CLAIMED IN THE MOUNTAINS

Read if you like—instant obsession, possessive alphas, and HEAs that hit hard.

CHAPTER 1

AINSLEY

The road winds like a ribbon of shadow through the trees, endless and empty, and for the first time in hours, I exhale.

Just me and the vast mountains.

No texts. No questions. No carefully arranged smiles or plates of untouched food. 

No—you should be home for this—or—he’d want us to be together

No grief disguised as politeness and passed around like a goddamn casserole dish.

Just asphalt, pine trees, and the sound of my brother’s voice echoing in my head.

The Grand Canyon, Ains. One day we’re doing it. You and me. Just pack the truck and go.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel. My knuckles are white. My heart’s still trapped in that house—a thousand miles behind me. In his bedroom. In all the things I haven’t touched in a year.

It’s been exactly three-hundred-sixty-five days.

One year ago, a drunk driver ran a red light and tore Adam’s truck in half. 

I was there. The passenger side. I walked away. He didn’t.

They told me it was a miracle.

It didn’t fucking feel like one.

A slow breath fills my lungs. I roll the window down and let the air sting my skin, cold and sharp and real. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear him again, laughing. He always said I drove too tense. Loosen up, baby sis. Let the car move with you. She’s not out to get you.

I force myself to unclench my shoulders and lean back, fingers tapping against the steering wheel in time with the music playing low through the speakers. He’d hate this playlist. Adam used to say emo music felt like being trapped in an elevator with someone else’s emotional breakdown on a loop.

The corners of my mouth twitch, but it doesn’t quite become a smile.

I pull the sleeves of my brother’s old university hoodie down over my hands as I drive, the fabric worn soft from years of use. Without thinking, I press my nose to the collar and breathe in. The scent—laundry soap, and that familiar cologne—hits me like a punch, twisting something deep inside. It makes my heart ache in a way only he ever could.

If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend he’s still here.

Almost.

A sign blurs past. Grand Canyon—112 miles.

I whisper, “Almost there, Adam.”

And then everything lurches.

The car dips hard to the right. There's a sickening thump-thump-thump of rubber slapping pavement, the entire frame jerking like it’s trying to buck me off. I grip the wheel tight, heart punching my ribs, and steer the car onto the narrow shoulder before the whole damn car tips into a shallow ditch.

“Shit—shit—”

The car shudders, then stops.

I sit there for a full beat, chest heaving, staring straight ahead like maybe the world will reset if I don’t move. 

Birds chirp. Trees sway. Somewhere, a hidden creek babbles like it’s laughing at me.

Of course.

Of course, the tire blows now, in the middle of nowhere, an hour from anything, on a trip I probably shouldn’t even be taking alone. But Adam taught me better than to sit and cry about it.

So I don’t.

I throw the gear into park and climb out. The wind hits me hard—sharp and biting, like the temperature just remembered it’s in the mountains. I walk around to the passenger side. Sure enough, the front tire is fucking toast. Shredded like something clawed through it.

I crouch to check the sidewall. Then the tread.

No puncture. Just worn down to hell. The kind of wear I should’ve noticed.

“Nice job, genius,” I mutter under my breath. “Adam would be so proud.”

He would, though. Even now. He’d just raise a brow and say, That’s why you carry a spare, sis.

I pop the trunk and start pulling out the tools—jack, wrench, and the full-sized spare Adam swore I’d thank him for someday, instead of a shitty donut. 

I don’t even think about calling anyone. No reception out here. It was spotty an hour ago, and now I’m lucky if my phone’s not just a very expensive paperweight.

I start working immediately. My fingers are already going numb, and I’m kneeling on gravel, but it doesn’t matter. The motion is automatic, comforting in a strange way. 

Adam drilled it into me, No sister of mine is gonna wait around for someone to save her. You save yourself first.

So I do.

Or I try.

The bolts are stuck. Like welded-by-the-fucking-devil stuck.

I grunt, throw my weight into the lug wrench, and feel it give a millimeter—then nothing. Again. Again. I hiss through my teeth as my palm splits open just a little, stinging in the cold air.

“Fuck.”

I sit back on my heels and press my bleeding hand to my jeans. I’m not crying. Not from the pain. Not from the frustration.

But suddenly I’m just so tired.

Tired of being the strong one. The one who’s okay. 

The one who smiles and says, I just need some air, when what she really means is, I don’t know how to breathe without him.

The trees rustle behind me like they’re whispering secrets. The sun is starting to dip behind the mountains, throwing everything into that golden, dusky haze where things start to feel less real.

I close my eyes.

And pretend Adam is still here with me.

Just for a moment.

Just long enough to feel like I’m not entirely alone in this world.

CHAPTER 2

RAIDER

The roar of my bike eats the silence as I take the curve, tires gripping the road. The forest closes in around me, dense and dark and familiar, the wind clawing at my jacket, my face, my thoughts.

Almost home.

I’ve got a beer buzz humming low and warm in my blood—just enough to take the edge off. The bar was the same as it always is. Locals. Noise. A game on the screen I didn’t give a shit about. I stayed long enough to pretend I belonged, long enough to forget for an hour or two that the mountains are the only thing that really know me anymore.

But then I see her.

