Jacks, Marcy - Mason Returns to His Mate [DeWitt's Pack 8] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic Man, Marcy Jacks [good non fiction books to read .txt] 📗

life like that, but he said nothing. The place where the bullet had pierced into his guts had long since grown hot and throbbed, and he just wanted this over with.

The man spoke to him, stroked him gently, searching for more wounds, but then did something completely strange, considering the warlike situation in the area.

He pulled back the collar of the brown duster Ryan was  wearing, as well as the blue collar of his button down shirt, then touched his

neck.

His fingertips felt warm and rough, but they traced over the patch of skin with a sort of hypnotic awe.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

Mason Returns to His Mate                    109

Get what? Miller could barely keep his eyes open, and it was a struggle to think. “Get … on my neck?”

The man had to shake him again. “Aye, where did this mark come from?”

Oh, his birthmark. Ryan often wondered about it, too, not so much recently, but when he was a kid, he loved it so much, enjoyed showing it off, and thought that it somehow made him special, that he had secret super powers or something stupid like that.

It was a little birthmark, circular in shape, and a little spiky along the edges. Strangely enough, if anyone looked closely at it, really observed and studied it, they could see the little speck of regular-looking skin that gave the appearance of a narrowed eye, as well as an open mouth with little fangs.

The birth mark resembled a dragon curled up but roaring in both

warning and rage.

“Was born with it,” he said and then passed out before the man  did his strange wolf thing again, transforming and howling into the  sky.

For some reason, a word came to him, but maybe it was a name.  Whatever it was, it had no meaning at all to him, and yet it came to  him before he could completely pass out.

Blasius.

110                          Marcy Jacks

Chapter Eleven

Derek could hardly believe it when he watched Old Maggie pour the water down Mason’s throat, helping him to swallow the seemingly normal-looking substance, and  then clear away the blood on his recently disinfected face to reveal skin that healed right before his

very eyes.

It healed into new skin, too, red and a little swollen at first due to

the injuries Mason had sustained but then clearing up and becoming  healthy and pink again. His skin looked better now than it had before  he’d taken in the water, and Mason had nice skin to begin with.

When Mason’s eyes fluttered open and he blinked up at Derek, he  had to look at the older woman and the bottle in her hand.

“What is that stuff?” he asked.

Old Maggie made sure to shake the last of the drops still in the bottle onto Mason’s face, though he hardly looked like he needed it and blinked and tried to turn away as she got water in his eyes.

“Clean water from the pond. It has healed him quite nicely.”

So it hadn’t just looked like water, and it wasn’t even water with vitamins in it. It was just plain water. Maybe even a little dirty due to the fact that it had come from a pond where people go swimming.

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“It will heal his wounds, but he will still be slightly feverish unless he is given more right away or time to rest.”

Another gunshot sounded. Resting was definitely out of the question, but they couldn’t stay here either. “Mason, can you walk?”  Derek asked, already pulling him to his feet anyway.

“I’m fine,” Mason said, though his reply was a little too drowsy

Mason Returns to His Mate                    111

for Derek’s comfort.

“We need to bring him back to the house. The other injured alphas  will be going there and expecting me,” Old Maggie said.

Derek nodded, as impatient to get the hell out of here as she was.  He put Mason’s arm over his shoulder and only managed to take a  single step before the cocking sound of a shotgun registered in his

ears.

Derek looked up and froze. It was that other hunter. The kid whose fingers he’d smashed inside the door of his shop.

He held the shotgun against his shoulder pretty well considering the heavy bandages that were wrapped around each of his broken fingers, but his good hand was on the trigger of the gun,  and it looked just fine.

The look on the face of the hunter was both furious and

disbelieving as his eyes traveled down to the body of his older leader  that was still on the ground. He shook with  the  range of emotions that  he no doubt felt, his eyes wild and angry before scrunching briefly in  pain, as though he were about to cry, and his jaw clenched up, a small  sound leaving his throat, as though he were fighting back either a

rage-filled scream or a cry of sorrow.

“Please,” Derek said.

Mistake, the kid looked back up at him, hatred in his eyes blazing and the gun held steady in his grip.

Derek wished he could remember the kid’s name. He was sure

he’d heard it somewhere before, and then maybe he could really talk  with him instead of just begging for his life.

“He was going to kill us,” Derek said.

“You deserve to die, you fucking supporter. You and all these  Goddamn freaks in this fucking inbred camp.”

“These are good people,” Derek insisted, feeling the sweat  collecting on his forehead and on the back of his neck as he looked  down that barrel hole. “They never wanted to hurt anyone. You came  here to them.”

112                          Marcy Jacks

The boy’s eyes went back down to his dead leader. He wiped his face against his shoulder but still didn’t lower his gun from Derek or  Mason.

Then he snarled. “Fuck you, you piece of shit supporter.”

The blast of the gun sounded, but Derek hardly felt any pain at all.  That was because Mason had thrown his body over Derek’s, shielding him from most of the shotgun pellets that exploded from the shell of the kids gun.

The sudden dead weight of Mason’s body over his made Derek scream. He grabbed