Leap of the Lion

by Cherise Sinclair

  “At fifteen.” Darcy’s expression was thoughtful. “You were way too young to stand up to her.”

  “Maybe. Owen did all his life, though.”

  “I get the impression he didn’t have much choice.”

  Gawain shook his head. “I wanted to love her—but I hated her. And I still feel guilty for hating a female.”

  “You’re such a Daonain.” Darcy snorted. “I hate to disillusion you, but females don’t belong on pedestals. If we behave like assholes, we should be treated like assholes.” Her voice was matter-of-fact as she took his hand, lacing their fingers together. “Why didn’t you leave when you finished your apprenticeship?”

  “If Edwyn had stayed alive, I’d have fled town with Owen the minute our apprenticeships were done. But Edwyn died, and when Bonnie returned for the funeral, our mother preyed on her. Bonnie’s a sweetheart without a mean bone in her body, and Mother would have sucked her dry.”

  Dawning understanding lit Darcy’s face. “You were afraid she’d follow Bonnie back to Cold Creek?”

  “Aye.” Gawain shrugged. “Since it was my fault Edwyn died, I made a deal with Mother that as long as I stayed in Pine Knoll, she’d leave my sister alone—and not hit Owen up for money. As long as Mother had someone to…cater…to her, she wouldn’t bestir herself to search for them.”

  With a harsh rustle of leaves, a mountain lion dropped onto the trail right in front of them. Ears back, fangs exposed, it hissed furiously. Owen wasn’t teaching lessons this time. The cahir was furious.

  Gawain felt Darcy’s magic as she fought the instinct to trawsfur. “Brawd, you’re scaring her. Stop it.”

  The cougar trawsfurred, and Owen stood before them, still spitting mad. “How in Herne’s fucking forest can you figure you’re responsible for Edwyn’s death?”

  “When I humiliated him in front of Phoebe, she showed him her claws and dumped him. That was why he drove off.”

  “But that—”

  “You did right, Gawain,” Darcy interrupted Owen. “That poor girl might have ended up with the asshole otherwise. Didn’t she deserve to hear the truth before getting manipulated into a relationship with such a loser?”

  Gawain scowled. That loser was his brother. And…she was right. Edwyn would have abused Phoebe.

  “You stayed…for me and Bonnie.” Owen looked like he’d been kicked in the gut. “After I got Bonnie to Cold Creek, I went back to Pine Knoll for you. I thought maybe you’d want to join me—only you were at Mother’s house, hauling in her groceries. I thought…”

  “Thought I wanted to take Edwyn’s place in her affections? Don’t make me puke.” Anger flickered and died under a surge of love. His brother had come back for him.

  Owen scrubbed the scruff on his jaw with his palms. “You gnome-brained idiot.” His voice rose to a shout. “You put up with her for well over two fucking decades.”

  “Aye.” The words clogged in Gawain’s throat. “I’d do it again to keep her out of your lives. At fifteen, Bonnie was too young. Too sweet. You were…” The humans would call it “abused.” Gawain swallowed, remembering how there were always bruises on his littermate’s body. How Owen’s shoulders would hunch against the names she’d called him. How his eyes had grown more and more haunted.

  Those green eyes were clear now. Pissed off, but clear.

  “You needed a chance to heal, brawd.” Gawain wanted to reach out, to touch him—and knew better. All he could do was offer the insight he’d gained. “Every time I helped the master blademage make a lifemating bracelet, I would be bathed in the Mother’s love. Feeling real love—not the twisted mess our mother offered—made a difference, gave me balance, but you didn’t have that gift. You needed time, brawd. Time away from her.”

  Gawain didn’t know what else to say. He could see the pain and guilt in Owen’s face. The protective cahir would see leaving his brother behind as cowardice. The male with such an ugly past wouldn’t know how to deal with someone trying to save him pain.

  Owen took a step back as if to run, to nurse his wounds in private.

  “No, you don’t.” Darcy grabbed Owen’s hand and yanked Gawain forward. “My mother taught us that after the yelling, you hug each other. Do it—or I’ll hurt you both.”

  Shocked, Owen stared at her, then his lips twitched.

