Boarlander Beast Boar (Boarlander Bears #4)(55)

She needed Ryder to remind her to breathe.





Chapter Twenty-Five


Mason groaned and squinted his eyes at the sunshine blasting a laser beam of light onto his closed eyelid. Something was scratching his stomach. It was a strange sensation, like the tingling he got when his leg fell asleep. His throat was dry, and his body felt like Damon had burned him to crispy bacon. But when he forced his eyes open and looked down at his chest, half hidden by bed sheets, he realized it wasn’t fire that had nearly killed him. The boar war came back to him in a flood as he beheld the long, half-healed gashes that covered his torso. Between two scars was a field mouse with giant testicles, walking over his stomach like he was searching Mason for potato chips.

“Hi, Nards,” he croaked in a hoarse voice.

The mouse looked up at him with those round eyes of his, wiggled his nose and whiskers a few times, and then hopped off him and down the comforter to the floor.

Mason frowned up at the saggy, white ceiling of 1010. Why wasn’t he in his own trailer recovering?

“I made them take you here for the magic mojo,” Bash said from a chair next to the bed. The titan looked exhausted and was fully bearded. How had he grown so much facial hair so fast? “You been out four days. We been taking turns watching you. Beck won’t hardly leave you, but she had to take Ryder out for a while. He was going wild all cooped up.” Bash scrubbed his hand down his face, and his usual smiling green eyes looked hollow. He dipped his voice to a ragged whisper. “I thought you left us again.”

The raw vulnerability in Bash’s admission unfurled a new ache in Mason’s chest cavity. “I told you, Bash Bear. I’m not leavin’ again.” Mason struggled upward and clutched his head when a bout of dizziness took him. When the blanket slipped to his hips, he froze at the sight of his stomach.

“You look like one of them tic-tac-toe boards with a bunch of Xs,” Bash said, the hint of a smile returning to his tone.

A moment of insecurity took him when he thought of Beck looking at him like this.

“She’s been tracing them while she talks to you.” Bash rested his elbows on his knees and clenched his hands. “If you’re worried about Beck wantin’ to f*ck you still, you don’t have to. She don’t see your scars at all. She just sees you.”

Mason swallowed hard and nodded his thanks to Bash. “She’s okay then? Is everyone okay?”

“We got new scars decorating our bodies, but yeah. Everyone lived. Your people are f*cked up.”

Mason let off a long, relieved sigh and closed his eyes against the weight that lifted from his shoulders. “They aren’t my people anymore, Bash Bear.” He stood on unsteady legs and stumbled into the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror was haunting, but he was still alive. Alive. He’d thought there hadn’t been a shot in hell of his survival after he’d fought Jamison. As he’d felt his life slipping away under the frantic attempts of his crew to save him, he’d thought he would never know if Beck lived, or if Ryder would grow up okay. He’d fought to stay awake, desperate to live for them. He owed the people who had worked so hard to put him back together again. And now Bash said Beck was okay, and suddenly, he didn’t have to worry about the boar people anymore. He’d hidden for so long, but no more. They wouldn’t come after him again. Not without Jamison leading them on his quest for vengeance.

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, *.”