Boarlander Beast Boar(3)

“I broke the phone.”

Her mouth fell open, and she gasped out. “You can’t break people’s personal property!”

He made a clicking sound behind his teeth and shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand, human. You’re safe. Your people are safe. The government doesn’t want to strip your rights, cage you, or sterilize your entire species.”

Shaking her head, she huffed a humorless laugh and stared out the window at the town blurring by. He was so wrong. She had just as much worry about the vote as him, or she wouldn’t have taken this job. It wasn’t just his world that was burning. Hers was, too.

Beck cast a quick glance to the back of his neck. There was a massive amount of bruising and a deep gash. Shifters healed fast, so he’d taken a beating to have marks like that. “I think you should eat,” she murmured.

Mason ignored her, the stubborn man.

“Fine, I’m hungry, and Damon assured me that you would take care of me.”

“Chhh,” he huffed out. “I can’t take care of anyone.” He’d said that last part low, as if he didn’t care if she heard it. She knew that feeling.

“Drive-thru is fine.”

The steering wheel creaked under his grip. He inhaled deeply, then asked, “What kind of food do you like?”

“Anything, you pick.” She pulled her phone from her purse as he pulled a U-turn. He could think what he wanted about her being some kind of blind date for him, but she was actually in Saratoga to work. To help. To relieve Cora Keller of some of the pressure on her and the Breck Crew and to make a decent wage because she had bills to pay.

Beck called the printer back because she’d missed a call from them. She haggled prices to print calendars and settled on one that fit the budget Cora had given her. And after she hung up with them, she made yet another call to the head of Saratoga Parks and Rec because they’d been putting off her plans to include special events for shifters at the Lumberjack Wars, and she was not taking no for an answer.

More than once, she caught Mason glancing at her in the rearview mirror, but when he adjusted his dick, she figured it was just because the low V of her button-down shirt had slipped to the side and was soggily stuck, exposing most of her lacey bra and left teat. Great. With a dirty look for him, she covered herself back up and agreed to have a conference call with a couple of the higher ups at Parks and Rec to discuss the Lumberjack Wars. After Beck hung up, she opened her daily planner and added the one o’clock call for tomorrow’s agenda. She was scribbling away at questions she wanted to ask in the notes section when Mason pulled into the drive-thru lane of a restaurant called Butters Beer Burgers and Shakes.

Mason leaned out the window at the intercom and said, “I’ll have three number ones, no onions, a large vanilla shake, and one of those apple fried pies. No…two of those.” Mason twisted around. “What do you want?”

“Oh, my gosh,” Beck said, cracking a grin. “That was all for you? What a pig.”

Mason narrowed his eyes to angry little slits. “Boar.”

“I’ll have a cobb salad with light Italian dressing.”

“God, are you one of those dainty fancy-pants women always counting your calories? Sipping on water, and then you’re like, ‘I’m stuffed.’” He shook his head in mock disappointment. “So boring.”

Actually, she’d eaten an airport burrito a couple of hours ago and this food run was more for him than her, but he could think what he liked. “I’m boring? You ordered a vanilla shake. Vanilla.” She shot him a challenging look but took the bait. “And I’ll have a small strawberry shake.”

Mason smirked and put in her order, then changed his to a strawberry shake, too. Competitive much? She hid a private smile as she logged onto Cora’s shifter site from her phone. Beck was helping run it now that she was officially on the payroll.

Yelling carried on the wind. A chant. “Cage the shifters…stop the epidemic…” A group of twenty or so walked a tight circle in front of the hardware store a couple doors down. Beck’s stomach curdled at the picket signs. One was of a bear with Xs for eyes and its leg in a giant trap. Get them before they get us.

Mason had his head carefully turned away, too, but his shoulders had gone rigid. Before she could change her mind, Beck reached forward and slid her hand over his tense arm. He was even harder than she’d imagined. Mason froze under her touch, didn’t move a muscle for a moment, then leaned forward and out of her reach. “My people don’t like touch,” he said in a voice that was low and growly.

How sad. She couldn’t even imagine a life without physical affection. Sure, her marriage had been like that, but she’d had Ryder, and he loved cuddling. Another deep ache cut through her stomach just thinking about him. Blinking hard, she hit her ex’s speed dial and waited for the tenth time since she’d come to Saratoga to hear it ring and ring until his voicemail came on. “Hey, this is Robbie. If this is a booty call, leave a message. If this is Beck, fuck off.” He’d always been so charming.

She plastered an empty smile to her voice, because screaming never worked with him. “Hey Robbie. I really wish you would change your voicemail. And maybe pick up your phone because I’ve called a bunch of times, and this isn’t how it’s supposed to work. I’m supposed to be able to talk to him still, just like I always let you talk to him when he is with me.” She sighed deeply and prayed for patience. Robbie had been the worst decision she’d ever made. “Anyway, please call me back. I’m starting to worry. Okay, bye.” She hung up the phone and relaxed into the back seat. Another flash of blue, and she caught Mason’s eyes in the rearview again.

“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.