Bent over the side of a car partly in the ditch, with her back to me, hair falling in long chestnut waves down her spine. Tight jeans clinging to a body made for sin. One knee pressed to gravel, the other leg stretched just enough that I can see the curve of her ass as she wrestles with the tire.

I let off the throttle and coast.

Jesus Christ.

She’s beautiful in a way that hurts to look at. Like she doesn’t belong out here in the wild—too soft, too sweet—but she’s here anyway, doing what needs to be done. And fuck me if that isn’t the sexiest thing I’ve seen in years.

I pull over slow, engine purring as I cut it. She glances up, startled, brown eyes wide beneath thick lashes. There’s a flash of wariness there, but she doesn’t back away. Just studies me like she’s trying to decide if I’m the kind of monster she should worry about.

She should. Just doesn’t know it yet.

“You good?” I ask, swinging my leg off the bike.

She blinks, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Flat tire.”

I nod, gaze dragging over her—boots scuffed from the gravel, a smear of grease on her cheek, blood on her palm. She's young. Early twenties, if I had to guess. There’s something about her—some low, pulsing strength beneath the surface. Like the world already tried to break her, and she’s still standing, anyway.

Broken and beautiful.

Lost, but not helpless.

“You know what you’re doing,” I say.

“My brother taught me.” Her voice is soft, almost defensive.

Of course, he did. Smart man.

Still, I crouch beside her and nod toward the tools scattered on the ground. “Let me help.”

She hesitates. Just long enough to make me want to growl. Then she nods. “Okay.”

Fuck. That’s my girl.

She allows me to take over. Watches as I loosen the bolts, work the jack, lift the car. She stays close, arms wrapped around herself, shivering a little in the fading light. I want to wrap my jacket around her. I want to tuck her under my arm and guard her like a goddamn treasure.

I don’t even know her name, and already I want to keep her.

She leans against the hood as I swap the flat for the spare. When I glance up, she’s watching me with that same cautious expression, like she’s trying to decide if she should trust me.

I flash her a half-smile. Nothing threatening. Just enough to put her at ease.

“Where ya headed, sweetheart?” I ask.

Her gaze drops to the gravel. “On my way to see the Grand Canyon.”

“Long way from home?”

She nods, but doesn’t elaborate. Fine. I’ll learn her story soon enough. For now, I just want to get her where I can really take care of her.

I tighten the bolts and rise to my feet, brushing my hands off on my jeans. “That should do it.” I round the car and slip the tools back into the trunk.

“Thank you.” Her relief is genuine. Grateful. Unassuming.

Too trusting.

I nod toward the blood still dripping from her palm. “Let me see your hand.”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not.”

She hesitates again, then steps closer and holds it out. The cut’s not deep, but it’s raw. Her skin split from wrenching metal in the cold.

A sharp crack from the woods snaps her attention away. She turns, scanning the trees, instincts on edge. I drop to one knee without a sound. Flicking open the blade from my pocket, I press it into the sidewall of the spare.

A quiet hiss answers me.

Not deep. Not dramatic. Just enough.

I can’t let her go.

I tuck the knife away and move to my bike’s saddlebag like nothing happened, pulling out a first aid kit.

I take her hand in mine—small, chilled, trembling slightly—and clean the wound with slow, deliberate care. She flinches, but doesn’t pull away. Just watches me with big, guarded eyes like she’s not sure what to make of me.

Fuck, she’s beautiful.

Just as I finish wrapping the bandage, she glances toward the car and frowns.

“Wait… is it just me, or does the tire already look a little low?”

My mouth curves slowly. I walk back and give the tire a quick kick, feigning a scowl. “Shit. Looks like it’s leaking, huh?”

Her brows knit together. “This isn’t happening…”

I rub the back of my neck. “Probably a slow leak. Spare must have already been fucked, sweetheart.”

She bites her lip, clearly debating whether to be concerned.

I give her a calm smile. “I can call a tow, but it won’t get here ‘til morning. No reception in this part of the mountains anyway, and the only guy I know who’ll drive out this far is already home for the night.”

Lies. I could have someone here within the hour if I wanted.

But she broke down where I found her. 

Now she’s mine to keep.

And there’s no leaving these woods without me.

“You’ve got somewhere you can stay?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

She shakes her head. “I was going to drive straight through.”

“Not tonight, you’re not.” I grab her backpack from the backseat and sling it over one shoulder. “You’ll come home with me. There’s heat—food. You’ll be safe.”

She hesitates. Her lips part like she’s about to argue, but then she sees the fading light, the growing shadows in the woods, the empty road stretching out ahead.

She nods.

“Okay. I’m Ainsley, by the way.”

Her name lights a fire in my blood.

I lead her to my bike, take the helmet off the seat, and fit it over her head. It’s too big, but I adjust the strap carefully, my fingers brushing against her neck. She shivers, but doesn’t pull away.

“Raider. And Ainsley, I protect the things that matter to me.”

She looks up at me, frowning just slightly, like she doesn’t know what to do with that.

She will.

Once I get her back to the cabin, once she’s warm and fed and wrapped in my clothes and falling asleep in my bed—she’ll know.

She’ll understand.

Because I’ve decided.

She’s mine now.

And I don’t let go of what’s mine.