands. We’d lost Ethan in the process, but Tate and his mate Kyle named their daughter Scarlet, in honor of Ethan’s long red hair. We’d moved in with them, to a lodge that had been Tate’s father’s, and it wasn’t long before we were all one big happy family.

  But none of them knew anything about my past. About my father or the life I’d been living, and I kept it a secret from them. If there was one thing I’d learned from life, it was that the minute you let someone get close to you, you regret it. Giving your heart away only ends one way – heartbreak.

  I thought I could be happy there, working under Red and Tate’s leadership as a second in command, a soldier for the pack. And I was for a while. But when everyone started finding their mates, having little babies and starting their families, I felt a chink starting to form in the armor I’d forged for myself. And when my birthday came around, I knew I had to get out of there – at least for a while.

  So here I was. Drunk as a skunk in a dive bar, not even a shifter dive bar, surrounded by sad, lonely men, drowning their sorrows in the drink of their choice.

  Pathetic, I thought as I stared at the thin film of whiskey at the bottom of my glass. I need something to do.

  “Hey, pal,” I heard a voice from behind me. Doing my best to keep the world from spinning, I turned in my stool and found myself facing a chubby guy in a tacky leather coat. I sniffed the air. He was a shifter too, a wolf. A beta. “You look like you could use a good time.”

  “No, thanks,” I replied. “You’re not my type. No offense.”

  “None taken,” he said, taking a seat beside me, keeping his voice low. “Name’s Thatcher. Thatcher Packer.”

  “Packer?” I scoffed, raising an eyebrow.

  “You’re damn right,” he replied. “I run a little…establishment a few blocks over. You wanna come take a visit, you may find something a little more…your type.”

  I gave the guy the once-over. Was this stranger really inviting me to a shifter brothel? I hadn’t been to one of those in years. When I was younger, it was the easiest way to get my rocks off, but I’d grown tired of throwing the little money I had away on an hour’s worth of fun.

  But I was feeling different tonight. After living the last year like a monk, with no vices, no mate and no fun
, I needed to cut loose.

  “Fuck it,” I told Thatcher, groaning as I got to my feet. “Lead the way.”

  Toby

  “Sorry, I don’t do that kind of thing,” I told the pudgy man standing in front of me, glaring at me like his eyes were lasers that could turn me into dust.

  “What do you mean, boy?” The squishy alpha retorted. He looked disgusted that I wasn’t succumbing to his pathetic advances. “You’re a whore and I’m a paying customer!”

  “Like I said,” I told the man, narrowing my gaze. “It ain’t on the menu.”

  The alpha wanted to dominate me, and wasn’t happy when I let him know that wasn’t my thing. Just because I worked at the brothel didn’t mean I didn’t have my own rules. Lots of guys would come in with a pocket full of cash thinking they could buy their way into whatever sick fantasy they had buried in their mind, but that wasn’t the case with me, and most people around here knew that. I was surprised this guy hadn’t heard.

  Sure, I’d bottom, if a guy wrapped it up and showed some respect. But I was almost always on top, even when I was taking it. It was the only real measure of control I had left in my life, and I didn’t give it up for nobody.

  “How about I just take you then?” The man asked, instantly at my side with his sweaty hand gripping my bicep. “What then!?”

  “Then I holler, and Boomer and Byson, those two enormous alphas you saw downstairs, come break your jaw and leave your ass on the bridge,” I told him.

  I could see him mulling over what I’d just told him, trying to decide if I was serious or not. Also, he was searching my face for weakness. If he detected any, he might try to get me alone in a room before I could scream. But this guy wasn’t the first asshole I’d met – not by far. And I wasn’t breaking character.

  “Psssh, whatever,” he croaked, letting go of my arm. “A hundred more boys like you around here.”

  “Yeah, go have fun with one of them,” I told him with a sneer. “I’m sure they’re all into chubby dick-suckers who think they can buy someone’s dignity!”

  And with that, I spun around and marched away from the jackass, up the red carpeted steps and back to my room. The hinges squealed as I slammed the door shut and the bedframe creaked as I sat down, taking a deep breath.

  “Son of a bitch,” I groaned, running my hands through my hair.

  Today had been an unusually bad night as far as customers went. I’d only been here a little under a year, but that was long enough to know what to expect. Most days were slow. Only the regulars showed up. People around here knew what went on in this building, and new guys were hesitant to show their faces. But when the sun went down, that was when everything changed.

  Guys from everywhere showed up, usually after the bars let out and they had some liquid courage in their stomachs. Alphas, betas, and even the occasional omega. Thatcher kept a variety of boys “of all shapes and sizes” to appease a range of clientele. I was the “cute twink with a hard edge,” meaning I had a baby face but took no shit from anyone.

  Growing up the way I did, that’s just how I was now.

  I never knew my mother. She didn’t want me. She’d fucked my father on a one-night stand, gotten pregnant and decided to keep me – sort of. She handed me off to my dad as soon as she was able and then headed for the hills. I had good memories of growing up until my father’s injury.

  He was a fisherman, working the coast hard, even in the winter. But one day on the boat a wench fell on his ankle and smashed it to pieces. He had no health insurance, and they fixed him up the best they could, but he was never a hundred percent again. The procedures also threw him into debt, kept him out of work and it wasn’t long before we were on welfare, living a life of luxury in Maple Tree Trailer Park in Maplewoods, Maine.

