Leap of the Lion

by Cherise Sinclair

  Gawain squeezed her shoulder with his big blacksmith’s hand. “We won’t leave you.”

  We? Both him and Owen?

  Owen nodded agreement.

  Wow, it was almost like having protective brothers only…not. Because…

  Gawain’s gaze softened as he touched her cheek with his fingers. As if he, too, remembered all the incredibly intimate things he’d done to her last night.

  She flushed and forced her feet forward to the table.

  Calum rose politely. “Cahir. Mage.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Darcy.” A quiet gesture was an order for them to take seats.

  She took the chair Gawain held out, relieved when he sat beside her.

  Owen pulled a chair from another table, so he could sit on her other side.

  “Good morning, Cosantir. Vicki,” Gawain said blandly, as if Darcy wasn’t about to be executed for defying a Cosantir’s orders.

  Owen nodded to Vicki. He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. “Calum, you look like someone stole your breakfast bunny.”

  The Cosantir straightened. “Quite observant of you, cahir.”

  Darcy elbowed the stupid cahir in the ribs and whispered, “Stop it. You’re going to get me killed.” Belatedly, she remembered everyone at the table was a shifter with very good hearing.

  Owen shook his head. “Nah. As an honorable adult, Calum wouldn’t cut down a tree to move a branch out of his path.”

  The Cosantir’s eyes narrowed. “Owen, you’re—”

  “Do you remember how Breanne ran off to Seattle to rescue her human neighbors?” Owen took a coffee cup from the stack on the table and poured himself a cup. “At least Darcy was trying to save other Daonain.”

  Vicki’s hand was over her mouth, and her eyes were laughing.

  The Cosantir wasn’t amused. When his…black…gaze focused on her, the bottom of her stomach dropped out. “How badly were the Daonain exposed?” Calum’s quiet voice reminded her of how soft a cougar’s paws could be…until the claws appeared.

  “I was careful and stayed in cat form the entire time. I avoided humans, roads, and camping areas. No one saw me.”

  “Cosantir.” Owen’s voice was rough. “She’s scraped, bruised, starving, and footsore from staying shifted. It’s not her fault she didn’t learn the Law or about possible problems. That’s on me for not teaching her better.”

  “I do realize that,” Calum said. “However—”

  “There should be consequences, aye.” Gawain ran his hand down her arm in a comforting move. “However, I might note she’s already suffered for her less-than-wise choice. Her first Gathering…as a virgin…was not in a comfortable, warm room with soft cushions and a fireplace, but isolated on a freezing mountain with four males she barely knows.”

  Virgin. Oh, he just had to put that in, didn’t he? Darcy glared at him.

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” Vicki muttered. “And I thought I had problems on my first.” She turned to her mate. “I know this isn’t a democracy, oh guardian of the territory, but I’m all for mercy in this case.”

  Calum’s lips twitched, and the darkness in his gaze lightened. “You would be.”

  When his attention returned to Darcy, she fought not to shrink down in the chair. In the prìosan, Director had ruled with promises of pain. Calum needed no words, no actions. The power was simply his.

  “Do you realize how lucky you are in your advocates?” he asked. “It appears you’ve made friends here—even with the cahir who avoids females. You’re finding your place within the Daonain, Darcy, and I’m pleased to see it.”

  Darcy blinked. Friends? “I…” She had friends?

  Yes. Yes, she did.

  She looked up at Gawain who smiled, at Owen who didn’t, and Vicki who gave her a laughing look. “Thank you all.”

  “Do you realize the dangers of leaving Cold Creek?” Calum asked. “And will you stay until your control is adequate?”

  “Yes, sir.” The answer was automatic.

  Vicki grinned. “Give me a few months, and I could make a Marine out of her.”

  The sound Calum made was exasperated, but his arm went around his mate, pulling her closer. “Thank you, no. One of you in this territory is enough for the Gods to handle.”

  Gawain chuckled, and then his smile fell away. “Darcy found a trace of a scent on a trail near the Twin Sisters, so we’ll concentrate around there. Has there been any news of the Scythe?”