  Gawain almost laughed. The female had bigger balls than an alpha wolf—and she was right. He pulled Owen into a hug.

  Twenty-five years. Owen was the taller one now, and all muscle, yet still felt like Gawain’s littermate. Despite the years and anger, as Owen’s arms tightened and their scents mingled, the scars and damage to their brother bond faded. The energy pouring between them increased to a thick glow.

  It felt good. Felt right.

  When Gawain took a breath and looked up, he saw Darcy had disappeared, leaving them alone. He gazed after her. Not releasing his brother, he said, “I don’t regret staying in Pine Knoll. But gotta say, I missed you. Missed sharing my life with you.”

  “Aye, me too.” Owen’s lips curved as he followed Gawain’s gaze. “Seems like we might consider sharing a mouthy, bossy, little cat, as well. I’m getting rather fond of her.”

  Gawain laughed. He was well on the way to being more than fond, but there was time for his brother…and their female…to catch up.

  *

  Later, as darkness fell, Darcy loped after Owen, followed by Gawain.

  Owen always led them on the trails, and he usually took charge, she’d noticed. She’d bet it’d been his and Gawain’s dynamic as cublings, even if Owen had been the abused one. Gawain would put his paw down if he disagreed with something, but that didn’t happen often. Actually, she understood how Gawain felt. Owen was a good leader, his decisions well thought out. She trusted him—and it was so, so nice not to be the one making all the decisions.

  As for running the trails, she preferred being in the middle.

  Recently, she’d realized Owen monitored the sounds around him. Whenever she fell behind, he’d slow without even looking around. Behind her, Gawain kept a comfortable distance, not close enough to crowd her, but near enough he could help if she got into trouble. The day she’d miscalculated a leap and slipped off a boulder, he’d been beside her in an instant.

  Today… There was no way she could convey how grateful she was for their overprotective presence.

  With every mile, her anticipation and anxiety rose. Once, Owen had to take them off the trail to avoid a couple of backpackers. Gawain and Owen had perched in trees. She’d hid in the underbrush and had to endure Owen’s disapproving stare. He felt cats belonged in the trees.

  Unlike her, most cats didn’t fall out of trees.

  At the top of a rise, Owen came to a stop.

  When Darcy joined him, he glanced at her and lifted his nose. She sniffed. Humans. Food and sweat and garbage. Metallic scents. Gasoline. Gun oil. And under the stench drifted the elusively wild fragrance of shifters.

  She took a step forward—and Owen blocked her path, ears back.

  Gawain’s heavy paw came down on her neck. Don’t move.

  But, but, but… Her villagers, her brothers were there. Reason trickled slowly into her brain—if her brothers were there, so were the Scythe.

  Watching her carefully, Owen motioned with his head toward the trail’s edge. His glance at Gawain was easy to read. They were to stay here and wait.

  No, she needed to go with him and…and she’d probably get him killed. Her heart sank. Owen was called “Ghost Cat” because he could move through the forest without a sound.

  She sure couldn’t. With a low whine, she nodded.

  Gawain chirruped softly and led her off the path. He stopped at a bare patch in the thick underbrush where they could watch the trail.

  When they were settled, Owen flicked his ears at them, then sprang into a tree with a power and grace that dried her mouth. A second later, he disappeared.

  Waiting was painful.

  She tried to lie quietly,
but the tip of her tail wouldn’t stay still.

  Lying next to her in the tall, pink-stemmed salal, Gawain purred softly, put his big paw on her neck again, and started to clean her fur.

  She wanted to scold him, to tell him to stop, that she was too upset. Yet the sound of his deep purr, the feel of being pinned down, and the slow lap of his rough tongue filled the tiny space with a serene peace.

  *

  The moon hadn’t risen yet, and the path Owen followed was dark. His paws made no sound in the thick duff.

  The trail ended at an eight-foot wall of side-by-side, vertical logs with the ends sharpened to points. His history books called it a stockade.

  The scents were stale. No sounds of occupation came from within. The shifter-soldiers must be out training or on a mission.

  Fuck, the thought of disappointing Darcy was a splinter in his heart.