  What a place.

  After that, my dad’s place was on the couch in front of the TV, a beer in one hand and a bag of chips in the other. We didn’t have anything. My bike was a rusted piece of junk I found by the train tracks, and all my clothes were secondhand. I was too young to get a real job, and one day when an older alpha approached me outside with a charming smile and a hand full of cash, I realized I’d found a way to make money.

  A few minutes in his truck together and I was a hundred dollars richer. Looking down at the bills in my hand, more money than I’d ever held in my life, I couldn’t stop smiling. But when I got back to my room I burst into tears.

  I felt like I’d lost my dignity. Like a piece of me was gone to never return. But no one made it out of Maple Tree, and I knew that if I was ever going to go anywhere with my life, I had to man the fuck up and do what I had to do.

  So I made a decision, and leapt headfirst into the deep end, into the life of money and sex, that eventually led me here to Thatcher’s. It wasn’t even a good life. I thought I’d make more money than I did, but in reality, I earned just enough to get out of the trailer park, but not enough to reach a special place to call my own.

  Not enough to find happiness.

  I was without a mate, without a place of my own, and most importantly, without love.

  A knock came on my door, and without waiting for an answer, JD, one of the new guys, poked his head in.

  “Thatcher’s back,” he told me. “And he’s got a looker with him!”

  And like that, he was gone. I heard his eager footsteps heading downstairs as I got back to my feet. I checked myself out in the mirror, tugged the wide collar of my t-shirt to the side to show a little more of my shoulder, and folded the hem of my loose pants one more time so they’d be tighter on my ass.

  “A looker,” I said to myself in the mirror, critiquing my own looks. I was too critical of myself. I knew that, but I couldn’t stand my freckles. It looked like a pepper shaker had been twisted onto my face, which was pale as a ghost beneath my red hair.

  The only thing on my body I was proud of, were my eyes. They were brown, but flecked with yellow, like a star exploding in my iris. Everyone commented on them.

  “Get your shit together,” I told myself. Rent was due soon and I was short. On top of taking a nice commission from our Johns, Thatcher also charged the boys room and board.

  What a life, I thought as my bedroom door squeaked as I pulled it open and stepped into the hallway. The red carpet crunched under my feet as I headed downstairs. Someone desperately needed to wash it.

  “Guy’s probably a six at best,” I muttered as I reached the ground floor. JD’s taste in men was pretty terrible and not to be relied on. But as I rounded the corner, a scent hit me in the face like a knockout punch. I literally froze in place as I found myself staring at an alpha that completely took my breath away.

  Holy shit!

  Kitchi

  Vanilla and peppermint. It was the smell of the omega standing in front of me that was invading my nostrils like a foreign army setting up camp in my scent glands.

  Fuck!

  Every muscle in my body was tense as the shock of seeing something so beautiful hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt like a blast of cold water had hit me in the face, right as a wave of heat swelled in my feet and rose through my body to my face.

  Don’t blush!

  “Toby,” Thatcher said with a smile. “I’d like you to meet – uh, what did you say your name was, sir?”

  “K—Kitchi,” I replied, stuttering like a fool. I swallowed, praying my cheeks weren’t red as I felt my cock swell beneath my jeans.

  “Kitchi!” he said happily. “This is Toby, he’s one of my best boys. This is JD, and Max…”

  Thatcher kept talking, but his voice was like a TV with the volume down as I stared at Toby. He was perfect. Flawless. Handcrafted for me, and I didn’t need to see any of Thatcher’s other boys to know it. There could be no comparison.

  My mouth was salivating as my eyes probed him up and down. His skin was like warm milk and I wanted to lap him right up. His hair was a perfect mess of red curls that looked like a hairdresser’s dream, but I could tell they were complete
ly natural.

  And those freckles…

  I inhaled again, swimming in the intoxicating sea of his scent.

  Was it – was it possible that this is what a fated mate smelled like? Every cynical bone in my body was telling me no, but every fiber of my primal being was screaming yes!

  “So!” Thatcher’s voice rang out, slapping me out of my stupor. “What’ll it be?”

  “Him,” I replied instantly, nodding in Toby’s direction.

  “Well, that was easy!” Thatcher smiled, showing his teeth as he rubbed his eager hands together. “That’s eighty to me and the rest is up to whatever you two decide.”

  Toby’s eyes were fixed on me, with a look I couldn’t decipher.

  Is he – is he feeling it too!? I let my gaze fall to the floor as I scratched my cheek. Don’t be an idiot! He’s paid to make you feel this way! It’s his fucking job!

  Either way, this was an omega I had to have, and I wasn’t leaving this place without getting what I wanted.

  I reached into my back pocket, pulled out my wallet and sifted through the bills.

  “Uh…” I muttered. The effects of the alcohol were still in my system, even though the shock of running into Toby had been sobering to say the least, and I fumbled with the bills as I tried to count them. “Shit. I only have seventy-two bucks.”

  “Ooooh, that’s no good,” Thatcher said, shaking his head. “That won’t even cover the house fee.”