Boarlander Beast Boar (Boarlander Bears Book 4) (3 page)

“Your husband?”

The last thing in the world she wanted to do was talk with Mason about Robbie and all the hurt and betrayal. She wasn’t even sure if he was nice yet, or if he would judge her.

“You got a kid?” The SUV in front of them pulled forward, so Mason coasted up a car-length, too.

“So, I was thinking we should do more in the community,” she said, typing away at her phone as she answered a question from the website about shifter hearing. “A bake sale or something, and give the profits to charity. I could call up the local news station and set up a couple of interviews—”

“I’m not doing interviews. How old is she?”

“I have a son, and why no interviews?”

He turned in his seat and locked eyes on her. “Because trust me when I say you don’t want my people coming up into these mountains to retrieve me. It’s best if we stay quiet about my whereabouts.”

“Why would your people come after you? Did you piss them off?”

He chuckled darkly. “You have no idea.”

“Do you have kids?” She’d tried to research Mason, but his page on Bangaboarlander.com had been taken down a month ago. Even when it had been up, the picture of him was grainy at best, and all it had said was,
Good at fucking. Good at money. Great third best friend.
Wow, she couldn’t believe she still had that memorized.

“No kids.”

“Ahhh. A happy bachelor, no attachments. I get it.”

“No, it’s not like that. I want ’em. I just can’t have ’em.” A frown marred his face in the reflection of the rearview mirror. “I don’t know why I just told you that.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, hunching at the angst in his voice. “Why can’t you?” Good grief, what was wrong with her? That was so rude to ask a stranger.

Mason swallowed audibly. “I’m what my people call a barrow. The Barrow, actually. With real pigs, that would mean a castrated boar, but with boar shifters, it’s just a title they give to males who are sterile.” He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t talk about this stuff. Please don’t let this conversation leave the truck.”

“Of course. Was it…?”
Stop talking!
“Was it from an accident or something?”

“Nah. Bad genetics I guess.”

“H-how did you find out?”

Mason pulled forward another car-length and rested his arm on the open window. “Because I failed to breed my mate, and then I failed with two sows after her. Three strikes, and you’re a barrow.”

Her voice dipped to a devastated whisper. “But why do they call you
The
Barrow?”

Mason gave her a glance over his shoulder that clenched her stomach. His eyes had darkened to a soft, chocolate brown, but were now full of ghosts. “Because I was supposed to be alpha over all my people. No more questions, Beck. I’m not a fan of revisiting my past.”

And with that, Mason turned around, closed down, and hit the volume on the radio to drown out any further conversation. Beck rubbed her palm where she’d touched his warm arm. It was still tingling and hot for reasons she couldn’t explain.

And as she looked down at her planner with the chaotic scribbles, she knew this wasn’t just a job anymore. It was personal now. Mason had been through enough. He was a real person with deep, hidden aches. She couldn’t do anything for his past, or his childless future, but she could fight for reprieve from the muck that had been raining down on him and the other shifters in Damon’s mountains.

Outside the window, the buildings, streets, and protesters had given way to backroads and pine wilderness. Beck had been on the phone for a half hour working, but now she was caught up and the quiet was starting to get to her. Mason hadn’t even eaten his food, so there was no crinkle of paper, no slurp of strawberry shake to fill the emptiness. He’d even turned down the radio, probably to let her talk on her cell easier.

“Are you always the strong silent type?” she asked.

“It’s part of the job description. I’m paid to drive, not carry on conversation.”

“I have a car of my own, you know. It’s just in the shop. Cracked engine block and bad belt and a bunch of other things I’m pretty sure the mechanic just made up. Ripey’s Auto Repair should be called Rip-Off’s Auto Repair. My Explorer was just making a funny sound, so I took it in and, all the sudden, it wasn’t safe to drive and has a billion things wrong with it. And he’s charging me an astronomical amount. The mechanic says it’ll be another two weeks before I get it back, so I had to take a shuttle service to Saratoga, but the driver said he wouldn’t take me any farther than town because the mountains were haunted.”

Mason kept his eyes on the road, didn’t respond in any way. Determined to get back to the chatty Mason she’d talked to earlier, she gathered all her paperwork in the back seat into the right folders, then unbuckled and crawled ungracefully into the front seat. Beck pulled the belt over her lap and clicked it into place. “I thought I was sterile, too. I had a big cyst on my ovaries when I was sixteen and had to have surgery, so only one side works, and even before that I had a condition that makes my cycles patchy at best.”

