Mason had killed his brother. He winced as he remembered when they’d been young—before Jamison had gone mad with power. They had been close.
He rested on his locked arms against the sink and frowned at himself in the mirror, then to feel human again, he ran water over his hair and face, brushed his teeth, considered a shave but he wanted to see Beck bad. Unsteady on his feet, he shoved his legs into the pair of jeans on the floor. But when he tried to escape the room, he was blocked by a twin mattress that took up the hallway.
“What’s this?” Mason asked.
“That’s where Clinton slept while you were dead.” Bash followed him out of the bedroom and through the kitchen to the living room, where other mattresses were strewn among the green couches.
“Did everyone sleep in ten-ten?” Mason asked, stunned.
“The Boarlanders did, and Damon slept on the floor by your bed at nights, worrying over you somethin’ fierce. I never seen the dragon look like that. He’ll be wanting me to call him to tell him you’re awake. The other crews only visited during the day. Willa brought you that can of worms over there.” Bash pointed to a cardboard container on the woodgrain kitchen counter. “She said they were her favorites and named them all Mason.”
Mason looked around the trailer and raked his hand through his damp hair. He couldn’t believe they’d gone to battle against the boar-people like they had, and now this?
“I need to see Beck,” he croaked out. “And Ryder.”
“They’re off near Bear Trap Falls catchin’ frogs.”
“I’ve never seen frogs at the falls.”
“Well, your mate ain’t been out of this trailer much, so I told her there was. You need to eat somethin’.”
“I will,” Mason promised as he staggered out of 1010 and down the porch stairs.
Clinton was replanting the rose bushes he’d ripped out of the landscaping but stood slowly when he saw Mason. “Hey, asshole.”
Mason huffed a laugh. Clinton cared. He just didn’t know how to show it.
“Hey, asshole,” he muttered.
The corner of Clinton’s mouth curved up quick before he ripped the newly planted rose bush out of the ground and threw it in the yard. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and arched his blond brows high, daring Mason to rag him.
Mason heaved a sigh and turned for the woods, hiding his private smile. Clinton would always be crazy, and that used to bother him, but not anymore.
As he made his way through Boarlander woods, the sun was so bright that it saturated everything in a vibrant green. Moss and wild grass, pine needles and ferns—it was stunning but almost hurt his sensitive eyes to look at. The ground was soft and rich with the ozone scent that said it had rained while he’d been unconscious.
Long before he set foot on the beach, he heard them—his Beck and Ryder.
They were drawing something in the sand and talking low about how the frogs must be asleep.
Mason hesitated along the edge of the beach, just to take in this moment. He wasn’t gone like Esmerelda. He wouldn’t haunt them or miss out on their lives. He was here. His body hurt like hell, but feeling pain meant he was alive.
Beck froze, her red-gold curls lifting gently in the wind. Slowly, she stood and turned, her face breathtakingly hopeful. She closed her eyes and sighed with relief, then made her way over the sand to him, her arms out like she couldn’t wait to touch him.
She wrapped him up in a tight hug and let off a soft sob. Mason swallowed hard, over and over, to hold onto control over his emotions. Hugging her shoulders tightly, he murmured, “It’s over, Beck. We’re okay.”
“Mason!” Ryder yelled, his face brightening as he blasted toward him on those quick little legs of his.
Mason chuckled as the boy hit him full speed on the leg and wrapped his frail arms around his jeans.
“Hey, Air-Ryder,” Mason said, hand on top of the boy’s soft hair to convince himself this moment really belonged to him.
Beck sniffled and lifted her bright green eyes to his, a smile on her face. “I thought we lost you.”
“Never,” he whispered fiercely, brushing a light touch down her neck. God, she looked so beautiful with the sunlight glowing across her cheeks. He couldn’t believe she was his. Couldn’t believe she’d chosen him.
Beck inhaled deeply and looked down at Ryder. “You remember what we talked about?”
Ryder lifted big round eyes to Mason, and his bottom lip quivered. “I got in trouble from Momma.”
“Uh, oh. For what?” Mason asked.
“Show him,” Beck murmured.
A frown marring his little face, Ryder took off his T-shirt and pointed to a barely-there scrape on the tip of his shoulder.
“What happened?” Mason said, kneeling to get a better look.
Ryder’s eyes rimmed with tears, but he blinked hard, like he was trying to be strong. “Momma told me you made those marks on her chest because she was yours.”
“Yeah?”
“Well…I wanted to be yours, too.” Ryder’s lip poked out farther, and he fell against Mason’s chest, hugging his neck tight.
“You made that cut?” Mason asked, shocked.
“Uh huh.” Ryder’s voice sounded small and ashamed.
Mason blew out a steadying breath and pushed him back to arm’s length so he could show him the honesty in his eyes when he made this promise. “Ryder, I won’t leave you. You’re my boy. You, me, and your mom…we’re stuck like glue now, okay?”
Ryder nodded but didn’t look convinced, and he got it. Robbie had left Beck so easily. He’d left Ryder, too, and had been cruel when he spent any time with him. He could understand how the boy wanted something that told him Mason wouldn’t go back on his word like his real dad. Mason frowned and sighed. “You want a mark that says you’re my boy?”
Ryder nodded, his big teary eyes steady on Mason.
“It’ll hurt for a minute,” he warned him.
“I’m strong like an owl.”
Shit, he was going to lose it. Mason blinked hard a couple times, then told him, “You ask your mom if it’s okay.”
“Can he?” Ryder asked.
When Mason dragged his gaze to Beck’s, she was crying and nodding, her arms crossed over her chest like she was trying to keep her heart inside.
Mason took a long, steadying breath, then pulled the knife Beaston had made him from the back pocket of his jeans. “Look away,” he murmured, and when Ryder squeezed his eyes tightly closed, Mason made a quick, inch-long cut deep enough to leave a thin scar, right under his collar bone.
It bled for a few seconds before Ryder’s shifter healing kicked in and sealed it up. Mason had a moment of panic at the thought of hurting him, but now Ryder was grinning big, staring at the mark. “Now you cain’t leave me.” Ryder hugged Mason’s neck up tight.
Mason stood slowly, taking Ryder with him in the cradle of his arm. He drew Beck against his side and said, “Now you’re both my family.”
A light touch rested on his back, and he turned to find Audrey smiling up at him with emotion welling in her eyes. And then Emerson was there, and Ally, hugging the three of them. Harrison gripped his shoulder, Kirk ruffed up his hair, and Bash nearly broke him in half with one of those resounding back claps. Clinton stood leaned against a tree, his chin tucked to his chest, watching them all. He wasn’t even scowling.
“It’s good to have you back, man,” Harrison murmured.
But his alpha didn’t see. He’d never even come close to leaving. Not when he’d tried to live away from the Boarlanders, and not when he’d been fighting for his life.
Everything was here.
Mason ran the pad of his thumb across the dampness on Beck’s cheek and smiled at the tender-hearted woman who had given him so much. He hugged his little Air-Ryder, Son of the Beast Boar, closer and kissed Beck’s lips—just a gentle sip to tell her he loved her.
It didn’t matter where he came from or what people had called him in his past life. It didn’t matter the assumptions the boar people had made about him. He’d discovered something amazing here in Damon’s mountains. He’d stumbled down a long and broken road to end up in a place he could’ve never imagined.
Here, in this old C-Team trailer park, he was a friend.
He was a mate.
He was a dad.
And from this moment on, he would proudly be known as a Boarlander.