Jacks, Marcy - Mason Returns to His Mate [DeWitt's Pack 8] (Siren Publishing Everlasting Classic Man by Marcy Jacks (free novel reading sites .TXT) 📗

against the driver’s side door. Not  in uniform, and he was wearing a duster like he was in the Wild West  or something.

Derek squeezed Mason’s hand, grabbing his attention.  What do we  do? he mouthed.

Wait, Mason lipped back, because that was all they really could

do.

Wait they did. For nearly a half an hour. Mason didn’t know what exactly James was doing with that other guy in uniform at the pond.  Did the guy want to drain it  or something? Mason was pretty sure there were no bodies in the water, though a few had been known to get buried around the land.

Still, it had been so long that Derek had long since lost the fear of being caught and had started to doze against Mason’s chest.

Mason was about ready to join him. The boredom was killing him, and apart from how mildly funny it was that every werewolf walking around in the pack knew he was hiding there and the cop didn’t, there was little to entertain.

Then the snap of a twig a  little too close to their hiding location pulled him from his almost-nap.

He looked up and around, but his hiding place was a little too

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good because his visibility of his surrounding area was next to  nothing.

Then another snap, and footsteps, then voices.

Mason relaxed as he recognized James’s voice, still speaking to  the cop in uniform as they walked down the path and back to the  pack. James was promising the officer that he would call if he ever  saw anyone fitting Derek’s description and yadda yadda, but Mason’s  muscles bunched up again and that instinctual fear took over once

more.

There was something else nearby, and it had gotten closer while  Mason was distracted with his brother and the cop.

It was enough that Derek had come out of his dozing to look around with him. There was no wind, the trees were absolutely still, so whatever it was, the scent wasn’t reaching Mason’s nose just yet.

Another snap of a twig, and then a metallic click, and then the scent did come to him.

Human, oil, metal, and a whole  lot of pissed-off tension hung in the air. Mason was about ready to get up and risk being caught just so he and Derek could find another hiding place when the hard steel barrel of a gun pressed into his neck.

“You don’t move any more than that.”

He was fast, Mason had to give him credit for that. He looked up into the face of an older male with a square shape and silver hair. His expression was of the serious kind, seriously pissed off, and he would kill Mason if he tried to move.

It was Derek the old man was staring at, though.

Shit, this was one of the hunters belonging to that group Derek had fought back at the pawn shop.

He seethed into Derek’s direction. “You murdered my son.”

Oh, fucking Christ. That was even worse. Mason grabbed a hold of the barrel of the rifle before the hunter could point the thing at his

mate.

The guy growled at him. “Let go, or I will kill you.”

94                          Marcy Jacks

“That gun fires and you’ll have every werewolf on the pack land  after your ass,” he retorted. “It’ll only be another couple of seconds  before they figure out you’re in here with us. You snuck up on me,  but you won’t get by thirty werewolves.”

“Won’t matter when my boys start attacking.”

What? He had more sons?

Whatever the case was, it didn’t matter because the guy had basically just said he had backup and that they were going to carve through the pack.

He tried to quickly think of any way he could take this guy out without killing himself or Derek, before Derek made the first move.

Derek lunged out from his hiding place in the shrubs and started running full speed to James and the cops.

“Hunter! Hunters are here!” he yelled.

“Fuck!” the old man seethed, turning his gun around and smacking Mason in the face with the butt of the rifle.

He saw stars and fell back but didn’t pass out. The human  was desperate if he thought a move like that would accomplish anything, but when Mason blinked, he saw how the hunter was pointing his rifle through the branches and leaves of the shrub. Likely he was pointing that thing at Derek.

Mason launched himself at the man with a roar, knocking him onto his side, the gun firing as Mason threw them both down to roll onto the ground, each fighting for the weapon.

Mason was strong, but for a human and someone who looked like they could qualify for the senior’s menu at  the local diner, he was also pretty tough. Perhaps the sloppy nature of Mason’s attack had something to do with it, as well as the loud ringing in his ears brought on by the blast of the rifle, but all he was concerned about was putting this hunter out of  his misery before he hurt Derek or any member of

Mason’s family.

More gunshots sounded, and for a split second Mason thought that they, too, were coming from the rifle that he and the hunter battled

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for.

No, the barrel didn’t get hot again, and the shots sounded far away, even to his damaged ears.

The shots could be coming from the cops or the other hunters that this man supposedly had waiting around the pack land.

The gunfire continued, and Mason realized that so much shooting couldn’t come from only two men. The hunters were attacking.

Suddenly, the older hunter slammed his knuckles into Mason’s face, and he felt the white-hot burn of liquid fire against his skin. The human did it again, and again, until Mason’s strength was so sapped that the human was able to roll them over, putting Mason beneath him as he straddled Mason’s hips.

There was blood on his knuckles, but something was also gleaming there as well. Mason squinted up at it to see what it was through the blood, and then he could have kicked himself for not