“I see.” The shifter-soldiers would eliminate the humans who had trained them to be killers. There was irony. “In that case, we’ll stay put and be cautious.”
And help thin that Scythe herd until it reached a stable population of zero.
Owen bowed slightly to the Cosantir and headed off to tell Gawain. He’d best keep an eye on Darcy in case those brothers of hers gave her trouble. Although…she’d done pretty good all by herself.
He smiled. He and Gawain had a fucking amazing mate.
In a corner of the increasingly crowded living room, Darcy set down another platter of food, turned, and bumped into Patrin. Fell stood right behind him.
She stiffened, feeling awkward. By the time she’d looked for them the day after the Gathering, they’d already returned to Rainier Territory. “Uh. Hey.”
“Darcy. Listen…we…I…” In frustration, Patrin ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Darcy. We were out of line.”
Fell put his hand on her shoulder. His scarred face held misery. “Sorry, chwaer.”
Looking up at him, she wondered if he ever laughed anymore? At one time, he’d had the best laugh.
“After you left that night, we talked and had to admit we wouldn’t like seeing you with any male.” Patrin gave her a rueful smile. “The old werecat told us about your guys…uh, your mates…and I guess they’re pretty close to being good enough for you. Can you forgive us?”
“Of course.” She felt their relief in the strong hugs she received. “So are you here to stay now?”
Fell shook his head.
“We’re off again.” Patrin’s dark eyes turned cold. “When we’re done, there won’t be any more”—he stopped—“I mean, eventually things will be settled, and we’ll have time to get to know each other again.”
She studied them. Their eyes were still haunted, but much of the sick despair was gone. “That’ll be good. I need you back here so I can start picking out nice females for you.”
Fell’s black stare made her grin.
“We’re so not talking about that.” Deliberately looking around, Patrin said, “You have a nice house—and we saw the barn. That was a hell of a nice job of turning it into workspaces.”
“Nice sign, too,” Fell said.
“Yeah, tinker’s a good name for you.”
She frowned. “What sign?”
“By the barn,” Patrin said.
“There’s no sign there.”
“Yeah, there is.” He opened the front door and pointed across the snowy expanse of yard.
The glossy dark wood sign was chest high, even bigger than the one on the highway. Owen and Gawain’s businesses were spelled out in elaborate lettering: “Carvings by Treharn” and “Full Moon Metalwork.”
But this new sign had another name boldly displayed above the other two businesses: “The Tinker’s Repair Shop,”
The Tinker’s Repair Shop. Even before Darcy had moved in, her mates had built her a workbench and shelving in the corner across from Owen’s. Added a worktable and chairs. Every day, more tools appeared.
Now she was official and on the sign. Her heart felt as if it was swelling in her chest.
“They didn’t tell you? Huh.” Patrin started to grin. “I could get to like them.”
A corner of Fell’s mouth actually tilted up.
“You’re both dumbasses.” She shoved Fell into Patrin and went to find her lifemates.
Owen and Gawain were standing together in the living room.
Her speed increased.
Seeing her leap, Owen braced. His powerful hands closed around her waist, and she was lifted and spun around. When he stopped and lowered her, she grabbed his shirt and wrapped an arm around Gawain’s muscular neck. And she kissed them and kissed them.
“It’s been all of fifteen minutes.” Gawain was laughing. “Did you miss us that much?”
“Don’t care,” Owen muttered. He nuzzled her temple. “I’ll take it.”
As her heart turned into jelly, she ran her hand over his cheek. For all of her days, she would delight in giving him the love he so desired. Then she gave Gawain another kiss and answered his question. “I always miss you, even after a minute. But this was because I just saw the sign. It’s beautiful.”
“Calum told me he was pleased you’ll be here to keep the town running.” Gawain tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’re so fucking proud of you.”
Each beat of her heart reverberated with her happiness.
“So, during the day, we’ll work in the barn.” Owen gathered her closer. “And when work is done, we’ll be together.”
Together. Darcy’s eyes filled with tears. Her trail had been long and filled with pain and fear and grief, but somehow she’d climbed out of the shadows and into the sun.
Now, in a house filled with friends and family, she stood sandwiched between her two beloved lifemates, breathing in the scents of belonging and love.
Sometimes dreams really did come true.
~ The End ~
Daonain Glossary
The Daonain use a conglomeration of handed-down languages from the British Isles. Some of the older villages still speak the Gaelic (Scots) or Irish Gaelic. Many of the more common (and mangled) shifter terms have descended from Welsh.
Errors and simplification of spelling and pronunciation can be attributed to being passed down through generations…or the author messing up. Below are a few of the more common words and terms used by the shifters.
a bhràthair: brother
A brathair-faoirm: brother in arms
a chuisle mo chridhe: pulse of my heart
a leannán: sweetheart, darling
a mhac: son
brawd: brother
cahir: warrior
caomhnor: protector/guardian of children
cariad: lover, darling, sweetheart
chwaer: sister
cosantir: guardian or protector
dùin do bhuel: shut up
mo bhràthair: my brother
mo charaid: my friend
mo chridhe: my heart
mo leannán: my darling / my lover
prìosan: prison
tha gaol agam ort: I love you
trawsfur: transform or shift
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Have you tried the Masters of the Shadowlands series?
