Boarlander Beast Boar (Boarlander Bears #4)(40)

She circled around as Mason trotted for the tree line on those sure, glossy black hooves of his. Dive-bombing closer, she cried out a happy noise as Mason lifted his head, cutting proudly through the air with his razor sharp tusks. Nothing could hurt her with a mate like him. Big barrel chest, powerful front legs, head high, ears erect, tusks ready for ripping, muscles moving easily with every galloping step. Mason was grace and power. He was perfection. Mine, her possessive owl declared.

Together they wound through the Boarlander woods, faster and faster, ducking and dodging the ancient pines of the forest. Mason wove through trails just below her, while she zigzagged gracefully around the trunks, her eyes ever dancing back to him. With a grunt, Mason looked up at her, then pushed his legs faster. Damn, he was quick, and she heaved breath as she rushed to keep up with him. God, she loved this—the wind brushing through her flight feathers, the night sounds quieting as they passed, the noise of Mason’s breath below her. Steam puffed in front of his face in the cool night air as he ran faster. She’d never felt joy like this. She’d never felt complete freedom. Changes near her hometown had to be done carefully so that no one saw a snowy owl where one didn’t belong. Here, in Damon’s mountains, she was safe to be herself. Safe to fly fast and far, and her mate was below, pushing her to test her wings.

When they came to a clearing, Mason skidded to a stop, billowing dust around him while Beck spread her wings against the breeze and thrust her talons out to assist in her quick slow-down. Beneath her, the fireflies had kicked up in the meadow. Little blinking dots lit up the night, like stars come to earth. Mesmerized, she circled lower and landed gently on the muscular hump between Mason’s shoulder blades. If her talons digging into his tough hide for balance bothered him, he didn’t show it. Instead, Mason relaxed under her and looked over his shoulder, his eyes soft and contrasting starkly against the ferocity of his warrior face.

And when he gave his attention back to the sparkling meadow, she flapped her wings languidly for balance. One of her downy white feathers floated down onto Mason’s dark bristled fur. How different they were on the outside, but how similar they were on the inside.

The fireflies lifted higher and higher, spreading out into the woods and reminding her that magic moments like this existed to brighten dark days. She’d been overwhelmed by the grit only a few hours ago, and then Mason had soothed her and gifted her beautiful relief.

Mason had been wrong when he’d questioned if he could make her happy.

Because here, in the firefly meadow, clinging to the strong back of the boar she loved, Beck had never been happier.





Chapter Eighteen


Mason cracked his knuckles and paced in front of 1010 again. Maybe he wouldn’t be so nervous about meeting Ryder if Beck didn’t look sick to her stomach with worry.

Robbie would be here any minute with Beck’s five-year-old boy, and so much was riding on this. Flight shifters were notoriously fierce parents, and Beck held information about Ryder close to her chest. Drawing details from her lips about her son was like pulling teeth, and when he’d asked Beck, “Why?” she’d told him, “I guess I’ve always had to hide him away to protect him, so I learned to keep him to myself.”

Made sense. She’d been raising Ryder in the human world, distant from any shifters, and with a human mate who didn’t accept the animals in either her or Ryder.

Beck’s body rang with tension as she stood near the entrance of the Boarland Mobile Park, talking into the phone too low for Mason to hear all the way from back here. Likely, she was directing Robbie where to go. God, what was taking him so long? Anyone with eyes in their head could see Beck needed to see her son, and now each minute was dragging.

The other Boarlanders were down in Saratoga, participating in a charity bake sale Beck had set up for them. It was at the community center, and she was supposed to be making a pro-shifter speech in a few hours, but she’d been right when she had told him everything worked on Robbie’s schedule. He was already two hours later than what they’d planned.

Beck stood on tiptoes, watching the road, and Mason could hear it now—the soft rumble of a truck engine kicking up gravel in the distance.

He was going to be sick. This was his shot at a family, but if Ryder didn’t take to him, he had no doubt in his mind Beck would tuck her little owl under one arm and sacrifice her happiness for her son’s.

Shit. He should’ve read some of those parenting books Beaston had. Now he was panicking, feeling like Ryder would hate him for sure, Beck would leave, and the cracks in his soul that Esmerelda had left would be blasted wide open.

Breathe.

Mason forced himself to sit on the bottom stair of 1010’s porch because every instinct urged him to rush to Beck’s side and rub her shoulders and promise her everything would be okay. This wasn’t about him, though. It was her hurt and Ryder’s pain, and his sole responsibility in this matter would be to listen and be there for them as they picked their way through this.

An old, rust-eaten, navy Chevy bounced and bumped under the Boarland Mobile Park sign, then smoothed out as Robbie hit the newly paved part of the road. Through the window, Robbie gave Beck a hate-filled glare as she waved back in response to the little hand waving out the window.

“Robbie, stop!” she cried as he coasted past her.

“Momma!” Ryder yelled through the open window, reaching for her.