Boarlander Beast Boar(18)

Mason pressed her hand against against his jaw, nuzzled her palm, then laid a soft kiss on her wrist. “I brought coffee. Figured you could use it after all the not-sleeping we did last night.”

She giggled, deliriously happy now that her mate was here. Her mate. God, she couldn’t believe this was happening. “Three coffees?”

“One for me and you, and one for the photographer willing to put up with the shit she’s gonna have to deal with today. I hope you’re paying her well.”

“I am. Cora Keller hired her with the budget from donations that have been pouring into her site. She’s also been selling shifter T-shirts, mugs, pens, hats, the works to raise money.”

“That woman is amazing.”

“She really is. She has all the Breck Crew working around the clock to help with PR, but she didn’t have enough pull here.”

“And that’s where you came in,” Mason said proudly, handing her a fancy disposable coffee cup with a lid.

“Yep,” she said, taking a burning sip of the delicious wakey-wakey nectar. “Ooooh, heaven. Drea, coffee is here when you want it.”

“Thanks, Beck,” Drea said, reviewing shots she’d just taken of Bash.

Emerson was here now, pregnant belly pushing against her T-shirt as she plucked a fuzz off Bash’s dark facial scruff. And if her ears were on point, she could hear Audrey and Ally talking and giggling and headed this way to help. Today was about to get easier with their back-up.

Bash turned with a grin and said something low in Emerson’s ear, cupped her belly affectionately, his tall stature as strong as the tree he stood next to, muscles flexed as he talked to his mate.

“Drea,” Beck whispered, then jerked her chin at the couple.

“You want some candid shots?” Drea asked through a spreading grin.

“Yeah.”

Drea didn’t have to be asked twice. Immediately, she began snapping pictures of Bash cradling Emerson’s belly. Emerson was laughing, her hands on Bash’s chest like they were the only ones out in these woods.

An unexpected emotion washed over Beck as she watched them, and she rested her hand on her chest to stop the fluttering.

“What’s wrong,” Mason asked, resting his fingertips on her lower back.

“Nothing. They’re beautiful.”

Mason frowned from her to Bash and Emerson, and then back to Beck. “You never had that, did you?”

She smiled through her emotions. Unable to speak, she shook her head. Robbie hadn’t been happy over the news that she’d become pregnant. Wasn’t happy with their shotgun wedding. Wasn’t happy with her.

Mason pressed his hand on her stomach and lowered his lips to her ear. “If I was there, it would’ve been different. I would’ve taken care of you. I hate that I missed it. I saw your stretch marks last night, and it gutted me that I wasn’t there when you got them. I’m sorry I can’t give you that.”

“You silly man. Don’t apologize for stuff neither one of us can control.” She swallowed hard and rested her cheek against his chest. “And thanks for being nice about my stretch marks. I used to be really self-conscious about them.”

“Because of Robbie?”

A nod of her head was all he would get. She couldn’t bring herself to voice the pain she’d felt time and again at Robbie’s revulsion of her body after she’d had Ryder.

“I love them,” he admitted low. “I’m not just saying that either. If this is all I get from you being pregnant, it’s enough.” Mason brushed his finger up under her shirt and across the marred skin right near her hip. “Warrior stripes.”

She laughed thickly and lifted up on her toes, kissed him and reveled in the smoothness of his face. Easting away, she promised, “Now we’re gonna be making out all the time.”

Mason pumped his fist and murmured, “Yes, woman.”

They watched Bash’s shoot for a while before Mason asked, “How did Clinton’s shoot go?”

“I have a feeling you already know.”

“That bad?”

“I’m having to cut him, and now I don’t know who to get for January. I already had to beg a couple of the Ashe Crew to participate.”

“I’ll do it.”

She bumped his shoulder and shook her head. “You can’t, Mason. You’ve kept your existence here a secret for a long time, and for a reason. You don’t want your boar-people finding you, and neither do I.”

“Nah, I have an idea that will keep me out of the calendar but get you your January shot.”

“What idea?”

Mason’s eyes crinkled with his wicked grin. “Clinton’s easier when he drinks, and he’s hitting the whiskey hard right now. And also, he’s competitive. Just have your photographer ready for whatever he gives you.”

****

“What is he doing?” Drea asked as Mason pulled his black Raptor right up next to Clinton’s white one.

