Leap of the Lion

by Cherise Sinclair

  As she walked past the downtown businesses, she shook her head. Getting to know her mentors had reminded her that not all males were as vile as the prìosan guards.

  “Good afternoon, Darcy,” Angie called from inside her diner. The wolf was one of Bree’s closest friends and had stopped by the lodge yesterday. “Are you running errands in town?”

  Poking her head in the open door, Darcy saw the older blonde female wiping off the tables. “Breanne’s cookbook order came into BOOKS, and I’m picking it up. There’s a new recipe for fudge in it she wants to try.”

  “Tell her to save me a sample.” Angie said. “Her candies are fantastic.”

  “Seems like anything she makes is amazing.” Sweets were at the top of the list. When Darcy’d mentioned the prìosan never served desserts, Bree baked a different treat each day.

  At a loss for how to repay such kindness, Darcy had fixed and tuned every appliance and power tool at the lodge. This morning, she’d been cleaning a cabin when Owen and Gawain found her. When they gave her permission to visit the downtown area by herself, it felt as if she’d gotten a gold star on her report card.

  Angie grinned. “I love Bree’s desserts, too. And even more, I love that I don’t have to bake them.”

  Darcy laughed, knowing Bree supplied all the desserts for the diner.

  With a wave goodbye, she continued down the street. Cold Creek was a quiet, high mountain town surrounded by evergreen forest. Since the Daonain hated car-induced itching and preferred to walk, they’d made the downtown pedestrian-friendly. Main Street’s lanes were divided by long islands filled with trees, benches, and the last of the summer’s flowers.

  Smiling at the greetings she’d received from everyone, she entered the bookstore and spotted the owner. Bree had described Joe Thorson perfectly. Older, lean, mean looking. His forearms and the backs of his hands were covered in fine white scars. From fighting, she figured. Why did males fight anyway?

  “Hi,” she said and realized she’d been staring. Bad kitty.

  He nodded, unsmiling.

  “I, ah… Breanne asked me to pick up her cookbook order.”

  “I have it in the back.” His voice was even harsher than Owen’s. “Hold on.”

  “Thank you.” She waited, breathing in the fragrance of coffee and the even headier perfume of books. The forbidden books had been one of her few joys in captivity. She couldn’t count the times she’d almost been caught raiding the Scythe library.

  When Thorson returned, she held out the money Bree had given her.

  After he tucked the money into the old-fashioned cash register and handed the book over, she turned to leave.

  “Nothing for you?” His grizzled brows drew together.

  Darcy shook her head. No matter how much she lusted after books, she didn’t have the funds for…anything. Breanne had tried to give her more money than what the cookbook would cost, and Darcy’d refused. She already got free room and board. It had been somewhat of a relief when Breanne explained the territory’s funds reimbursed the lodge for her food.

  “The lodge has books in their library room.” Darcy found her smile again. “In fact, they have all the Agatha Christie mysteries.”

  Thorson chuckled. “Zeb’s stash. In that case, enjoy.”

  Heart lightened, she stepped out onto the street and choked at the horrible stench filling the air. Something must have died or something. Or maybe a garbage can filled with rotting food had spilled?

  “Darcy.” The yell came from Owen over a block away. “Get inside and tell Thorson to lock his damn door. Now.”

  Startled, Darcy jumped back into the store and shouted to the old male, “Owen says to lock your door.”

  “By the God.” With a savage scowl, Thorson hurried to the door and—rather than locking it—stepped outside.

  What in the forest was going on? Darcy followed him out onto the sidewalk.

  He sniffed the air and growled, “Stay in the store.”

  “Right.” She obediently took a step back.

  “No.” A young female screamed, “Leave me alone!”

  “Get the fuck away from my kid, you bastard!” A woman shouted from the alley around the corner.

  “Jamie, Vic!” Thorson dashed that way.

  A child in danger. Trouble. Darcy started after him. Stopped. Bad trouble. She dove back into the store, grabbed the fire extinguisher from the case inside the door, and chased after the old male.

  Thorson moved fast. He disappeared around the corner. A roar of fury came from him followed by thuds and horrendous growls.