Club Shadowlands
Masters of the Shadowlands: 1
Available everywhere
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Cherise Sinclair unlocks your deepest desires with stunning results in this tale that is brimming over with sensuality as well as a depth of emotions that will take the readers breath away! Club Shadowland is a superbly crafted story that will dazzle any BDSM fan and have them adding it to their must read list! 5 Hearts
~ The Romance Studio
Her car disabled during a tropical storm, Jessica Randall discovers the isolated house where she’s sheltering is a private bondage club. At first shocked, she soon becomes aroused watching the interactions between the Doms and their subs. But she’s a professional woman—an accountant—and surely isn’t a submissive …is she?
Master Z hasn’t been so attracted to a woman in years. But the little sub who has wandered into his club intrigues him. She’s intelligent. Reserved. Conservative. After he discovers her interest in BDSM, he can’t resist tying her up and unleashing the passion she hides within.
Excerpt from
Club Shadowlands
An eternity later, Jessica spotted a glimmer of light. Relief rushed through her when she reached a driveway studded with hanging lights. Surely whoever lived here would let her wait out the storm. She walked through the ornate iron gates, up the palm-lined drive past landscaped lawns, until finally she reached a three-story stone mansion. Black wrought iron lanterns illumined the entry.
&n
bsp; “Nice place,” she muttered. And a little intimidating. She glanced down at herself to check the damage. Mud and rain streaked her tailored slacks and white button-down shirt, hardly a suitable image for a conservative accountant. She looked more like something even a cat would refuse to drag in.
Shivering hard, she brushed at the dirt and grimaced as it only streaked worse. She stared up at the huge oak doors guarding the entrance. A small doorbell in the shape of a dragon glowed on the side panel, and she pushed it.
Seconds later, the doors opened. A man, oversized and ugly as a battle-scarred Rottweiler, looked down at her. “I’m sorry, miss, you’re too late. The doors are locked.”
What the heck did that mean?
“P-please,” she said, stuttering with the cold. “My car’s in a ditch, and I’m soaked, and I need a place to dry out and call for help.” But did she really want to go inside with this scary-looking guy? Then she shivered so hard her teeth clattered together, and her mind was made up. “Can I come in? Please?”
He scowled at her, his big-boned face brutish in the yellow entry light. “I’ll have to ask Master Z. Wait here.” And the bastard shut the door, leaving her in the cold and dark.
Jessica wrapped her arms around herself, standing miserably, and finally the door opened again. Again the brute. “Okay, come on in.”
Relief brought tears to her eyes. “Thank you, oh, thank you.” Stepping around him before he could change his mind, she barreled into a small entry room and slammed into a solid body. “Oomph,” she huffed.
Firm hands gripped her shoulders. She shook her wet hair out of her eyes and looked up. And up. The guy was big, a good six feet, his shoulders wide enough to block the room beyond.
He chuckled, his hands gentling their grasp on her arms. “She’s freezing, Ben. Molly left some clothing in the blue room; send one of the subs.”
“Okay, boss.” The brute—Ben—disappeared.
“What is your name?” Her new host’s voice was deep, dark as the night outside.
“Jessica.” She stepped back from his grip to get a better look at her savior. Smooth black hair, silvering at the temples, just touching his collar. Dark gray eyes with laugh lines at the corners. A lean, hard face with the shadow of a beard adding a hint of roughness. He wore tailored black slacks and a black silk shirt that outlined hard muscles underneath. If Ben was a Rottweiler, this guy was a jaguar, sleek and deadly.
“I’m sorry to have bothered—” she started.
Ben reappeared with a handful of golden clothing that he thrust at her. “Here you go.”
She took the garments, holding them out to keep from getting the fabric wet. “Thank you.”
A faint smile creased the manager’s cheek. “Your gratitude is premature, I fear. This is a private club.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.” Now what was she going to do?
“You have two choices. You may sit out here in the entryway with Ben until the storm passes. The forecast stated the winds and rain would die down around six or so in the morning, and you won’t get a tow truck out on these country roads until then. Or you may sign papers and join the party for the night.”
She looked around. The entry was a tiny room with a desk and one chair. Not heated. Ben gave her a dour look.
Sign something? She frowned. Then again, in this lawsuit-happy world, every place made a person sign releases, even to visit a fitness center. So she could sit here all night. Or…be with happy people and be warm. No-brainer. “I’d love to join the party.”
“So impetuous,” the manager murmured. “Ben, give her the paperwork. Once she signs—or not—she may use the dressing room to dry off and change.”
“Yes, sir.” Ben rummaged in a file box on the desk, pulled out some papers.
The manager tilted his head at Jessica. “I will see you later then.”