“I think he’s luring one hard-headed little bee to some honey too sweet to ignore,” Kirk answered behind Beck.

Huh. Beck settled in behind Drea, who was changing out the lens on her camera. Mason revved his roaring engine, then got out of his truck.

Clinton’s screen door screeched open, and he stuck his head out, narrowed his eyes at Mason’s truck, then retreated back inside. A second later, the blinds on his front window lifted.

Beck hid her grin as the Boarlanders chuckled behind her. Oooh, Mason knew just what he was doing.

Mason peeled out of his shirt, and Beck’s face went slack. His eight-pack rippled with his movement, and his scars stood stark on his skin. His biceps bulged as he wadded up his T-shirt and tossed it out of the way. And when he lifted his gaze to Beck, his eyes were blazing the bright blue of his boar people. Harrison tossed him a hard hat, which Mason caught easily.

“He needs moisturizer,” Audrey said matter-of-factly. She plopped a tube of it into Beck’s hand, slapped her on the ass, and said, “You should do the honors.”

As Beck stumbled forward, Bash chortled behind her. “Mason’s gonna get a boner so bad.”

She was going to lose it right here in front of everyone. Already her owl was screeching for her to hurry up and get closer to her mate. To touch him. To splay her fingers across his taut chest, lick him, unbutton his pants, and…focus.

Mason lifted his chin proudly, watched her approach with those gorgeous glowing blues. “I like your eyes when your animal is ruffled. Not gold like I thought in the restaurant, but they’re yellow like the sun. Hard to look at, hard to look away.” He caught her hand as she lifted lotion up to his chest. Lowering his voice to a barely audible whisper, he said, “They’re captivating.” Slowly, he drew her hand to his chest and rolled his eyes closed when she touched him.

“Boner!” Bash said. “I shoulda made a bet. It smells like pheromones.”

“That’s good, Bash Bear,” Emerson said through a giggle.

“What’s that on your shoulder?” Harrison asked.

Beck froze at the realization of what Mason had exposed by losing his shirt. Her healing claiming mark was still red and angry looking on his shoulder. Four long, deep gashes stretched across his shoulder where she’d marked him with her razor sharp talons in a fit of lust and insanity.

“Nothing,” she blurted out.

“Or everything,” Mason said, cocky-as-you-like. “My girl laid into me and gave it to me. I’m claimed, boys.”

“Aw, hell yeah!” Kirk whooped as the others cheered and whistled. “Well, show us yours then, Beck!”

“Uuuh,” she said, frowning at Mason’s mark. Her cheeks flushed with heat as she turned slowly. What was she supposed to say that wouldn’t mortify her?

“She doesn’t have one,” Mason murmured. The humor had been sucked right out of his tone.

The cheering died down to silence so heavy it made it hard to breathe. Her face was on fire now as she dropped her gaze to the ground. Mason had said claiming was different for his people, but the Boarlanders apparently thought she was supposed to have one. And now her old insecurities were rearing their ugly heads.

Drea snapped a picture, but Beck didn’t want that. She didn’t want the shame on her face captured for all eternity in a photograph, so she handed Mason the moisturizer and ducked out of the way of his grasping hand.

“Beck—”

“Nope,” she gritted out, not about to do this in front of the whole damned crew.

“You’re doin’ it all wrong,” Clinton said from beside his truck. Now he was dressed in low-riding jeans and work boots, and he had his chainsaw in hand again. With a scowl, the grumpy Boarlander drew up in front of the grill of his pickup, lifted his chainsaw, splayed his legs, flexed his abs deep, lifted his chin, and gave Drea the money shot.

“Got it,” Drea said excitedly as she snapped pictures in quick succession. And when she looked back at her camera to review, she had that big grin that said Clinton’s picture was done.

Clinton gave Mason a middle finger plus one cocky smirk, then sauntered back into this trailer.

Mason didn’t seem to give a single fuck, though. His eyes were somber and steady on Beck. Regret swam there, and she didn’t even want to know why. God, how stupid that she’d done it again. She’d believed him when he’d said claiming was different for his people. She’d assumed there was some ceremony or something that she would soon be a part of, but there wasn’t. The Boarlanders’ confusion over her not bearing Mason’s mark said his traditions were the same as other shifters, and Beck had gone and fallen for his pretty words.