  “Tynan said someone requisitioned the traffic cameras records from around Seward Park. It’s good you two were careful when you entered the park.” Calum shook his head. “With no luck in Seattle, they are searching farther afield. They’re working their way through the forest towns.”

  “I’ll die first.” Darcy heard the quiver in her voice. “I’ll make them kill me before I let them take me back.”

  Owen closed his hand over hers. “They’d have to go through me first.” His voice was steady, calm.

  “And me.” With an arm over her shoulders, Gawain leaned her against his muscular frame. “Relax, catling. You’re safe here.”

  “This isn’t a tiny village like Dogwood. Our town has some serious resources,” Vicki said. “Speaking of which, my old boss is in Alec’s office,” Vicki said. “The minute we told Wells about the Scythe, he went into investigation mode. He wants to talk if you’re up to it.”

  “Of course.” Wells was the big shot human spy. That was fighting fire with fire. “I’ll tell him everything I know.”

  “Very good.” Calum tapped his fingers on his coffee mug. “While the search continues for your Dogwood people, please continue to work with your mentors. Learn to survive in animal form and how to live as a Daonain. As soon as we find out anything about the Scythe or your villagers, I’ll let you know.”

  It wasn’t enough—and yet it had to be.

  Darcy sighed. If it hadn’t been for the need to find her brothers and save her friends, this would have been the most wonderful time of her life. She glanced up at Gawain and met his concerned gaze.

  Owen’s expression was worried, along with a stubborn expression she was beginning to know. He’d make sure she obeyed the Cosantir. His hand was still over hers—as if he had the right to touch her. Because last night, he had. He’d…known…her. Been inside her, bit her, tasted her.

  Her shoulders straightened, and she pulled her hand away, moved away from Gawain. She mustn’t let herself fall for these males. If the Scythe came for her, they’d be killed—because they’d try to protect her.

  She sighed, knowing there was no choice but to let others search for the prìosan and shifter-soldier camp. Experienced shifters could look for the Dogwood captives far more unobtrusively than she could.

  After the locations were found, then… A chill crept through her. Then it got scary.

  Although Calum had been wonderful about letting his people search, she doubted he’d be willing to lose his people while rescuing shifters who weren’t his own. The Dogwood males would have to do the rescue of the females, and they needed to know that the females were dying. The risks had changed.

  Somehow, she’d have to convince the Cosantir to let her be the one to sneak in and make contact with the shifter-soldiers. She rather doubted the males would believe a stranger.

  But, even beyond that, sneaking into the forest camp would be…dangerous. Too dangerous to risk anyone but her. If the Scythe caught a Cold Creek shifter, they’d have a new hostage and—far worse—would know there were more shifters in the area.

  However, if she made the contact and the Scythe caught her, they wouldn’t realize she’d had help.

  If they caught her… Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried not to shiver. She’d not let them catch her alive.

  To keep Cold Creek and the Daonain safe, this task was hers and hers alone.

  *

  Gawain scowled as he watched Darcy follow Calum out the diner’s back door. Since the Cosantir was returning to the tavern, he’d drop
her and Vicki at the sheriff’s office to meet with Wells.

  Gawain and Owen needed to go to the hardware store to order plumbing supplies for the master baths, but still…

  “We could have driven Darcy to the lodge,” Owen growled, opening the diner’s front door.

  “My thoughts exactly.” Gawain followed onto Main Street. “She’s pulling away from us.”

  “Aye.”

  Gawain fell into step as they strolled down the street. “Can’t blame her. She’s new to everything. And last night…” The intensity had left him stunned. Her sweetness and honesty had taken him by storm. It had felt as if everything they were had touched: body-to-body, mind-to-mind.

  “Last night was”—Owen cleared his throat and studied the street as if it held the answers he needed—“different.”

  “Brawd, I’ve never felt this way before. I know you avoid females, but she’s special. She’s…she’s got a grip on my soul.”

  To his surprise, Owen nodded. “Mine, too. And…I don’t…mind.”

  That was an admission Gawain had never expected. “What are you saying?”

  Owen rubbed his neck in the self-grooming a cat did when uneasy. “Not sure, mage. I want her, aye, and I’d prefer to say the attraction is merely physical, but it isn’t. I enjoy being with her. Want to share her with you—for mating and for…more.”

