Savage Exile: Lion Hearts Book Five

by Lane, Cecilia

  Across the den, Rhys canted his head and watched her with curious eyes. His look was the only one to send a shiver down her spine.

  Another rumble of tires on dirt brought her shoulders to her ears, but no one seemed concerned. That made sense, too. No one expected the consortium lions to double back so soon.

  “That’ll be the bears,” Trent muttered, scrubbing a hand down his face as he confirmed her suspicions. His eyes bounced over the males in the room before he jerked his chin toward the door. “Let’s get tonight’s patrols figured out.”

  One by one, the Crowley pride filed out of the den, until only she, Hailey, and Rhys remained.

  Deep blue overtook the silver of his eyes, but his fists stayed clenched. “I’ll stand with you,” he swore.

  Sage cocked her head at that. Her lioness, too, perked with attention. The words were different than the typical, macho bullshit of saving and protecting. Those made her feel small and weak. Even worse, the man saying them admitted it. Why else would she need to be sheltered by the wall he wanted to erect around her?

  Not Rhys. Those four little words, five if she wanted to get technical and count the contraction, those words put her on an even footing. He wasn’t a blockade at her front. He didn’t guard her back, ready to spring into action. He stood with her.

  Her cat purred at the idea. Strong man, powerful beast. He didn’t need to make her small, and instead, made her an equal.

  He made her sit up and pay attention for the first time in months.

  Chapter 9

  Sage stuck around even after Rhys shut the door behind him. She couldn’t help outside with a lioness who refused to make an appearance. Even if she could shift, the odds of being put on the roster were extremely slim. She could be hurt, and Lindley still worked his fool idea of turning her life around by the end of her year with the pride. He wouldn’t risk her to a fight.

  She could be useful inside. No one was coming back for a meal and good company. Plates needed to be put away. Ice needed to be dumped from the cooler holding extra drinks. Hailey had to decide on cooking and divvying up the food, or saving what she could for a different night.

  As much as she hated the work, she opted into it. That was the big, underlined difference between the Crowleys and her father’s pride or Jasper’s consortium. She wasn’t ordered or expected to clear away the dishes or scrub everything till it shined. Helping wasn’t compulsory.

  Besides, she didn’t like leaving things unsaid. Even if that was all she seemed to do these days. She was—used to be—the type of person who needed an argument resolved before crawling into bed. An angry itch took hold in her stomach otherwise, and she turned over every word and inflection until sleep was impossible.

  She’d never forgive herself for spouting off rotten words and leaving Hailey to deal with the mess.

  “I’m sorry I caused you and Trent to argue,” Sage murmured as she dropped the silverware back in a drawer. “I don’t actually believe this pride is as bad as others. I just…”

  Just got carried away. Just let her mouth run away with her. Just didn’t trust anyone.

  Hailey waved a hand to dismiss her concern. “Oh, please. If I don’t keep him on his toes, who will? Besides, I’m the mother of his cubs. I get some say in the safety of our pride.”

  Sage winced. Bearing cubs hadn’t given her mother any special treatment. She’d died at her father’s hands the same as anyone else who caught him in his darkest moods.

  Which was unfair to Trent and Hailey. Again.

  “You know,” Hailey paused, fingers running along the edges of a bowl waiting indefinitely for some chips, “it was nice what you said. About still needing to get to our jobs and run errands and live our lives? I appreciate you looking out for us.”

  She paused again, but her scent turned hesitant. That put Sage on edge as much as Trent turning his displeasure on her. Hailey spoke her mind. Sometimes to groans, sometimes at the danger of sparking an argument, always with love in her heart. There wasn’t any of the slyness she knew from her father’s pride. No threat of an imminent stab in the back. She just wanted the best for the people around her.

  Her cubs were going to be so lucky to have her.

  “Sage, what are you doing with yourself during the day?”

  Sage blinked with surprise. “There’s nearly always someone home,” she said quietly, setting the plates back in a cabinet. “And I don’t mind being on my own when everyone is busy.”

  “That’s not what I mean,” Hailey said with a frown. “Do you have anything that’s your own?”

  Her own. Like her dancing, then later her time as an instructor. Like the happy mated pairs carving out their own futures.