  Owen charged past her and into the alleyway. She turned the corner and saw him attack a huge man.

  The man wasn’t a shifter—no shifter stank like carrion.

  Thorson lay slumped against the brick wall near a pregnant woman and a teenager.

  Growling and cursing, Owen and the man wrestled and then the man punched the cahir. Knocked away, Owen stumbled on some debris and fell.

  Even as the cat shifter rolled back to his feet, the stranger pulled out a pistol.

  No! Darcy charged. “Hey, dumbass!”

  As the pistol swung toward her, she pulled the trigger on the fire extinguisher, aiming for his head. As the white cloud enveloped him, she threw the metal can at his head and dove to the right.

  The pistol fired with an ear-hurting bang.

  A second later, Owen was on the man. A cracking-crunching sound made her stomach clench.

  The man fell limply to the concrete.

  Such utter limpness. He was dead. Like ten-year-old Cecily whom a guard had hit too forcefully. Like her mother on the cart as it was pushed past the door, her arm hanging limp, and her blank eyes staring at Darcy.

  The alley filled with noise. People were shouting. Darcy couldn’t look away from the unmoving human-sized heap.

  Dead bodies didn’t move.

  “Little female, you shouldn’t… Darcy? Darcy.” Warmth touched the side of her face; a firm hand turned her head.

  She blinked and stared into eyes the color of forests, of leafy growth, of life.

  Owen’s hard eyes softened. “You with me?”

  “I…” She swallowed and tried again. “Are you all right?”

  A crease appeared in his cheek. “Thanks to someone putting out a fire. Nice job, kitten.”

  The approval in his rough voice was unexpected and bracing. She hauled in a breath and looked around—anywhere except toward the body.

  On his feet, Thorson was brushing off his clothes.

  In a tan uniform shirt, a male as big as Owen had his arms around the pregnant woman and the girl. He snapped low-voiced orders to a younger cop.

  “Aye, Alec.” The young cop crossed the alley to deal with the people amassing at the entrance.

  After hugging the two females, Alec handed them over to Thorson and sauntered over. “Good hunt, Owen. Calum will be pleased.”

  “The thanks go to Darcy.” Owen’s big hand rested on her shoulder, lending her strength. “The demon-dog pulled a handgun. Would’ve shot me dead if she hadn’t hosed him down with a fire extinguisher and bounced the container off his skull.”

  “That was fine thinking, miss.” Alec went down on his haunches in front of her. “I smell blood. Did he hit you?”

  “No.” After a second, she realized her hands hurt. Turning them over, she saw her palms were scraped raw. “When I threw the can, I kind of dove to the side, just in case.”

  “Smart. I appreciate smart.” The cop’s grin was as easy-going as Gawain’s. Apparently, death wasn’t something that bothered him overly much. “I’m Alec, the sheriff here.”

  “Um. Nice to meet you?”

  He chuckled and turned. “Thorson, can you escort my vixen and Jamie to the Wild Hunt? Owen, you take Darcy there, and everyone can report in to Calum. Tell him I’ll see him after I tidy up here.”

  “Good enough. I hate cleanup.” Owen rose, reached down, and hauled Darcy up like a puppy. Before she’d taken a
step, she came face-to-face with the bookstore male.

  “You all right, Joe?” Alec asked.

  “Aye.” The grizzled old male gave her a firm nod and a slight smile. “You did well, girl. Welcome to Cold Creek.”

  Keeping a firm hold on the little cat’s arm, Owen used his other hand to text his littermate about the attack. Darcy could use someone to hold her hand, and fuck knew, Owen wasn’t much of a nursemaid.

  This female deserved a bit of pampering.

  She was silent as they walked out of downtown and uphill toward the Wild Hunt on the outskirts of town. He’d expected hysterics…tears, at the very least. Instead, he got a pulled-into-herself reserve.

  He studied her. Her color usually matched his tanned skin, but now her face was pale gray, her dark eyes looked glassy, and she was trembling.

  “Darcy.”

  She didn’t respond, didn’t seem to have heard him.

