Boarlander Silverback (Boarlander Bears #3)(30)

He drew her palm to his lips and kissed her gently. “Say that last part again.”

“Kirk, I’m serious. We could get in huge trouble—”

“Woman, I knew the risks going into this. I was forced to sign a damned abstinence contract and work a job I hated, and now I’m being forced to give up on claiming you? At some point I have to do what I want and say f*ck everyone trying to run my life. It’s me and you now. We’ll keep our marks hidden and share the secret, just me and you. And when yours heals… probably in ten years, because look at that,” he said, brushing his fingertips near her shoulder and holding up his red-stained hand. “You’re still bleeding.”

She swatted his hand away.

“When your mark heals,” he continued, “it’ll be hidden by your tattoos. Someone will have to look pretty damn hard to catch us.”

“You got a claiming mark!” Bash yelled.

“Aw, shit,” Kirk muttered, sitting up quick and shielding her from the grinning titan who had just poked his head up from the cliff trail.

“Guys, I found them, and Clinton, you were wrong. They aren’t f*cking gorilla-style! They’re cuddling, and she has a claiming mark!” Bash’s voice echoed across the mountains.

No, no, no!

Alison scrambled to pull the thin strap of her tank top over her puncture wounds as Bash climbed up the trail and turned to give Emerson a hand up.

“Bash,” Kirk rushed out in a hiss. “Keep your voice down. She isn’t supposed to have one.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bash said, slamming a big blue cooler down next to them. “The cops told us no claiming. But you’re the cop,” Bash said, eyebrows arched high. “That’s funny. Boarlanders got a cop mate now.” The dark-headed bear shifter frowned. “Or the Lowlanders. Does this mean I get to play with your gun?”

“Uuuh,” Alison said, “no.”

“Damn.”

Emerson was holding a small video camera pointed at Alison and Kirk as she sank into her mate’s lap and said, “I’m doing videos of our crew for when our baby gets older. I’m documenting everything so Bash and I can do a video documentary for memories. We suck at scrapbooking.” Emerson panned to the tumbling river in front of them. “Nice place. You ever jumped off the falls?”

Alison felt silly straddling Kirk’s lap now, but when she tried to move off him, he held her tighter. “I have a boner,” he gritted out with a significant look.

“I have a boner, too,” Bash said as he pulled a bottle of beer from the cooler. “I mean, I always have a boner now that Emerson is around because her tits are soft and bounce around real nice—”

“That’s good, Bash Bear,” Emerson said through a giggle as she cupped his cheek.

“But I was just telling them my dick gets even harder now that you’re pregnant.”

“You’re pregnant?” Alison asked.

“Yeah, and it isn’t against the law,” Emerson said defensively.

“No, no. I’m not getting you in trouble. Congratulations!”

Under her, Kirk’s boner was getting harder and bigger. Him using her to cover it up wasn’t helping.

Bash handed her a beer. “Since you’re wicked and unlawful now, you and Kirk should have tons of babies. Fuck in ten-ten if you want to get instant pregnant. I’ll babysit.”

“Oh, God,” Kirk muttered, hugging her tighter against his chest.

“You smell like blood and sex,” Bash said, right before he took a long swig of his drink. “I like your dove tattoo on your side boob.”

Alison buried her face against Kirk’s chest as her cheeks burned with mortification.

Emerson helped zero percent. She was just sitting in her mate’s lap, laughing.

“What does it mean?” Kirk asked, looking at it sideways as she scrambled to pull the low hanging sleeve hole over to cover her skin better. She regretted not putting her bra back on.

Horrified, she whispered, “It’s a reminder to see the good in people.”

Kirk’s eyes jerked to hers, and a slow, heart-stopping smile stretched his lips. “I like that. What about that one?” He pointed to the sails of a pirate ship that took up most of her ribcage.

Self-conscious, she hung her head and cast Bash and Emerson a shy glance. No way could she muster the courage to explain them to anyone other than Kirk, much less on camera. “I don’t really show these to people.”

“Well, why not?” Bash asked.

“I guess because I’m kind of messed up, and these tell my story.”

“You ain’t messed up,” Bash said with a shake of his head. He pointed to Harrison, who had just crested the trail. “He’s messed up. I’m messed up.” He pointed his beer bottle back to the woods, where a still drunk and swaying Clinton was leaning heavily against a tree. “He’s super messed up.”

“I’m normal,” Mason called from down the trail.

Bash shook his head and lowered his voice. “No he ain’t. Point is we’re all messed up. You look pretty damn normal to me. You and Kirk both.”

Huh.

“You think Kirk is normal and I’m not?” Clinton slurred. “You’re an ass…butt.”