Jacks, Marcy - Mason Returns to His Mate [DeWitt's Pack 8] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic ManLove) (3 page)

Mason’s transformation was always relatively fast, usually taking  no more than ten seconds, but now he was so worked up that the  rearranging of his bones and sudden growth of hair was almost  instantaneous.

The next thing he knew, Mason was shaking out his brown coat

and kicking up dirt as he charged into the woods at full speed.

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Chapter Two

He left again. Derek couldn’t fucking believe the gall Mason had, even after all these years, and Derek was a complete idiot.

The second he realized that Mason was leaving him again, after fucking him again, sort of if head counted, all the pent-up anger he’d felt over the years returned like it was still fresh from when he was twenty years old and he woke up to Mason’s disappearance without so much as a note.

He hadn’t thought to be worried until three days had passed, and  Derek had gone to speak with Mason’s brother for the first and last time.

“He’s  not coming back. He was shamed,” James had said.

Every time Derek thought about it, he cringed. Mason had left him  because, somehow, his family had found out what the two of them  were doing, and apparently, even though they hadn’t been keeping in  touch, those old family connections were still strong enough to dictate  who Mason spent his time with even ten years later.

Whatever. He was done. Fuck him, Derek thought as he furiously  wiped down the glass casing that held all the more valuable  electronics and jewelry. If Derek never saw Mason again, he’d be just  dandy.

Except that he could hardly take the high road after he’d given the  other man head.

Fuck.

The bell to the door chimed, and Derek looked up as three men entered his shop.

He was shocked to see anyone this time of day, but whatever, he

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needed the business, and maybe some customers would take his mind

off this shit.

They were all dressed in hunting gear. Derek wouldn’t doubt that they had a couple of rifles and shotguns in whatever car or truck they drove up in.

He cleared his throat, trying to purge himself of all the negativity he felt. “Hey, guys, how can I help you?”

One of the men, the only one of the three not wearing any shades, drew the attention of the others to the deer head Derek had mounted

on the wall behind the counter. They all nodded to it in appreciation  before returning their attention to the human in the store.

There was apparently a leader in this group since only one man  stepped forward. “Yes, we were wondering if you were selling any  rifles or pump-action shotguns. Handguns would be good, too.”

This wasn’t exactly an uncommon question considering the woods  surrounding Brampton made for prime hunting grounds during the  season, but the season for big game hunting didn’t open for another  six weeks, and these guys looked ready to go out now.

“I have a couple of things on hand. Only shotguns, though. No  handguns or rifles, yet, and no one’s really come in to scoop the  shotguns up yet since the season is still a little ways away,” he said,  hoping they took the hint.

They didn’t. The leader then seemed to notice some of the  shotguns Derek had mounted on the wall behind them.

“Let me see that one,” he said, hardly paying attention to what  Derek had just told him.

Derek did as he was told, already thinking he was going to have a  picky sort of customer. He’d wanted to take his mind off of Mason,  but not like this.

None of the guns were loaded. Derek had checked and double-checked that one before he’d put the guns on display, so he had no problem  with letting each of the three men handle the few shotguns that he had. Most were pump action as the man had asked for, but a

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couple were lever action or the break-open kind.

The two men behind the leader seemed to have a lot of fun

pumping their shotguns  and pointing the barrels at the rest of Derek’s  wares, testing out their sights.

“Hmm,” said the leader. He was maybe in his forties, if all the  silver in his short hair was any sort of indication. From what Derek  could see of his forearm, he also had a whole lot of small star tattoos

riding up to his elbow.

“You sure you don’t have any rifles?” The man looked at him  suspiciously, as though Derek would have some kind of reason for  lying about that.

“Pretty sure.” He was not selling his guns to these wackos. They’d  probably get stupid and shoot each other, and then Derek would be  responsible for it.

Then Derek got a little suspicious himself. “Why? What are you  hunting that you need a rifle?”

That had apparently been the wrong thing to say, or the right  thing, depending on how one looked at it.

All three men looked at Derek, and with a signal from their leader,  they all put the shotguns back on the glass counter for him to put back  on the wall.

At least now he wasn’t going to have a fight on his hands when he asked to see their permits.

The man with the gray hair nodded to him. “Thank you for your time.”

“You’re welcome. Have a nice day,” Derek said, nodding back.

The three men left the store, and suddenly everything around him  was quiet once more. The only difference was that now Derek had to  put all the guns away.

Weird. That had been way too damn weird.

* * * *

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“You think he’s a supporter?” Billy asked. He was the youngest in  their group, but Tom liked keeping him around because sometimes, of  all the stupid things that came out of his mouth, there was a gem of  intellect that was good for their team.

Extra perspective was a good thing now and again.

Tom rubbed his chin. He didn’t do something as obvious as look  back at the store from which they came, though.  That would be too  much. “Don’t know. We can keep an eye on him for a little while, see  if he leads us anywhere―”

“Fucking supporters,” Billy muttered.

Alan nudged him for interrupting. Alan was Tom’s son, and he  kept his boy around because he had a sharp eye and was good with his  weapons, just like his old man.