Mason tossed her a quick, bland look, so she said, “Right. Too much information.”

A few more minutes of quiet drifted by, and she had to stifle the urge to open the window just to hear the wind.

“I’m divorced,” she blurted out.

“Then why are you wearing that big ol’ sparkler on your ring finger?” he asked as he pulled off onto a muddy dirt road.

“Because it’s kind of new.” She cleared her throat. “Actually, that’s a lie. I’ve been divorced for over a year, and before that we were separated for two. And when we were married…well…he didn’t come home much.”

Mason pulled to a stop right before an old, creaky bridge, cut the engine, and got out. Oookaay. She startled when he appeared at her window and pulled open the door. Without a word, he yanked off her heels, unbuckled her, and scooped her up, then carried her to a wooden bench beside the bridge that overlooked a gently rolling river. “I’m hungry,” he grunted.

“Oh, you don’t like people eating in your new, fancy truck?”

“If I cared about that, I wouldn’t have let you sit on my seats in your muddy clothes.”

She looked down at her stained pants. Well, he had a point. Mason jogged back to the truck and returned with the bags of their food. His burgers and fries had to be cold by now, but when he sat down beside her and dug in, he didn’t seem to mind. He gulped a bite and relaxed, one long leg stretched out on the soft earth. “You look young to be divorced.”

Beck poured dressing over her salad and grimaced. “Divorces happen all the time now, don’t you know? It doesn’t care about age. I’m twenty-seven.”

“How old is your boy?”

“Five,” she said through a smile. She loved thinking about Ryder.

Mason’s eyes were glued to the curve of her lips. Self-conscious under his gaze, she turned her attention back to stirring up her salad. “His daddy is no good, but Ryder is everything bright in my life. I had him when I was twenty-two. He wasn’t planned, nor did I plan on anything long-term with Robbie, but we got married because that’s what our parents said we were supposed to do.”

“Ryder is a good name.”

“You want to see a picture of him?”

Mason’s lips turned up in a slight smile, the happy expression there and gone in an instant. “Sure.”

Beck pulled her phone out of her back pocket and scrolled through her pictures to her recent favorite. In it, Ryder was squatted down by a patch of weeds, blowing dandelion seeds into the wind. She loved taking pictures of him. Mason stared at the screen, his expression unreadable.

“I thought I wouldn’t be able to have a kid,” she rambled. “And then I got Ryder, and I wanted ten more of him.” She pursed her lips. “Me and Robbie tried. A part of me thought another baby would fix what was wrong with us, but that was just desperation in the end. He got a job traveling, working on pipelines right after we got married. He only came home on Saturday nights, and by Sunday morning he was off again.” She shrugged as she remembered the pain of not being enough to keep him home. “It was mostly just me and Ryder, so being separated from Robbie didn’t feel much different. And being divorced just feels like a failure, you know? I don’t miss him because I never really had him, but taking the ring off means admitting defeat. I was in it one hundred percent, but he had…” She forked a tomato to death and sighed. “Sorry. I don’t talk about this stuff either.” She scrunched up her nose. “It’s pretty embarrassing to admit that I gave half a decade to that man.”

“He had what?” Mason asked, handing her back the phone.

“Robbie had other girls who kept his attention better. He said I was boring in the bedroom. He said I was boring at life.”

“Oh, shit,” Mason muttered, chucking his half-eaten burger back into the bag. He draped his arm over the bench on the other side of him and stared at the setting sun, shaking his head like he was disgusted. “I’m sorry I called you boring for ordering that salad earlier. That was fucked up of me. I didn’t know.”

“Think nothing of it, pork rind. I was unoffended. My skin got real tough. So tell me what I should know going into the Boarland Mobile Park.”

He offered her a surprised glance. “Is that where I’m taking you?”

“Of course. That’s going to be my temporary home.”

Mason gave her power pants and her pink button-up blouse a once over. “You’re going to live in a trailer?” The tone of disbelief in his voice was offensive and uncalled for.

“Yes, I am. But not ten-ten. Cora told me about its magic mojo, and I’m not looking for any of that. I’m going to set up shop in the other empty trailer.”

“Trailers,” he corrected. “There are two empties besides ten-ten now. I don’t live there anymore, so my old house is up for grabs.”

“Wait, what? I thought you were a Boarlander.”

“No, Beck.” He rocked his outstretched work boot from side to side and looked toward the river flowing under the old bridge. “I’m not an anything.”

