Boarlander Beast Boar (Boarlander Bears #4)(31)

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 f*ck, 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.

She’d picked Mason.

Apparently, he hadn’t picked her back.





Chapter Fifteen


Beck looked at the picture of Damon standing in front of the waterfall next to his cliff mansion. His white oxford shirt was unbuttoned to expose one seriously ripped set of abs, his eyes sliver, his pupils elongated, chin lifted, and that sexy smirk on his lips. It was the perfect picture to end on.

“December is done. Great job everyone,” Beck declared. “That’s a wrap!”

Cheering erupted behind her at a deafening level. They’d attracted the shifters as they’d gone from crew to crew, taking photos of the most dominant beasts of these mountains. Excitement had built as more and more of the shifters and their mates and children had come out to show support. And now, as she looked around, Beck was stunned to realize almost everyone was here. The Ashe crew, led by Tagan and his mate Brooke, were laughing and cutting up with Creed’s Gray Backs and Harrison’s Boarlanders. Damon and his mate Clara, who was holding their red-headed toddler, made their way to where Beaston was standing with his mate, Aviana, mooning over their beautiful baby raven boy. Willa was cracking jokes and cradling a cardboard container of what she described as her “baby worms,” and beside her Drea was snapping candid pictures of everyone.