“Don’t let your opinions take you places they shouldn’t,” Tom  said, pointing a finger at Billy’s nose. “We watch him to see if he  leads us to any wolves”—it was never a good idea to call them  werewolves when out in public in the middle of the day, even if the  streets were deserted—“but you absolutely cannot stick with just one  theory. Every clue you get as to who’s supporting and who isn’t will  always support your theories, even when you’re wrong, and that can  lead to a lot of unnecessary deaths.”

Billy grunted and nodded, and Tom knew that his lesson had gone  straight over the idiot’s head.

He wanted to sigh his frustration but kept it inside instead.

“He was a shop owner selling weapons. Clearly it made him  suspicious that we’re dressed to go hunting when the season’s not  open. Take that into consideration when you observe him.”

“Will the guns we have now be enough?” Alan asked.

“We’re fine for now, but it’s always better to find the places that

can restock your ammunition or the weapon itself in case it becomes  damaged. Next time we walk in there, we dress as civilians, though.  Otherwise he might call the cops on us.”

And they didn’t want that, considering the things they were here

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to hunt.

A couple of months ago, the call went out to any hunter available to come to Brampton to hunt down a pack of werewolves hiding in the area. Tom didn’t personally know any of the hunters who took up the challenge, but he did know that none were ever seen again after leaving.

That was why he was here. If there was a whole pack of them, then Tom wanted the money that having all of those werewolf pelts could provide. He was going to be smart about this, however, unlike the rest of those fools who’d all probably charged in, guns blazing, letting the wolves know they were there and ruining the element of surprise.

“For now we can all go hunting in the woods, set our traps, and see if we can’t track anything with abnormally big wolf paws.”

Alan nodded, and so did Billy, his  attention at a hundred percent now that the talk of hunting was underway, and the three of them set out to their truck and trailer, driving out to find an ideal place to set up their camp.

* * * *

Mason ran himself nearly to exhaustion and was almost halfway across the state by the time he decided to turn back.

He was tired, thirsty, and his paws were killing him. The sun was nearly down by the time he got back to Brampton. He was able to catch a deer while he was out running, so he at least didn’t have to worry about buying any food when he changed back into a human.

He was still walking, limping was more like it, thinking he would get a quick drink from the river when his paw stepped down on something cold, metal, and flat. The click alerted him that something was wrong, and he jumped out of the way just as a pair of huge, rusted metal teeth sprung and clamped together.

Mason’s heart hammered like he hadn’t stopped running. A bear

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trap? Jesus Christ! He almost got caught in a frickin’ bear trap!

Mason approached cautiously, sniffing the metal, and was  surprised at the fresh scent of human hands that had handled it.

Had bear-hunting season been moved? Last he checked, it wasn’t  for another couple of weeks.

Then, of course, the last time he checked was just  over ten years

ago.

It was the sight of the rust on the trap that made him nervous.  Whoever it was who set this up, they weren’t much interested in  keeping their gear in good condition.

That was usually because the hunters didn’t care about keeping  the traps clean so long as they bagged a werewolf.

Mason stepped back, slowly. Canada had its share of hunters, but  because of gun restrictions and their wildlife protection act, it was  harder for a hunter to go after them.

It was because of this that he hadn’t so much as caught any whiff

of hunters in all the time he’d been away.

Barely an hour back into town and he nearly stepped in a trap. He  was so hopeless.

A twig snapped somewhere behind him, and he froze. The scent  of oil came into his nose, and then his heart rate spiked.

Not a twig. Someone had just pulled back the hammer on a gun.

Mason ran for it, leaping and dodging just as the first bang of  gunfire pierced the air.

Judging by the explosion of the shrub he’d nearly ran past, they  were using shotguns. Fuck, he couldn’t just zigzag his way out of  here. He was going to have to avoid some pretty big shots if he was  going to get out of this unscathed.

A loud whoop in the air sounded as another shot fired, and this  time he hadn’t been able to get completely out of the way on time.

The fur on his chest took most of the hit, but some of the shotgun  pellets still pierced his skin, especially on his left paw.

Mason yelped and stumbled. Fuck! He couldn’t die here. Not until

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he got to see James, and not until he told Derek he was sorry for what

he’d done.

Even with his paw screaming at him, Mason put a hundred percent into getting the hell out of there.

The hunters screamed and whooped again―were they fucking children or something?―as they gave chase. Mason was tired and injured now, but there was no way these hunters could catch him on foot. He was too fast, even by werewolf standards.

More shots sounded from behind him as the hunters soon realized

this, too. Thankfully, nothing hit him this time as the trees he ducked  and dodged behind took the brunt of the attacks. He was back at his  truck in less than five minutes.

He transformed and did a quick check  on himself. His chest was bleeding and his arm was dotted with pellets. Thank God the shells hadn’t been filled with silver. Otherwise he’d be in a lot more trouble

than this.

Mason took a quick couple of seconds to check on the truck. The hunters must not have come by it because nothing was tampered with that he could see. He also didn’t smell the strong scent of human or guns in the air.

Right. That was enough on the status check. Mason jumped into the driver’s side, pulled out his keys, and started the ignition.

The sun was almost completely set now, leaving long stretches of orange color and shadows from the trees across the road.

It was going to be really awkward meeting his brother after all this time, naked and bleeding.