  She had a den that felt too big, a lioness who wouldn’t show herself, and no idea where she truly fit in the world. Even before, when her only problem was avoiding her father’s moods, she didn’t feel like she had anything she could really call her own.

  “I…” she trailed off. Claws scratched at her insides, urging her to run, but she ignored her inner beast.

  Hailey filled the silence with a kind smile. “I think it’s important, no matter how dire everything seems, to find something that makes you happy. We need to hold on to the things that bring us even a hint of joy.”

  “I don’t even know what that looks like anymore,” Sage admitted in a small voice.

  “That’s fine. There’s no rush so long as you aren’t letting yourself stay stuck.” Hailey jerked her chin toward the door. “Those people out there, they’ll do everything in their power to give you the space you need to figure it out.”

  Like promising to stand with her.

  Sage flashed Hailey a tight nod of understanding while her lioness paced through her head.

  She was still deep in her thoughts when she let Hailey’s door close behind her. The Crowleys and Ashfords still hammered out details in the middle of the space between dens; she skirted around them with her eyes on her toes and went straight for her own space.

  Trapped. She was trapped. It started as shock from her unlikely rescue from Jasper’s pride, which turned to hesitation and caution the longer she waited for the other shoe to drop. A part of her always suspected someone would try to drag her back to her personal hell. That same part kept her at arm’s length from the others. Instead, she reasoned, better to stay alone and unsettled than have anything she enjoyed ripped away again.

  It wasn’t any way to live. It was survival at its very basic level. Eating, drinking, running on anxiety.

  Pressure built under her skin. In her stomach. Around her heart. She wanted to breathe freely, but that was impossible when every inch of her wanted to bolt.

  She had nothing of her own.

  Sage peeked through the crack in the curtains. Still daylight, even though she already knew what her eyes needed to see. She longed for the darkness and walking off the restless energy coursing through her limbs. Not that she’d be allowed out on her own. Safety. Protection. Caution. Whatever word used kept her trapped in body and in spirit.

  She scoffed and shot a glare toward her front door. She really shouldn’t be so hard on Trent and the others. Her back was up for reasons that had nothing to do with them.

  She kicked her leg out to the side and rolled her ankle, then repeated the stretch on the other side. Her head was next, lolling around in a circle one way, then the other. Even her shoulders and back straightened under the familiar motions.

  Skies above, how long had it been? Years since she had anyone correcting her posture and positions. She’d given up on her own, private practice not long after her father ordered the Levine pride females to stay within their territory. The movement had been too painful knowing what she’d been forced to give up.

  Arms coming down to an oval at her waist, elbows to the sides, she forced her shoulders to relax. Even as her feet came together and her stomach flipped, she kept them away from her ears.

  Sage lifted her arms, pretending she carried a bea
ch ball between them. Her lips twitched with a smile. That was the example her instructor had used in her first dance classes, and the same words she told the students she’d been trusted to teach.

  From there, she gracefully hinged her arms open. Her back cracked with the stretch, but she didn’t lean into it. She kept her hands right on the edge of her vision to prevent any extra arching, remembering the call to watch her lines.

  Posture and form were important in ballet. What most saw as a flow from one movement to the next was intricate and technical when boiled down to the finer details. Even as she pulled one arm in to wrap around her imaginary beach ball, the other lifted over her head, not daring to cross the invisible line running right down her middle.

  She flowed through the arm positions once more, then added her feet to the mix. Toe out, feet wide, come together. Her muscles stretched and burned to make the turnout she used to handle with ease.

  Wanting to push herself, she tipped forward, using her arms as a counterbalance against the leg she lifted behind her. She wobbled, overcorrected, and came back down to both feet before trying again.

  The second try came easier, and with an unfamiliar smile twitching at the corners of her lips, she added more bends and turns to her movements.

  She dug deep for choreography of recitals performed by her small town studio as she twirled around her den. The stuttering, awkward motions fell away as she gave herself over to the dance.

  Her heart pounded after just a few moments and her lungs ached to draw in air. Her arms and legs burned with the exertion. Best of all, she felt a smile stretching across her face.

  She ignored the scratch at the back of her head. Dancing was freedom. There wasn’t any room for worry while she focused on building something beautiful. No matter how bad things got at home, her mother always made sure she showed up for classes just to give her a little room for joy.