  As a cub, Gawain had learned to stay silent as a rock if he wanted Owen to talk.

  “Females annoy…used to annoy me, but I’m learning they’re not all the same. I like some of them. She’s one. No, she’s more than that.” Owen scowled. “Pisses me off some.”

  Aaand, there was his grouchy littermate. Gawain stifled a grin. “Time to go on the hunt, then. She doesn’t get to pull away—unless she really doesn’t want us.” They’d know from her scent if nothing else. “We’ll run the trail and see where it leads.”

  “Yeah.” Owen shook his head. “Probably straight into an abyss.”

  “There’s that optimistic spirit we all know and love.”

  “Clay-brained cougar.” Owen shoved him off the sidewalk.

  Stumbling, Gawain caught himself on a parked vehicle. “You puny, pox-ridden, pumpkin-headed panther.” As he shoved upright, he froze. Dark van. Tinted windows. Empty. It fit the description of the Scythe vehicles Owen had mentioned. Slowly, he backed away from the SUV.

  Had Owen noticed?

  No, Owen was already heading into the hardware store. An elderly woman stopped him in the doorway.

  After brushing off his shirt, Gawain joined the two.

  “Sounds good. I’ll bring it over,” Owen said to the woman. As she walked away, he grinned at Gawain. “She bought the carving of the stag.”

  “Great.”

  Owen’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Turn casually and check out the van behind you.”

  Owen held open the hardware store door for Gawain and used the movement to glance at the van. “Good eye, brawd. Spitting image of the Scythe vans in Seattle. Got that same remote button on the visor.”

  “I figured.” Gawain walked in. The store was empty except for young Warren behind the counter.

  Already on his cell phone, Owen said, “Alec, we got a black van by the hardware store. No one’s in it, but I’d guess our tinker’s friends are visiting.”

  After a murmur from the phone, Owen nodded. “Will do.” Pocketing his phone, he told Gawain, “Alec’ll warn Calum. We’re to visit BOOKS, give Joe Thorson an ears-up, and he’ll inform the rest of downtown.”

  “Sounds good.” Thorson. Right. He’d been the tough old shifter who had helped fight the hellhound two weeks ago.

  Lifting a hand to Warren, Owen headed out the door.

  Across the street at the small bookstore, the bell over the door tinkled as they entered.

  Owen walked to the counter. “Thorson.”

  The owner looked up from his paperwork. “Aye?” The old shifter had a myriad of thin claw scars on his face, hands and arms—evidence of a lifetime of fighting.

  As Owen leaned over the counter to talk quietly, Gawain glanced around the store…and spotted a coffee machine. Just what he needed after the long night. He nodded toward the machine, caught Owen’s unspoken request for his own cup, and moved away.

  As he walked between bookshelves toward the rear, the scent of a human reached him…along with the stink of gun oil. Was one of the Scythe weasels in the store?

  Gawain rolled his shoulders, stopped to peruse a shelf of mysteries, and pulled one out. He raised his voice. “Hey, bro, would you believe I found the mystery you wanted?”

  He could hear the stunned silence before Owen called back. “Is the sequel there, too?”

  Gawain could only scent one male and see only one shadow at the end of the shelving, unmoving. Undoubtedly, Thorson would confirm. “Nope. Want this one?”

  “Nah, I hate cliffhangers. I’ll wait for the next and buy them both.”

  What was the all-purpose word the humans used? “Whatever.” After replacing the book, Gawain continued toward the coffee. If he needed to fight, he wanted caffeine first. Then again, having an enemy so close had certainly accelerated his heart—because the human was after Darcy. My Darcy.

  At the coffee machine, he glanced back. Owen still stood at the counter, and the fury in his gaze was more than a cahir’s protective anger.

  The catling was rapidly becoming our Darcy.

  As Gawain set a cup under the spout, the human approached. About five-eleven and bulky with muscle. His brown hair was cut short. His posture was that of an aggressive young wolf, eagerness to fight in every movement. His smile didn’t reach his cold brown eyes. “How’s the coffee?”

  Gawain tasted the dark roast. He’d seen a coffee advertisement last week. What was the name? Star Stags? No. “It’s not Starbucks, but it’s good.”

