by Hattie Hunt
He had never thought himself quite so cowardly, self-proclaimed nerd status notwithstanding. Who would have thought that living in a community of shifters could be so damn complicated?
Mason unlocked the door and only opened it a crack, sliding his hand up the wall until his fingers hit the light switch. He poked his head inside, trying to block Emma’s view. Things were better than he expected them to be, and he couldn’t help but sigh in relief as he let Emma inside. “Sorry for the mess,” he said, stepping to the couch in two strides. He picked up the blanket crumpled into a heap on the floor and cleared his lesson plans off the pizza-free coffee table.
“I grew up in a clan of bears. Don’t worry about it.” Emma plopped down on the couch.
“Right.” Blanket still in his arms, Mason looked around, trying to decide the least in-the-way place to put it down. Finally, he excused himself to get the tools and tossed it onto the floor in his bedroom, to which he closed the door.
“Okay. I have the saw. Hold out your arm.”
Emma’s eyes shot up, and for a second she almost thought he was serious. Then, he came around the corner with a silver tray, bottle of antiseptic, and blue handled pliers, an unsure grin on his face.
The poor guy was a wreck.
She almost felt bad for him. Except she was the one with porcupine quills stuck in her arm.
Still, he was trying.
Emma forced herself to relax and then dramatically flung her good arm over her forehead and held out the quilled arm towards him. It ached and smarted, her skin stretching and reacting to the movement. If she was honest, she’d experienced worse. Friday.
“Do your worst, doctor.” Emma peered out from under her arm and snorted a laugh.
The look on his face was stricken, somewhere between terror and confusion.
“Lighten up.” Maybe she had been a little hard on him over the last week. “I’ve had worse. I promise. Just get the damn quills out of me and all is good.”
Mason frowned.
Seriously? He’d started the joke. Emma drew in a long breath and scooted to the edge of the couch, preparing herself for quill extraction.
He sat down next to her, angling himself so that their knees almost touched. His hands shook. Setting the tray on the coffee table, Mason picked up the pliers and looked at Emma’s arm. “Okay.” He took a deep breath.
Mal bristled in anticipation. You can’t be serious.
I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.
I’m not. He’s as strung out as a damn ferret.
He just needs to relax.
Mal growled. Emma closed her eyes and took a breath. “You know, Mason. I don’t usually go over to a guy’s house until the third date.”
Mason’s fingers slipped on the pliers and they clattered to the ground. When he looked up, his eyes were bugging out. “What?” he stammered, clumsily reaching for the pliers. He tucked his face into his shoulder as he reached, and Emma was sure she saw a tinge of red on his cheeks.
Emma couldn’t hold back a smile. He was just so helpless. She narrowed her eyes. “I’m just kidding. It’s normally date two.”
Recovering quicker than she thought he would, Mason perked up. “Do you let all of your dates stick you with porcupine quills before they bring you home?” His voice cracked on the last word, but he was almost smiling.
“Only if I like them.”
Mal groaned and Emma shushed him.
Mason’s expression darkened, and he fingered the pliers idly. “You’re trying to make me feel better about this. You don’t need to.”
“You have Mal worried about pulling the quills out of us with hands shaking worse than a jackhammer. I was trying to get you to relax.”
His brows furrowed. “Mal?”
Emma rolled her eyes. “He’s my spirit animal. A grizzly bear.”
Mason reached for Emma’s injured arm.
She lifted it towards him.
He settled it onto his knee and traced a finger along the line of quills. “I didn’t know people named their spirit animals.” Repositioning the pliers in his fingers, he tightened his grip on her arm near the first quill. Then he looked up.
Emma nodded, gritting her teeth. “You haven’t named yours?”
“No.” He started pulling on the quill
Emma’s eyes watered. Mal pushed against her skin, irritation and pain driving him forward.
The quill pulled out and Emma let out a rush of air from a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Son of a bitch that hurts.”
Mason cringed. “On the bright side, porcupine quills have natural antibiotics, so you shouldn’t have to worry about infection.”
Emma gripped the couch cushion as Mason moved on to the next quill. “Is that the science nerd or the shifter talking?”
His lip twitched. “A little of both.”
“I figured as much.”
Emma found her desire for conversation slimming exponentially with each quill. As Mason worked his way down her arm, the tenderness from the quill before leeched into the agony of the next quill pulling against and ripping her skin. She tried hard not to hold it against him, but dammit it hurt to get de-quilled. Emma had always felt bad when she saw pictures of dogs with a muzzle full of quills. She never thought she would be on the receiving end, and she now completely understood the look that every single one of those poor creatures had in their eyes before the quills were gone. Fortunately for her, there were only six quills that needed extraction. If there were many more, she might have gone all grizzly in Mason’s living room.
As he finished wrapping her arm in gauze, Mason finally looked up and met her eyes, which he hadn’t done since quill four when Mal might have protested a little too loudly in her thoughts and made an appearance in her voice. “Do all shifters heal quickly?”