She studied his profile, from his short, medium-brown hair and his straight, proud nose to his thick beard. His chest rose with every breath, pushing his defined pecs against the fabric of his shirt, and his body was cast in the soft sunset glow. He was masculine and powerful, yes, but sitting here so close to him, he was more. He was rough around the edges, but underneath all that, he was a beautiful soul. She could tell these things. She had more instincts than he knew about because he assumed she was human.

“I know all about feeling invisible, Mason. Like you don’t belong. But you aren’t invisible. To me, you don’t feel like
nothing
,” she admitted softly.

Mason jerked his gaze to hers, and she could see his animal there in the flash of blue before it faded back to the natural dark color of his eyes. He didn’t smile but, to her, he felt…relieved.

“I think maybe we should start over,” she said. “We were short with each other earlier, but we will be living in close proximity in Damon’s mountains, and I want a good working relationship with you. I mean, not just you, but all the shifters. Including you.” And now she was rambling, so she scrunched up her face and offered her hand. “I’m Beck.”

Mason hesitated on touching her palm, but finally, he slipped his hand against hers for a shake and held it. “Mason.”

Now the tingling sensation was back and, in an instant, it sparked too hot and she yanked her hand away. Mason stared at his palm with an intensity that said she wasn’t the only one who’d felt it. He ran his thumb along his lifeline and murmured, “You don’t feel like nothing either.”

You don’t feel like nothing either? What the hell was he thinking? Mason needed to get away from this sexy siren, and quick. She was four years younger, and though that wasn’t a deal breaker, she’d lived a completely different life than him. A hard life had made him feel ancient until Damon had saved him, and she was young and optimistic and beautiful. God, so beautiful.

He snuck another glance over to where she had set up a traveling office in the passenger’s seat. Stacks of papers were everywhere—on her legs, on the floorboard, on the console. She had a purple pen stuck behind her ear, which kept her reddish-gold hair off her cheek, giving him a great view of her face. She was fine boned, and her skin fair and smooth. She had a smattering of freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks, and her eyes were the most alluring shade of seafoam green. Her eyebrows were a shade darker than her hair and delicately arched, and though she was petite, her soft tits were bouncing under her shirt with every bump he hit. He couldn’t wait until they got to the extra shitty road in the Boarland Mobile Park.

Her lips were full and glossed in a deep shade of that pink shit Bash called “lip glitter.” She smelled like vanilla body spray and some floral product she probably used in her hair and, fuck, he hadn’t wanted a woman like this since he’d been a rutting breeder boar. Ten times already he’d imagined bucking into her against a tree, on the bench by the river, in the back seat, in his bed… God, his head was completely filled with her. He glared down at his massive boner throbbing against the seam of his jeans. Both heads, actually.

“Mason?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Uuuuh, yes. But just for fun, can you repeat whatever you just said?”

“I asked if you thought the boys would be okay with opening discussion boards on their bangaboarlander pages?”

“Beck, if you saw the kind of messages that come through there, you wouldn’t ask that. All you would get is sex talk.”

“Right.” She clicked her pen and frowned down at a massive to-do list. She hesitated, her pen hovering over a bullet point. “No, you’re right. That wouldn’t be helpful.” The long scratch of her marking it out filled the car.

He was actually flattered that she was asking his advice. He didn’t know shit about public relations, but he liked how familiar she was with him when she talked. A wave of chagrin took him. She was a publicist and used to managing people. It was part of her job to be familiar with him.

Mason pulled under the Boarland Mobile Park sign and slowed on the nice, new, pot-hole-free white gravel road. Whoa. He leaned forward and squinted at the park. He hadn’t been here in a month, and a lot had changed since then. The yards all boasted bright green sod and were freshly mowed, and someone had disposed of the pile of tractor parts and old car frames one of the old Boarlanders used to work on before Clinton had chased him off. The trailers had new roofs, fresh paint, and each yard had professional looking landscaping. All except Clinton’s, where he had somehow burned the words
FUCK THE NEW RULES
across his front weed-riddled lawn. That was about right. He huffed a surprised chuckle. A part of him had missed Clinton, though he wouldn’t ever admit that out loud. Clinton was a canker sore—always had been, always would be.

Even the chairs around the new bricked-in fire pit in front of 1010 at the end of the road were shiny, new, and in an array of neon colors.

“I expected something way different,” Beck murmured, her eyes round as she gawked at the pristine park.