  He studied the property with narrowed eyes. Tiny glints of light told him the closest houses were several forested acres away. Aside from the untouched rear, the forest was cleared well away from the outer stockade, and floodlights studded the walls. Anyone approaching would be lit up like a comet in a black sky.

  Staying at the forest’s edge, he circled to check out the front. A rough dirt road fronted the property, and entry was by way of a long driveway through the stockade gate. Owen would guess that an attack through the front would be lethal.

  Growling under his breath, he returned to the rear where the forest grew right up to the stockade. He’d bet the Scythe and shifter-soldiers used the door in the log wall to enter the forest.

  He veered away from the floodlights that were pointed toward the trees and dropped down on the trail again. Very well traveled, wasn’t it? The idiots were using the same path each time they came and went from the forest. Not a mistake any of Calum’s shifters would make. But the Scythe wouldn’t notice, and of course, these Daonain had been captured as children.

  Quietly, he climbed a tree, going high enough to view the inside of the stockade. Bare earth surrounded two houses. On the right, the building had bare windows with iron bars. A small interior light illuminated barracks-style beds and tables. Clothing was strewn here and there. A few books lay around.

  On the left, the house had a very sturdy door, a garage, and a satellite dish. Shutters covered the windows. At a guess, the staff lived there where they had privacy—and could defend themselves against the big nasty shifters.

  As he’d suspected, no one was home. This would be a good time to check out the interior.

  He moved down to a thicker branch and sprang to the top of the stockade fence, aiming for a flat-topped 6x6 post. He landed, dug his claws into the wood to secure his balance, and jumped down behind the barracks.

  An earsplitting alarm went off. Wah-wah-wah-wah. A floodlight spotlighted him.

  As a distant alarm went off, Darcy sprang to her feet, ears flat to her head. The sound was one she knew all too well—something had set off a Scythe security alarm.

  Owen. They’d caught him.

  She’d barely moved before Gawain blocked her. When she tried to shoulder past him, his hiss of discouragement stopped her.

  A growl got her nowhere—and if she tried to run, he’d flatten her.

  After checking to ensure they were concealed, she shifted to human. “That’s a security alarm. Owen’s been caught.” A tearing sensation ripped through her chest at the thought of him being hurt. Of lethal, sarcastic, gentle, grumpy Owen being shot.

  Tears filled her eyes. “What if they killed him? Took him prisoner?” She grabbed the ruff on Gawain’s neck and shook the loose skin. “He needs us.”

  A world without Owen. No, never. Her knees buckled, and she dropped. “Please, Gawain.”

  Gawain didn’t leap forward to save his brother. Instead, his ears pricked up to listen and then he shifted. “Owen was detected, aye. I don’t hear anything else—not shouting, not weapons firing.” He paused and prompted gently, “Do you?”

  He wanted her to sit here when Owen was in trouble? The cahir could be lying on the ground, shot, bleeding to death.

  But…Gawain was right. Firearms would make noise, wouldn’t they? Turning her head, she listened.

  The blatting noise had gone silent. There was no shouting or shooting. No one screaming. No vehicles. The forest was silent—even the normal noise of the wildlife had stilled as the animals hunkered down in place.

  “We’ll wait, sweetling.” Gawain pulled her close, and she laid her head on his chest, listening to the faster beat of his heart. He was worried, too. She rubbed her cheek against his bare skin, wanting to tell him how much it meant to her to be held.

  How much he meant to her.

  A few minutes later, Owen loped down the trail…and her heart swelled as if unable to contain all she felt. By all the Gods, she was in trouble, so much trouble. The words that must not be said fought to escape. I love you.

  No, this would never work. Not ever.

  *

  Three hours later, cup in hand, Gawain sat beside the fire, watching a salamander flirting with the campfire flames.

  Last night, they’d zipped all the sleeping bags together to make one large bed and slept on top of it in animal form. Tonight, after they’d discussed Owen’s findings, Darcy had been mostly silent, but the strained look on her face showed her emotions had been clawed to shreds. She’d crawled inside the sleeping bag bed and eventually fell asleep.

  His heart ached at the pain she’d suffered.

  Owen laid another log on the fire and glanced at Darcy. “I expected her to cry when she found out the camp is empty.”