  The knot in his gut tautened. After a vicious battle, he knew how to support the other cahirs, to extend silent sympathy or joke them out of a mood. But she was shaking…harder.

  Silent sympathy wasn’t helping. He could see joking wouldn’t work. What would?

  She was female. He handled females well enough on Gathering nights—mating was simple. But he wasn’t used to spending time with them or giving them…comfort.

  And she was definitely owed all the comfort he could give her. She’d heard Jamie scream and had run to the rescue, knowing she was headed toward a fight. She’d attacked a hellhound with a fire extinguisher.

  He shook his head. Females just weren’t so appallingly courageous.

  Only some were, weren’t they? “…you lump all females into a group and think we’re all equally awful.” He had the brains of a gnome, dammit. This little cat was not only bloody courageous, but had saved his life.

  And now she was a mess.

  Feeling as awkward as an undine out of water, he moved closer, until her hip rubbed the side of his leg. “Come here, Darcy,” he murmured and put his arm around her shoulders. Fragile bones, tiny female. He drew her closer, shortening his stride so they walked in step. Through the thin shirt she wore, he could feel the chill of her skin.

  Still wasn’t enough.

  She looked as pale and shaken as his two normally feisty nephews had after nearly falling off a cliff.

  He’d known what to do for Luke and Tyler. Could he treat her like a cubling? This comforting business felt more hazardous than crossing the river at spring thaw with ice cracking under his paws. Barely breathing, he drew her into his arms and guided her head down against his shoulder. Unmoving, he let his body heat warm her.

  She stood as stiff as a wild kitten, then sighed and relaxed against him.

  With Herne the Hunter’s grace, he’d done the right thing.

  Now what? His chin rested on the top of her head, and the breeze blew her silky hair against his neck. Each breath brought him the wild scent of a shifter female, but with the quiet fragrance of a mossy green riverbed and a hint of metal like Gawain.

  He ran his hand down her back. Since coming to Cold Creek, she’d gained weight, making her curves more pronounced. However, the soft flesh against him was quivering. Holding her wasn’t enough.

  She was female. They wanted to talk. And talk. And talk.

  Well, didn’t they?

  Why wasn’t she crying? Or talking?

  Maybe she needed him to get her started? “Ah…did I remember to thank you for the help?”

  She didn’t react for a second and then gave a half-laugh. Her throaty voice was rougher than normal. “You’re welcome.”

  He understood this kind of wry humor. With a smile, he tilted his head to rub his jaw against her silky hair. “Did you know that was a hellhound?”

  A long pause.

  Her responses were still sluggish. Yeah, he’d been in that condition before, although not for something as mild as this fight. Still, how many fights could she have seen while she was in a prison?

  “A hellhound,” she whispered. “Even though Calum said there was one here, I didn’t really believe they existed.”

  “They do.” He had the scars to prove it. Thank fuck Donal rarely was out of town on the dark of the moon, or he’d have more.

  “That man—hellhound—was awfully strong. Is that why Calum was worried?”

  “Yeah. When a fight starts, a hellhound will go berserk and only death will stop it.” Owen softened his voice. “Is its death what bothers you?”

  Against his chest, she nodded her head.

  “You haven’t seen anyone die before?”

  This time her laugh was bitter. “Oh, I have. I really have.”

  And in the way a sunny spring day could turn to a drizzly rain, her silence turned to sobs. She never put her arms around him, simply let him hold her as she bunched his shirt in her fists and wept.

  Feeling useless, he stood strong, one arm around her waist and the other—he realized he was stroking her shoulders, as if an action so useless would help what sounded very much like grief to him.

  Heart-breaking grief. The little cat had loved and lost.

  *

  She’d cried all over Owen. Darcy couldn’t believe the way she’d lost control of her emotions. And how…nice…the huge cahir had been. Talking softly, holding her, letting her bawl as if she were a child.

  At least her weeping fit hadn’t lasted too long.

  When she’d pulled back, Owen had simply kept his arm around her—probably thought she couldn’t walk without his help—and simply guided her to the tavern. As she’d regained her composure, the deadly cahir hadn’t tried to make conversation, hadn’t tried to joke, and yet his silence was more of a comfort than another person’s chatter.

