Claimed by 3 Mountain Men (Silver Ridge Mountain Men)

15. Mac

15

MAC

T he hotel room is quiet, the soft hum of the air conditioning the only sound as I sit cross-legged on the bed, my laptop open in front of me.

It’s getting late, I’m exhausted, and yet, I can’t bring myself to go to bed.

I glance up and catch my reflection in the mirror across the bed.

I’ve had sex twice now. With the Truitt brothers of all people.

My cheeks burn anew with the memory of this afternoon. It was better than I could ever imagine.

They’re all I can think about. Their hands, their lips, their bodies. All their parts are so similar yet feel unique to me.

A shiver works its way down my spine as I remember the way Hank’s cock had felt inside me, hard and fast, the way my name had sounded on his lips.

I take a deep breath, trying to clear my head, but it's no use. Images of him, of them, keep invading my mind.

Hank had been rough, but there was something so primal about it that had me aching for more even after he left. Ben is always sweet and hot, teasing every part of me slowly.

I shake my head. This wasn’t me. I wasn't the type of girl who got caught up in heat-of-the-moment trysts. But then again, isn’t this exactly what I wanted?

Outside, the sun is starting to set, casting a warm golden glow over the snow-capped peaks. It feels lonely in the hotel room, the four bare walls feel like they’re pressing in on me.

I thought losing my virginity would make me feel different, but instead all I am is ravenous for more, and I’m not sure if I’ll ever see them again.

My gaze falls back on the laptop, and I reach for the room service pasta I’d ordered but hardly eaten.

The footage I’ve collected over the past few days has been frustratingly mundane but also and tantalizingly close to what I’m looking for.

I click through the files, scanning each one carefully, my eyes trained on the screen. The camera’s view shifts as I cycle through the different angles—trees swaying in the wind, the rustle of leaves, the distant sound of a bird taking flight. The forest is alive, vibrant, and teeming with the kind of life that makes it worth fighting for.

Then, I see it.

“Holy shit.”

It’s nothing more than a flicker at first, a movement in the corner of the frame that catches my eye. I pause the footage, my heart skipping a beat as I rewind, playing the scene back in slow motion. The screen blurs for a moment, and then it comes into focus, and there, in the shadows between two trees, is the unmistakable form of a silver lynx.

I gasp, my breath catching in my throat as I freeze the frame, staring at the screen in disbelief. The lynx is beautiful, its fur a shimmering silver that almost blends into the dappled light filtering through the trees. It’s crouched low, its muscles tense, ready to spring at any moment, but it doesn’t move. It seems to be watching, and waiting, its sharp eyes scanning the area, as if it knows it’s being watched.

I can hardly believe what I’m seeing. I’ve been searching for evidence of these elusive creatures for so long, and now, here it is—proof they’re still out there, still surviving, despite everything.

My hands tremble as I take a screenshot, capturing the image, my mind racing with the implications. This isn’t just a sighting—this is the key to everything.

If I can prove the silver lynx is still in this area, still thriving, then I’ll have the leverage I need to stop the Truitt’s’ operations, in order to protect this land, and to ensure that these creatures have a fighting chance.

But Hank’s words keep echoing in my mind.

The mountain decides who stays and who goes, and it’s been known to change its mind on a whim.

I had a feeling his words were a veiled threat, a warning to turn back while I still could.

But I couldn’t, not now. Not when I was so close.

I quickly draft a one line email, attach the screenshot and send it off to the conservatory, without a subject in the email.

My heart pounds in my chest, and adrenaline surges through my veins, leaving me breathless.

I have to go back.

After everything that went down with the Truitt’s, I had half a mind to turn back and head home defeated, but now—now, I have a reason to stay.

The night air is cool against my skin as I make my way deeper into the woods, the darkness swallowing me whole where the taxi dropped me off.

I clutch my backpack straps tightly.

The trees loom tall and shadow around me, their branches reaching out like skeletal hands, but I keep moving, pushing forward into the location of the camera. My breath comes in steady puffs, my feet crunching softly on the damp ground.

I have the perfect excuse if one of them catches me. I left my camping equipment on their property and had to pack it up.

What kind of environmentalist would I be if I left all my shit in the woods.

“Forget the Truitt brothers,” I mutter to myself, the words a mantra I desperately want to believe. “Just forget them.”

I stop for a moment, and lean against a tree to catch my breath. The rough bark digs into my back, the woods are quiet, the only sound is the distant rustle of leaves in the breeze.

“My obsession with them is just biology,” I remind myself, my voice barely more than a whisper in the night. “Just biology.”

I’m a mammal, after all. Flesh and blood and instincts. Attraction is part of the package, part of the basic wiring that keeps the species procreating. It’s nothing more than that—nothing deeper, nothing that should matter.

I’m a young woman in my prime, my body naturally wants to find a strong mate.

But even as I say the words, I know they ring hollow. The truth is, there’s something about those brothers that tugs at me, something that goes beyond the simple biology of attraction. It’s a pull I don’t want to examine too closely, a connection I’m afraid to admit even to myself.

I shake my head, angry at myself for thinking about it.

This isn’t what I came here for. This isn’t what I’ve spent years fighting for. The lynx, the forest—they’re what matters. Not some group of super hot, sexy assholes.

And no mistake about it, they are assholes.