  “She doesn’t give in to how she feels.” Gawain shook his head. “Not unless she’s protecting someone as she was with us last night. Even then, she’s—”

  “Controlled,” Owen said. “She was furious at Mother, but her voice was clear and low. She didn’t hit or throw anything.”

  Gawain drank some of the hot chocolate they’d made from Tynan’s provisions. “She’s had a miserable month. Escaping from those bastards, having her first shift, being dumped in a new culture.”

  “First Gathering. Being hunted. Feeling guilty because she’s free and her family isn’t.” Owen turned to look at Gawain, and his jaw clenched. “Like how I was free when you were trapped with our mother in Pine Knoll.”

  Yep, Gawain knew his littermate would feel the guilt. “It wasn’t all bad. I didn’t live with her, and there were long quiet periods when she had a male. And I got to work with the finest master blacksmith west of the Rockies, whereas you had to find yourself a new master carver to finish your apprenticeship. Lose the guilt, brawd.”

  “Yeah, well, it’ll take some time.” Owen took the hot chocolate from Gawain and sipped. “Did you leave a female back there?”

  “No one serious. I had my share of lovers, but”—Gawain gave him a level look—“I always figured we’d share a mate.”

  Owen froze.

  “Assuming you ever get over your unreasoning dislike of females.”

  “Don’t hold your breath.” His brother’s retort lacked the force of conviction. Owen was changing—as did everyone who lived—and Darcy had a great deal to do with those changes.

  No matter what Owen said, Gawain held a great deal of hope for the future. He tipped his head back. The waning moon wouldn’t rise until later, and the stars hung low in the coal-black bowl of sky. “What’s the plan for tomorrow?”

  Owen poked at the fire, sending up sparks, and the salamander gave a pleased twirl. “Back to Cold Creek to report on the camp. I saw personal belongings in the dormitory. They’ll be returning.”

  Then we’ll have them. “Any lessons for Darcy tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, but I’m not sure how to go about it. You know, cubs take only a couple of days to get used to four legs. So why is she still so clumsy?” Owen glanced over at her, frowned, and rose.

  Gawain turned and jumped to his feet.

  Asleep, she was thrashing in the
sleeping bag. As growing horror filled her face, her hands and feet trembled like a wolf pup dreaming of being chased by a grizzly. “No. No, don’t.” Her voice was a whisper. Tears leaked from under her closed lids. “I’m sorry. Please, no.”

  Owen started to reach out and stopped. “Should—”

  “Yeah, brawd. We wake her.” Gawain went down on one knee and closed his hand over her delicate shoulder. He kept his voice low and calming. “Darcy. You’re having a nightmare. Wake up, sweetling.”

  “No. Please. Don’t hurt her any more. It was my—”

  The panic in her voice made his anger rise. Gawain shook her gently.

  Owen took her hands. His rough voice held a dominance that had never faltered despite their mother’s abuse. “Darcy. Wake up. Now.”

  Her lids rose, and her eyes held blind panic. Fighting their hands and the sleeping bag, she struggled to sit up.

  “Easy, easy.” Gawain sat down and pulled her, sleeping bag and all, into his lap. When Owen started to rise, Gawain growled at him, “Stay here, brawd.”

  Owen sank down. “I don’t know what to do when…”

  Tenderhearted cahir. “She’s scared, brawd. Sit beside me and let her feel guarded by the males she knows best.”

  That was all it took. Owen edged closer and stroked her back. “We’re here, Darcy. No one can hurt you now.”

  Gawain could feel the moment she truly woke. She pulled in a shuddering breath, and with a moan, sagged against him. Shivers wracked her still-too-thin body. “I-I’m sorry. Did I wake you two up?”

  “We weren’t asleep.” Owen tucked her hair back from her tear-damp face. “Tell us…” He paused and rephrased. “Can you tell us what had you so frightened?”

  She shook her head.

  Owen growled slightly under his breath, and Gawain almost laughed. The cahir did far better with killing than comforting.

  He’d learn.

  Gawain folded her closer and kissed the top of her head. It pleased him when she pressed closer, letting him give her some of his strength. Was this what the Gods felt when they gifted their chosen? “Catling, sharing a nightmare will remove the claws embedded in your soul.”