  When he led her into the tavern, Thorson and his charges had already arrived. Face rigid with anger, Calum stood near the bar, his arms around the pregnant female and the girl who’d been in the alley.

  The pregnant one had a hand on her large stomach, and all Darcy could do was thank the Mother the female hadn’t been hurt. Or the cubling, either.

  Blonde and blue-eyed, the girl was about the age of Alice, the youngest of the captives.

  Alice. The youngling was still a captive. Darcy hadn’t gotten the females released—hadn’t done anything—and the guilt was like a hand squeezing her chest.

  “Hey.” The pregnant female motioned Darcy over. “We didn’t get a chance to talk. I’m Vicki, and this is Jamie.”

  “You did great with the fire extinguisher.” The girl bounced up and down on her toes. “That was so cool. MomVee’s been teaching me about using whatever is around in a fight. Stuff in the house or on the street, but you were in a store and, hey, you could hardly bring an armload of books to a fight, but I’d never have thought about using a fire extinguisher.”

  Darcy almost laughed. The girl hadn’t even taken a breath. “I’m Darcy, and those sound like useful lessons you’re getting.” But didn’t a male usually teach fighting? She eyed the Cosantir dubiously.

  Reading her expression, Calum flashed a grin. “My mate became Daonain with a Death Gift. She was a soldier when human.”

  “Please…I was a Marine. I’m sorry I wasn’t more help. Carrying a baby…babies…a litter”—Vicki glared at Calum—“sure takes the fun out of a good fight.”

  A good fight? A soldier? The female was barely an inch taller than Darcy.

  Arm still around Darcy, Owen was chuckling.

  The door opened, letting in Gawain. “Darcy, are you all right?” He was at her side in an instant, turning her to face him. His gaze ran over her face, her body.

  “Mostly good, but her palms need attention,” Owen said in his gravelly voice.

  Gently, Gawain gripped her wrists and turned her hands over. “You’ve got dirt in those scrapes.” He glanced at Calum. “First aid supplies?”

  “In the kitchen. Jamie, can you bring the kit to Gawain?”

  “Sure, Daddy.” The teen had the grace of
a panther shifter as she bounded across the tavern to the back.

  “Sit here, Darcy.” Owen pulled out a chair and firmly guided her down.

  She didn’t get a chance to object before Gawain sat beside her, still holding her wrist. Owen moved behind her chair, standing so close she could feel the warmth of his body. She was being sheltered. The realization made her breath thicken in her throat.

  “Did you have questions for us, Cosantir?” Owen asked.

  “Actually, I wanted to thank you and Darcy for your actions.” Gaze soft, Calum looked down at his mate, then smiled as Jamie trotted back out. “You protected my mate and child. Thank you.”

  Owen made a deprecating sound low in his throat, and Darcy almost laughed. He sure wasn’t comfortable in the spotlight, was he?

  She smiled at Calum. “I’m glad they’re safe. But, since I’m here, may I ask what’s happening with the people from my village? Have we made any progress?”

  “Mostly in elimination, I fear.” Calum tried to help his mate sit, got an elbow in his ribs, and chuckled as Vicki seated herself.

  Seeing Darcy trying not to laugh, Vicki grinned. “He and Alec started off too protective. Now that I’m pregnant, they act as if I can’t walk across the room by myself. They’re driving me bat-shit crazy.”

  Calum ran his fingers through his mate’s hair with a slight smile. “Sorry, cariad. But new life is a gift from the Goddess—every instinct in a shifter is to protect that life and the life of the mother.”

  When he kissed the top of his mate’s head, Vicki rubbed her cheek on his hand.

  Darcy’s tears burned her eyes. There’d been a few lifemates in Dogwood, and she’d always been mesmerized by the extra…something…about them. Most mates showed affection, but with lifemates, the bond of love almost glowed.

  As she watched, Calum and Vicki turned toward the door to smile at the sheriff, and the love encompassed Alec as well.

  Lifemating. Not for her. The Scythe would hunt her forever. And hey, she wasn’t a starry-eyed cubling needing someone to protect her.