Ben shoved three pages of papers at her and a pen. “Read the rules. Sign at the bottom.” He scowled at her. “I’ll get you a towel and clothes.”
She started reading. Rules of the Shadowlands.
“Shadowlands. That’s an unusual na—” she said, looking up. Both men had disappeared. Huh. She returned to reading, trying to focus her eyes. Such tiny print. Still, she never signed anything without reading it.
Doors will open at…
Water pooled around her feet, and her teeth chattered so hard she had to clench her jaw. There was a dress code. Something about cleaning the equipment after use. Halfway down the second page, her eyes blurred. Her brain felt like icy slush. Too cold—I can’t do this. This was just a club, after all; it wasn’t like she was signing mortgage papers.
Turning to the last page, she scrawled her name and wrapped her arms around herself. Can’t get warm.
Ben returned with some clothing and towels, then showed her into an opulent restroom off the entry. Glass-doored stalls along one side faced a mirrored wall with sinks and counters.
After dropping the borrowed clothing on the marble counter, she kicked her shoes off and tried to unbutton her shirt. Something moved on the wall. Startled, Jessica looked up and saw a short, pudgy woman with straggly blonde hair and a pale complexion blue with cold. After a second, she recognized herself. Ew. Surprising they’d even let her in the door.
In a horrible contrast with Jessica’s appearance, a tall, slender, absolutely gorgeous woman walked into the restroom and gave her a scowl. “I’m supposed to help you with a shower.”
Get naked in front of Miss Perfection? Not going to happen. “Thanks, b-b-b-but I’m all right.” She forced the words past her chattering teeth. “I don’t need help.”
“Well!” With an annoyed huff, the woman left.
I was rude. Shouldn’t have been rude. If only her brain would kick back into gear, she’d do better. She’d have to apologize. Later. If she ever got dried off and warm. She needed dry clothes. But, her hands were numb, shaking uncontrollably, and time after time, the buttons slipped from her stiff fingers. She couldn’t even get her slacks off, and she was shuddering so hard her bones hurt.
“Dammit,” she muttered and tried again.
The door opened. “Jessica, are you all right? Vanessa said—” The manager. “No, you are obviously not all right.” He stepped inside, a dark figure wavering in her blurry vision.
“Go away.”
“And find you dead on the floor in an hour? I think not.” Without waiting for her answer, he stripped her out of her clothes as one would a two-year-old, even peeling off her sodden bra and panties. His hands were hot, almost burning, against her chilled skin.
She was naked. As the thought percolated through her numb brain, she jerked away and grabbed at the dry clothing. His hand intercepted hers.
“No, pet.” He plucked something from her hair, opening his hand to show muddy leaves. “You need to warm up and clean up. Shower.”
He wrapped a hard arm around her waist and moved her into one of the glass-fronted stalls behind where she’d been standing. With his free hand, he turned on the water, and heavenly warm steam billowed up. He adjusted the temperature.
“In you go,” he ordered. A hand on her bottom, he nudged her into the shower.
The water felt scalding hot against her frigid skin, and she gasped, then shivered, over and over, until her bones hurt. Finally, the heat began to penetrate, and the relief was so intense, she almost cried.
Some time after the last shuddering spasm, she realized the door of the stall was open. Arms crossed, the man leaned against the door frame, watching her with a slight smile on his lean face.
“I’m fine,” she muttered, turning so her back was to him. “I can manage by myself.”
“No, you obviously cannot,” he said evenly. “Wash the mud out of your hair. The left dispenser has shampoo.”
Mud in her hair. She’d totally forgotten; maybe she did need a keeper. After using the vanilla-scented shampoo, she let the water sluice through her hair. Brown water and twigs swirled down the drain. The water finally r
an clear.
“Very good.” The water shut off. Blocking the door, he rolled up his sleeves, displaying corded, muscular arms. She had the unhappy feeling he was going to keep helping her, and any protest would be ignored. He’d taken charge as easily as if she’d been one of the puppies at the shelter where she volunteered.
“Out with you now.” When her legs wobbled, he tucked a hand around her upper arm, holding her up with disconcerting ease. The cooler air hit her body, and her shivering started again.
After blotting her hair, he grasped her chin and tipped her face up to the light. She gazed up at his darkly tanned face, trying to summon up enough energy to pull her face away.
“No bruises. I think you were lucky.” Taking the towel, he dried off her arms and hands, rubbing briskly until he appeared satisfied with the pink color. Then he did her back and shoulders. When he reached her breasts, she pushed at his hand. “I can do that.” She stepped back so quickly that the room spun for a second.
“Jessica, be still.” Then he ignored her sputters like she would a buzzing fly, his attentions gentle but thorough, even to lifting each breast and drying underneath.
When he toweled off her butt, she wanted to hide. If there was any part of her that should be covered, it was her hips. Overweight. Jiggly. He didn’t seem to notice.
Then he knelt and ordered, “Spread your legs.”
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Leap of the Lion Page 39