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“Not like we’ve gotten closer to the truth ourselves,” Ash replied, only for her phone to buzz. “Or maybe not. Evie has a few names for us to look into.”
FOURTEEN
MASON
Mason and Ash stood in the fading light outside the gym as Ash read off the names of the people Evie had texted her. Some small bruising was starting to bloom from an undercut she received, a purplish-yellow blend. It physically pained him to see her hurt, though he knew Ash was a shifter who could clearly take care of herself. It was sexy seeing her in her gym wear, with victory after victory under her belt.
She read off the names. They were all people in his pack, which was yet another punch to the gut.
“God's sake,” Mason said, wiping his face roughly.
He could feel Ash’s eyes on him. It was somewhat warming, but the tension that had been growing in his shoulders and neck was starting to harden.
“I’m sorry, Mason. Let’s talk to them before the sun goes down.”
Her voice was soft and reassuring. The thorns of his anger filed down, and he gave her a nod.
“It’s difficult for me to believe that someone in my pack is doing this,” he said, his muscles relaxing under her touch. “I’m starting to wonder how delusional I’ve really been.”
Ash shook her head vehemently, then pulled him so his arms swathed around her body. She pressed her head against his chest.
“That doesn’t mean you're delusional. It means that you had a positive outlook. There’s nothing wrong with that.”
He sighed, then began to stroke her hair. Then he pulled away, lifting her head up by the chin gently.
“I wanna pulverize whoever hit you like this,” he bemoaned.
Ash smiled up at him, her blue eyes sparkling under the flickering street lamp.
“You should see the other guy.” She winked. “Plus, it was all fair and square. Done in the name of friendly competition. Let’s not worry about that now.”
Mason knew better than anyone how the healing process for shifters was speedier than that of humans. Still, their forged bond meant that if a person accidentally stepped on her toes, he’d be the first to mangle them into a bloody stump.
She must have sensed his anger because she changed the subject, slipping her hand into his.
“Now, take me to Andrew Foster’s house. We should do it now. It’ll throw them off a bit.”
Mason respected Ash’s investigative tactics combined with his brute force. He led the way from the gym and down the street as the sun sunk away.
There were three names that Evie had given. Andrew Foster, who lived closest to the gym, then Adrien Randal and Florence Hanson. Andrew was a few years older than Mason, and he was mated and took care of four children. He worked in town for a human-run business in a craft job. His wife, Maryanne Foster, had just returned to work at the local grocery store, also human-run.
They didn’t make a lot of money. Mason knew that well. It was critical that he knew the stories of all of his pack members,at least vaguely, so he could comprehend their motivations. For Andrew, working with this Puppeteer would make sense … the things people will do for money, and most of all, for their children, really knows no bounds.
But that didn’t mean Mason was going to go soft on him. His wolf snarled at the thought. They were running out of time, and his reputation was at stake.
They got to Andrew’s house a few minutes after leaving the gym. Mason knocked on the door roughly, triggering a shrill shriek from a young child.
Ash gazed up at him. He was glad she didn’t look disappointed. She knew as well as he did that they didn’t have time to be nice anymore, especially when it came to a traitor.
“I’m coming, I’m coming,” a muffled voice replied.
It was nearing 7:30, not too late for the kiddos. Andrew shuffled to the door and whipped it open, greeting them with wide-eyed surprise.
“Oh, Mason,” he said, his hair disheveled. “What are you doing here? Was there a den meeting I missed?”
Mason shook his head. “It’s worse than that, Andrew. Let us in, and we can chat.”
Andrew let them in, and they sat in the kitchen while the children played a rowdy game of tag. Andrew’s wife, Maryanne, was taking the late shift at a grocery store. He made them tea, his hands shaking slightly as he poured the kettle.