“Me too,” he admitted. A slash of pain ached in his chest—he’d missed the last of the Boarlanders’ transformation. He would miss everything. He needed to drop Beck off quick and get out of here before he started spiraling again. This wasn’t his place. He worked for Damon and had his old room up in the dragon’s cliff mansion.

Mason had no business aching for places that weren’t home.

He puffed air out of his cheeks when Harrison came out of the first trailer on the right, followed by his tiger shifter mate, Audrey. Like a coward, Mason wanted to run. Wanted to drop Beck off right here because emotions hurt. He’d felt almost normal here once, but now his animal was reacting to everything, and he couldn’t be the one who dragged the Boarlanders through the mud with him. Not after they’d improved this much.

He let off a shaky, steadying breath, and beside him, Beck cast him a worried glance before she stunned him to stillness by placing her hand over his thigh. He came to a stop in front of the fire pit and fought the urge to pull away from her. This time, she didn’t burn him with her fingertips. This time it was just warm. Comfortable. But still, he didn’t deserve the touch. Couldn’t handle it. He wasn’t like the others. Slowly, he eased his leg away from her and did his best not to flinch at the ache in his middle from the hurt in her eyes.

“Look,” he said in a hoarse voice. “You seem like the affectionate kind. Soft-hearted. But that isn’t for me.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but he held up his hand to cut her off. He couldn’t hear it right now. Not when being back in the trailer park for the first time in all these weeks felt so overwhelming. Not when he was doing his best not to Change and show her what a monster he was. Not when it felt like his heart was beating out of his chest and everything was too bright.

Not when he still had to face the crew he’d abandoned.

* * * *

Beck sat there shocked as Mason fled his truck. She winced when he slammed the door. Her hand tingled again, so she rubbed it. What did that sensation even mean? She’d never felt it before, and now the man who was drawing her animal up couldn’t wait to get away from her. No, she wasn’t the human he thought she was. She just didn’t have the kind of animal that smelled like fur, and she had fierce control over her eye color. A product of her upbringing. A product of hiding—from everyone.

Why was her animal screaming out possessively for a man who wasn’t her match? His edges, as it was turning out, were too rough, too jagged. Painful, like serrated sheet metal, keeping her at a distance, and it had only been one day. Mason felt big, and terrifying, and he couldn’t even bear her touch.

Stunned, Beck slid out of his truck. A giant of a man bolted from the woods and down the gravel road toward Mason. The man wore swim trunks and nothing else, had jet-black hair and green eyes full of an intensity she didn’t understand. Maybe he was angry? She braced for impact as he hit Mason hard and hugged him tight, buried his face against Mason’s neck. He was crying, murmuring something to Mason too low for her to hear. The boar shifter clapped him hard on the back and rocked them back and forth. Sebastian Kane was treating Mason like he hadn’t seen him in years, and what was wrong here? Cora had assured her the Boarlanders were intact, but something had come along and split Mason off—that much was clear by the emotional reunion.

The other Boarlanders approached slower, as if giving Sebastian room to greet Mason as long as he wanted. She’d done her research, knew who they were from the pictures on the internet. Mason hadn’t been easy to find, but the rest of them were out there for everyone to see, fully registered and open with who they were. Social media accounts, bangaboarlander pages, blogs, and newspaper articles. Emerson Kane was cupping the slight swell of her belly with one hand and wiping the corner of her eye with the other as she approached, all curly black hair and emotional gold-colored eyes. And Harrison was there with his short chestnut hair and somber, dark blue eyes. His mate, Audrey, had her dark hair pulled high in a ponytail and wore a purple Moosey’s Bait and Barbecue shirt over cut-off shorts. Kirk, the massive gorilla shifter who had made waves across the world a couple months ago when he battled Kong in animal form, stayed on the outskirts, eyes averted. He felt…angry, and Beck’s fight or flight instincts kicked up. Warily, she pressed herself against the tailgate of Mason’s truck and exposed her neck. His mate was human, but looked tough. Alison had short platinum-blond hair and tattoos on one arm that stretched from under her black tank top to her elbow. Her eyebrows were dark, and her pixie face held a similar frown that Kirk wore.

Sebastian shoved him back to arm’s length and croaked out, “You’re back now so I don’t have to miss you no more. You’re back now.”

Mason looked gutted and shook his head. “No, man. I’m just delivering your new publicist.”

Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest like a shield, and now he wouldn’t meet Mason’s gaze. He cleared his throat and cast her a quick glance, then back to the ground. “Hi, publicist. I’m Bash.” He gestured to Emerson, who was rubbing his back. “This is my mate and my cub. It ain’t out of Emerson’s belly yet, but it’s still my cub.”

“I’m Rebecca Anderson, but everyone calls me Beck.” She stepped forward to shake his hand but stumbled to a stop when Kirk spoke up in a voice that was too low and too gravelly to be human. “You look great, man.” There was a sarcastic edge. “I guess you’ve just been too happy with your awesome new life to come visit.”

The truck bed sank and creaked loudly. A muscled-up titan stood in the back and slammed his dusty boot on the tailgate. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thigh. Clinton. “He don’t look great.” He twitched his predatory silver gaze to Mason. “You look like shit.”

Mason ran his hand over his short hair and then shook his head. “It’s nice to see you, too.”

“Is it?” Clinton jumped out of the truck and landed hard on the gravel, kicking up dirt. He stalked Mason slowly. “Pretty shitty the way you left, don’t you think?” He looked around to the others. “He don’t write. He don’t call.” He shoved Mason’s shoulder hard, but the boar shifter barely moved. “I guess spending a whole fuckin’ logging season here didn’t bond you to us. Not like we thought.” Clinton lowered his voice to a shaking, angry murmur. “Not like
I
thought.”

“Clinton,” Harrison warned.

Mason ran his hand over his beard and said, “Nah, Harrison. It’s fine.”

Clinton began circling behind Mason slowly, and the air felt so heavy it was unbreathable.

“Don’t,” Audrey gritted out, but Clinton didn’t hear, or didn’t care.

A massive blond grizzly exploded from his skin and then paced ten yards off, eyes never leaving Mason. A challenge if Beck ever saw one, but she’d never been this close to a Changed grizzly shifter, and Mason stood no chance in a fight with Clinton.

Mason sighed, then pulled his sunglasses off and tossed them in the back of his truck.

Panicked, she pleaded, “Mason.”

“Go on inside,” he murmured in a dead voice.

“No, I don’t think you should do this.”

The Boarlanders had scattered, and now a smattering of pops pulled Beck’s attention. A massive white tiger was stalking forward, head lowered, lips curled back over long canines and, holy shit, what was happening?

When she turned around to beg Mason to leave with her, to get in the truck and drive them away from here, he was peeling his shirt over his head. She was stunned to silence. Oh, she’d known he was fit from the way his shoulders filled his T-shirt, but she hadn’t been prepared for him to look like this. Suntanned skin, rippling with muscle, defined abs that flexed with his movement, and two long, raised scars that stretched from his pelvis up his ribs and disappeared under his arm. His biceps bulged as he pulled his shirt right-side out, as though he had all the time in the world.

“Wait, wait, wait. I think we should go,” she whispered, grabbing his hand without thinking.

He flinched away and gave her a warning look. His eyes were glowing blue, and power pulsed from his skin. “That trailer will do for you,” he ground out, jerking his chin at the last trailer on the left. “Get on inside now. This don’t concern you.”

But he was wrong. It sure felt like it concerned her. Like anything that happened to him would hurt her, and she didn’t want this. Didn’t want him fighting against these apex predators. What chance did a little boar shifter stand against them?

“Mason, go easy on him,” Harrison said.

Wait, what?

Harrison crossed his arms over his chest, his arms flexing with the motion. “Let him keep his innards.”

Beck held out her hands in a beseeching gesture to the Boarlander alpha. “I guess I just don’t understand why they need to bleed—”

Pop, pop, pop!
A pulse of raw power blasted against her skin, and Beck hunched defensively. The dust had kicked up, but it didn’t hide the enormous beast that rose up from the earth.

“Oh my God,” she murmured, straightening slowly.

She’d imagined Mason’s animal as a two-hundred-pound feral hog, but she’d been so wrong. The muscular hump between Mason’s shoulder blades was taller than the bed of his jacked-up truck. Pitch black, coarse fur covered his body, and longer hair spiked up like a Mohawk down his back. Huge barrel chest, smaller back end, glossy black hooves, and when the dust settled enough and he looked over his shoulder at her, Beck’s breath was sucked straight out of her lungs. He had long, curved, razor-sharp tusks and demon-bright blazing eyes full of undiluted rage.

She’d been so wrong. He absolutely stood a chance against these predator shifters because Mason Croy was a beast. Emerson grabbed her hand and yanked her toward the trailer, and then Alison was there, hand on her back, urging her forward faster.