They fucked me and then kicked me out.

A twig snaps behind me and I freeze. It’s just the trees swaying in the breeze, right?

I shiver, though it’s not the cold that has goosebumps pricking my skin.

The forest has its own secrets, its own agenda, and I can almost believe that it’s telling me to turn back, to leave this place.

Suddenly the woods are darker than I remember. Not just dark as in nightfall, but dark in a way that makes the shadows seem alive.

The air is thick, the kind of thick that sticks to your skin and makes every breath feel like you’re pulling it through a wet cloth.

I push deeper, the underbrush tugging at my legs, the ground soft and spongy beneath my boots. The sense of urgency I had felt earlier, the thrill of finding the lynx, is still there, but it’s mixed now with something else. Something that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up, and makes me glance over my shoulder more than once, even though I know I’m alone out here.

Or at least, I think I am.

But the usual noises—the rustle of leaves, the call of an owl—are gone. There’s just silence, thick and heavy, pressing in on me from all sides.

And then I see it.

A flicker of movement, just at the corner of my eye. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. My eyes strain to adjust, to make out the shape in the darkness, and there it is—the lynx.

It’s standing just a few yards ahead, its silver fur catching the faintest hint of moonlight that filters through the branches. It’s even more beautiful than I imagined. Its sleek, muscular body poised and ready, its eyes glowing with an almost eerie light. For a moment, I forget everything—the Truitt’s, the danger, and the darkness closing in around me. There’s just the lynx, me, and the wild, untamed world we both inhabit.

I take a slow, cautious step forward, not wanting to startle it. My heart is pounding, a steady drumbeat in my chest, and I can’t help the thrill that runs through me.

In slow motion, I reach for the camera snugly kept in my pocket.

But the lynx doesn’t move. It just stands there, watching me with those unblinking eyes, its tail flicking ever so slightly. Almost as if it’s waiting for something.

I take another step forward, my hand reaching out as if I could actually touch it, could actually connect with this wild creature that has become the center of my world.

And that’s when it happens.

The ground beneath my feet gives way, and suddenly I’m falling, plummeting into darkness. There’s a sickening lurch in my stomach as the earth drops out from under me, and I barely have time to gasp before I hit the bottom with a bone-jarring thud.

Pain explodes in my shoulder, my breath knocked out of me as I slam against my backpack, and for a moment I’m too stunned to move, to even think. The world spins around me, and it takes me a second to realize where I am—at the bottom of a pit, surrounded by walls of dirt and roots that claw at me like fingers from the grave.

The trap is deep, the sides too steep and slick with mud to climb out. Panic flares in my chest, sharp and bright, but I force it down, trying to keep myself calm and assess my situation.

The lynx is gone. I glance up at the opening above, where a sliver of night sky is visible, but there’s no sign of the creature. Just the silent, gaping mouth of this hole, waiting to swallow me whole.

I try to stand up, but my ankle twists painfully, sending a jolt of agony up my leg.

The pain is sudden and excruciating, a sharp, searing agony that shoots up my leg and nearly blinds me with its intensity. I try to move, to scramble away from whatever is holding me, but the pain only worsens, a fiery grip that has me trapped like an animal in a snare.

I look down, my breath coming in ragged gasps, and that’s when I see it—a hunting trap, its metal jaws clamped viciously around my ankle. Blood seeps from where the jagged teeth have bitten into my flesh, staining the mud beneath me a dark, sickening red.

“Oh, God,” I whisper, my voice trembling with panic. My fingers fumble at the trap, trying desperately to pry it open, but it’s no use. The metal is cold and unyielding, biting deeper with every movement, and every frantic attempt to free myself.

Tears blur my vision, and I bite down hard on my lip, trying to keep from screaming, from giving in to the terror that’s clawing at my throat. The trap is old, and rusted in places, but it’s strong, built to hold its prey with brutal efficiency.

I can’t stay here. I know that much. I need to get out, need to find help, but the trap has me locked in place, the teeth embedded in my flesh like a cruel, unrelenting reminder of just how vulnerable I am out here.

I try to push the panic down, and focus on the task at hand—getting out of this damn trap. But every time I move, the pain flares up, hot and blinding, and I have to fight to keep from blacking out.

I grit my teeth, forcing myself to breathe through the pain, and think clearly. I can’t stay here. If I do, I’ll bleed out. I’ll die here, alone, in the dark, just another victim of this savage, uncaring land. How long would it be before someone discovered me?

With a shaking hand, I reach for my belt, fumbling for the multi-tool I always carry. My fingers are slick with blood, and it’s hard to get a grip, but finally, I manage to pull it free. The blade isn’t much, but it’s all I have.

I start to work at the trap, trying to wedge the blade between the teeth, to pry it open just enough to free my leg. The pain is nearly unbearable, each movement sending fresh waves of agony through me, but I push on, driven by the sheer, desperate need to survive.

But the trap is relentless, the metal cold and uncaring, and as the minutes drag on, I start to feel the edges of my vision darken, the pain and blood loss start taking their toll.

I pause, my breath coming in shallow gasps, my hands trembling with the effort. I can’t do this. I can’t get it open. The realization hits me like a blow, a cold, hard truth that leaves me desperately gasping for air.

I’m stuck here in this pit, pinned to the earth with no way out and in the middle of the woods all alone.