“As far as I know, yes. You really don’t know much about us, do you?” Emma cradled her arm against her chest. It ached dully, but now that the quills were gone, she would be almost back to normal by tomorrow. She probably didn’t even need the gauze wrap.
Mason shrugged. “We didn’t have a clan or anything back home. Certainly not a community like there is here. It was always just the three of us.”
“In a huge city like that? Not possible.” Mal was still sitting too close to the surface, and her voice came out a little sharp.
Back off, Mal.
“Just because we didn’t have a community doesn’t mean there wasn’t one. I just didn’t know about it.” Mason picked up the metal tray and dumped the quills into the garbage can.
Emma leaned back into the couch, resting her head on the back cushion and closing her eyes. She listened as Mason moved around the small living area. The clank of metal and pliers, a cabinet, water running. A door closing.
She sat up. Mason was gone, but she could hear him moving around behind her. The bedroom must have shared a wall with the living room. The place really was small, but it was cozy, and Emma liked that. Even with the pile of broken down boxes leaned up against a stack of boxes that hadn’t been unpacked. The space they took up added to the warmth of the place somehow.
“Can I get you anything?” Mason asked, stepping out of the hall. He had changed clothes, trading the quill-torn dress shirt for a simple grey t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. Even his casual clothes were preppy.
“You know, I kind of liked the torn up look you had going.”
“Funny.” He didn’t sit back down on the couch beside her, instead leaning against the fridge on the opposite side of the room from her. He crossed his arms, and tried to look nonchalant, but he was failing at it. “Water? Soda?”
“I’m alright. Thank you.” Emma pursed her lips. She had thought they were over the weird tension that had sprung up between them. They had been able to talk so easy before… before she had become alpha. Right. But did he even know about that?
“I can give you a ride back to your car then.”
A dismissal. That stung a little bit.
>
“Sure. Thanks.” Emma stood up and turned to the door. This…wasn’t what she wanted. She’d become alpha so she could have the freedom to make her own decisions, and Mason was one of those she wanted to make.
Well, then that meant she was going to have to try something, to do something because if she did nothing, she was only going to fail.
She turned back. “Mason, wait. I think—” What did she think? That they needed to talk? She hated that phrase. It never led anywhere good. She tried again. “Let me show you how things around here work. I can introduce you to people, show you the places that are safe to shift. Who is in on the secret and who isn’t.” Hopefully that hadn’t come off as horrible as she felt like it did.
Mason pushed away from the refrigerator and straightened up. He could look formidable if he needed too, especially with a t-shirt exposing the his surprisingly muscular forearms. “To keep me out of more trouble?”
There was a bitterness to his words that drew Mal up in defense.
Emma shook him off. I’ve got this.
She cleared her throat. “You don’t have to take me up on the offer. I was just trying to help a friend. Okay? Take it or leave it.” Emma put her hands on her hips, chin raised in challenge.
“And how would your boyfriend feel about that?”
The comment was petty. He knew it. She knew it. But it said everything that needed to be said. She understood. “Mason, what you saw the other night… it isn’t what you think. Jordan and I haven’t been together for years.”
“You were naked.”
There were so many layers, so many things he needed to understand. Emma reached up and pulled on her pony tail, twisting the end of it around her fingers in frustration. She groaned.
But what to say and how? “Look. Come for a walk with me. Let me explain what’s been going on. I like you, Mason Covey. And honestly, it’s refreshing to meet someone who hasn’t been so sucked into clan and pack traditions, even if it does get you into trouble. Don’t take that the wrong way, but if you aren’t careful, the Shadow Sisterhood is going to come down hard on your ass, and you don’t want that. Okay? And I don’t want it either. For about a thousand reasons.”
Mason stared at her. And stared. And stared. He chewed his bottom lip and narrowed his eyes. Blinked. Shook his head. Closed his eyes and drew in a long, deep breath.
Then he looked up. “Fine. Let’s go for a walk.”
15
Walking might have been a bad idea. Emma hated the fact that she couldn’t see Mason’s face without staring blatantly at him. She had no idea how he was going to react to what she had to tell him, but at least he’d been willing to come with her. She would have felt better about it if she could gauge his reactions head-on. But… she couldn’t have everything.
Mason walked beside her with his hands in his pockets. He hadn’t said anything since they left his house, and once they were outside, Emma hadn’t felt particularly inspired to lay everything out on the line, despite her decision to do so. How was she even supposed to start? Did she explain about the clan? Her mother? The fact that she was alpha? Did she explain her and Jordan? In the grand scheme of things, that was minor, but she wasn’t sure how that translated to the Mason situation.
Why the hell was there even a Mason situation? She didn’t owe him anything. If anything, he’d been a pain since the first time he walked into the bakery.
Still, what she had said to him was true. She liked him. He was—when they weren’t stuck in whatever this was—easy to talk to. He made her laugh, forget momentarily about the chaos. At least he was a shifter. Even if he was an ignorant one.
Please tell me we aren’t with the porcupine. Mal’s voice in her head wreaked of derision.
Mal, get over yourself. Please.
But he’s a porcupine.
And you’re a grizzly. So, what?