  “Great.” The human picked up a cup. “I’m lookin’ for work. You know anyone hiring around here?”

  Clever, wasn’t he? Job-hunting would permit him to ask plenty of questions. “Bad timing, I’m afraid. Tourist season is winding down, and most positions here are seasonal.”

  “Huh. I hadn’t thought about winter coming.” The man picked up his drink and eyed Gawain. “You don’t look like a shopkeeper. You a logger or something?”

  Gawain smiled easily. “Blacksmith, actually. I sell ironworks to the tourist shops.”

  “Wouldn’t you sell more if you were closer to Seattle?”

  “Some stores there carry my work, but”—how nice he had a logical reason—“there are fewer regulations way out here and less expensive licensing fees for running a forge.”

  The man’s interest in him visibly died. “Yeah, no one wants to pay for licenses.”

  As Gawain returned to the front, he noted Thorson had disappeared and Owen stood behind the counter. Why the switch? Gawain raised his eyebrows.

  Silently, Owen turned his hands over, showing the almost unscarred backs.

  Of course. The owner had distinctive werecat scarring. He’d probably grown up somewhere with no healer. The Scythe might have noted similar scars on their captives.

  Owen raised his voice slightly. “The old fool’s feeling sick and asked me to watch the counter.”

  “Fool?” Gawain picked up the obvious hint.

  “The idiot had supper at Angie’s Diner last night. I’ve warned him before about eating there.”

  Gawain choked. “If she hears you say that, she’ll be pissed.” Yeah, she’d rip out Owen’s throat out with her bare teeth.

  His brother’s eyes lit. Damn cahir was addicted to risk, wasn’t he?

  “Now what?” Gawain asked under his breath. Keep the weasel here? Let him leave? Kill him? Gawain had never killed a human, but he was open to new and intriguing experiences.

  “Patience, brawd.” Owen pretended to fiddle with papers on the counter.

  Patience it was. Leaning on the counter, Gawain rambled about the weather, the footb
all season, the increase in gas taxes. When painting the walls last week, he’d protected the floors with newspapers—and read the headlines.

  After a few minutes, the weasel approached the counter with a book in his hand. “I’ll take this one.” He handed Owen a twenty.

  Owen took the money and scowled, obviously realizing he had to get change from a cash register.

  Technology and Owen…not a good combination. Gawain ducked under the counter, opened the old-fashioned register, and smirked at his littermate. “You should have taken a part-time job when you were younger like I did.”

  Owen sneered. “Thank you, no.”

  “You must be brothers. Which of you is older?” the human asked.

  Gawain stiffened. Saying they were the same age would be a clue they were Daonain, wouldn’t it?

  “I am,” Owen said easily. “By a couple of years.”

  The bell rang as the bookstore door opened. Vicki strolled in, one hand on her bulging middle in the protective way pregnant women had. She had a shopping bag in her other hand. “Hey, guys.”

  Truly, Calum and his littermate had hit gold with their mate—her smile brightened the room almost as well as Darcy’s did. She turned that lethal weapon on the weasel, and Gawain almost laughed when the human smiled back.

  “Hi there,” Vicki said. “I haven’t seen you before. Are you touristing or a new resident?”

  “Ah, neither, exactly.” The weasel shifted his weight under the burden of her sweet regard. “I might move here though. I’m job-hunting.”

  “Ugh, I don’t think anyone enjoys looking for work. What’s your occupation? No, wait, let me guess.” She tilted her head. “Hmm. Maybe a teacher?”

  Terrifying thought.

  “Ah, no. I’m—”

  “Phooey. Let me see your hands.” Laughing merrily, she took one hand and looked at the back, then turned it over to study the palm. “My sister and I pretended to read fortunes at Halloween. Let’s see… Your Mount of Venus is on the flatter side, so you’re less influenced by emotions.

  The human grinned. “Probably right.”

  “So, maybe business?” Vicki frowned. “Or, no—the Mounts of Mars, inner and outer, show you’re brave and into adventurous stuff. Maybe a ski instructor? White-water rafting? Or there are soldiers who have strong Mounts of Mars.”