“Emma?”
She jumped at the sound of Mason’s voice. “Yeah?”
“You stopped walking.”
She had? Maybe she wasn’t as on top of the shit storm of the last few days as much as she thought she was. “Sorry. I was… distracted.”
Mason turned toward her, studying her face. “You were talking to your bear, weren’t you?”
Well, wasn’t he observant? She nodded. “He was being judgy.”
Mason kicked at a clump of dirt edging the sidewalk. “Judgy.”
They really didn’t need to head down that rabbit hole. Emma shrugged. “Mal isn’t used to hanging out with anyone who isn’t a bear, a wolf, or a mundane. He doesn’t like change.” Emma tried to keep her voice level while conveying her irritation to Mal.
Mason looked up at her, his green eyes full of question. “How long have you been talking to him?”
“Today? He won’t shut up.”
Mason let out a short laugh. “No. For real. Since you were a kid? The whole time?”
Emma looked around, taking stock of where they had ended up on their walk. They really hadn’t gone far, but there was a park about a block away. At least there, they could sit at a picnic table or something. She shrugged and started walking in that direction. “As long as I can remember. Mal and I are different though. Not everyone can talk to their spirit animals. Most can’t hold an entire conversation. Like my brother, for instance. Joe and his bear communicate, but I have never heard of them speaking words to one another, if that makes sense.”
“That makes a little sense, I guess.” Mason’s demeanor had changed from the withdrawn, almost dejected slouch he had carried since she walked into his parents’ house to a more erect curiosity.
Emma allowed herself a smile. Progress. “How do you communicate with your porcupine?”
“Very poorly, obviously.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
Sighing, Mason quirked his lips to the side, thinking. “Well, I talk to it, I guess. In my mind. But it only responds with chitters, purrs, or by shooting around under my skin like he’s going to burst out any minute.”
“It or him?”
“What?”
“That is your first problem. You haven’t consistently recognized your spirit animal as a being. Most animals are either male or female, even the spirit kind. You’ve lived with your porcupine long enough by now, you should’ve figured out if it if is a he or she. I am guessing a he because you let that slip, but you have to commit to it.”
“What?”
Emma took in a deep breath. “We call the bench an ‘it’ because it’s a thing. We call a dog a ‘she’ because she’s a part of the family. Right now, you’re fighting to figure out if your porcupine is a thing or a living part of you. He’s a person, Mason. Don’t ever think he isn’t.”
Mason frowned. “Huh.”
“It’ll help build your bond.”
“Now who’s the teacher?” Mason shook his head, but he was smiling.
They reached the park, and Emma turned her gaze between the picnic table and the pair of swings. They were the only two things to sit on, and both were lit by a pair of street lights.
Mason appraised the seating arrangements.
“Swings. They’re more fun.”
He tipped his head, a quizzical expression on his face. “I didn’t realize we were going for fun.”
“It’s been a rough day.” Emma cringed. “Well, a rough week. Come on.”
“You keep mentioning that.” Mason settled onto a swing and kicked back, straightening his legs and walking backwards until he was standing at full height. Then he picked up his feet and swung forward. Emma copied him, though she wasn’t as tall as he was, so her release was less dramatic.
“It has to do with clan politics, unfortunately. I would almost say you’re lucky to not have dealt with that in your life. Though, I imagine it is a little different being the alpha’s daughter versus just a part of the clan. I wouldn’t know.”
“Alpha’s daughter?” Mason skidded his feet on the ground, bringing the swing to a stop. The chains twisted
as he turned to look at her.
She kept swinging. “I told you things were complicated.”
“I guess.”
Emma took a deep breath. “I actually wanted to apologize. My behavior has been… a little erratic the last few days. I’m not usually that on edge. In fact, I like to think I’m pretty laid back. And you just happened to end up on the receiving end of my frustrations.”
“I’m pretty sure I deserved at least 98.2 percent of it.”
She chuckled. “Only 98.2?”
“It’s a nice round number.”
Her swing slowed, and she didn’t move to make it go higher, the squeal of the metal lessening. “If you say so.”
“Do I need to list the ways?”
“Probably not.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “Anyway, clan politics. Somewhere along the lines of me challenging my mother for alpha position.” Emma risked a glance at his expression. It told her absolutely nothing, so she barreled on. “I won on Friday. Now I’m clan alpha. To about thirty grizzly bears.”
“Wait. You’re alpha? Like, the alpha.”
“In the flesh.”
Mason raked a hand through his hair. He knocked his glasses askew as he did so and had to adjust them. It was such a practiced movement. So… natural. And weirdly endearing.
Mal snorted in her ear.
Shut up.
“Alpha. Wow. That’s… like president, right? You’re the leader. Commander in Chief.”
Emma smiled. “Yes. Something like that.”
“I had no idea.”
“You really couldn’t have, if we’re honest.”
“Still. Suddenly a lot makes sense.”
“Believe it or not, there’s more.”
“More?”
“The man you saw me with the other night.”
Mason’s expression blanked, his lips drawn into a tight line. “Right.”