  She spun and tumbled against the couch.

  Sage’s smile crashed, and all the problems dug back in with sharpened hooks. This was wrong. All wrong. The floor wasn’t smooth or springy. The space was clearly too small. She didn’t have the proper attire. Her hair hung in messy waves around her shoulders. She was better suited to watching than dancing.

  And joy? Joy didn’t exist when she could feel the shadows reaching for her. She shouldn’t have even tried to find it again.

  Sage jumped at the sharp knock on her door. She braced herself for the door to bang open, then shot a questioning look when no one waltzed on through like her privacy didn’t matter. When no one appeared, she cocked her head. No voices. No heartbeats or breaths or other sounds of someone waiting.

  Curious, she prowled closer and cracked open the door. No one stood on the other side. She was about to close it again when something on her porch caught her eye.

  A small, wooden lioness sat right in front of her door.

  Sage crouched down. She picked up the figurine and turned it end over end, eyebrows pinching her nose. The lioness crouched in a defensive position, but one paw poised in the air as a threat. The fierce snarl that peeled back her lips and narrowed her eyes warned everyone who got close that she was prepared to lunge at any moment.

  Sage sucked in a breath when her fingers found the J carved into the shoulder.

  The lioness was her.

  She jerked her head upright. Her nostrils flared as she caught the mocha and spice scent that made her inner cat purr. Marching across her porch, she peeked around the corner and found Rhys posted like a sentry against the side of her den.

  “What is this?” she demanded quietly, waving the carving at him. “Why did you leave it at my door?”

  And why did he make it look like her?

  Rhys glanced at her hand, then slowly dragged his eyes upward. Silver laced the deep blue, but didn’t quite take over his human color. The combination gave him an eerie, haunted look that sent goose bumps skittering up her arms.

  “It’s a reminder,” he said in a gravelly voice.

  Sage leaned her hip against the railing. It felt odd to be the one looking down on him, even if it was only by a few inches. A fleeting thought crossed her mind of ladies in their towers talking to their admirers in the courtyard beneath their windows. One look around at the trucks spattered with mud disabused that notion. “Of what?”

  “That you’re strong. That you don’t break. When the worst happens, you face it head on with claws ready to defend yourself.”

  Sage took a step back. “That’s not—” she started and gave a shake of her head. Why did her ears buzz with the rush of blood? “That’s not me.”

  He canted his head and watched her silently for a loaded moment. “You don’t see it yet, but it is. You’re on fire, Sage.”

  Chapter 10

  Rhys sighed the moment the Crowley barn came into sight. His shoulders ached from the ton of tension weighing on him, and his eyelids felt like an extra planet’s worth of gravity dragged them down. Sheer exhaustion pulled on his limbs, but he knew he wouldn’t sleep for long even if he fell into bed right that instant. His lion would snatch control the moment his eyes closed.

  The days since finding tracks across their borders had been split between the typical ranch work and sticking close to Sage. Even when Lindley posted up next to him, his lion wouldn’t let him stray out of sight of her den. The pride had been caught with their pants around their ankles too many times to tempt fate. Better he stay near and catnap in fur than let those fucks sneak up for some shitty destruction.

  That they’d been quiet wasn’t reassuring in the slightest. If anything, the lack of a fight put him on edge. He felt like he watched as the waters raced out to sea. The big, devastating swell was building somewhere out of sight. All he could do was slog through waist-deep mud and try to get out of the way, but survival wasn’t guaranteed when he didn’t know where they’d hit.

  But until Jasper, Roland, and all the other fuckfaces crawled out of the woodwork, they waited. Eyes locked on the horizon, chests tight with held breaths, they waited. Rhys wanted to bite every living thing in sight.

  “Aw, shit, here they come,” Dash drawled as he and Seth reached the doors of the barn. Louder, he called, “You two have a picnic out there?”

  “Fuck off,” Seth shot back. Amusement laced his words even as he glared at his brother. “You’re just upset you weren’t invited.”

  Rhys dismounted his dappled grey gelding and gave the horse a rub down his neck. “Besides,” he added, uncinching the saddle, “someone had to do the real work.”

  “Funny you should say that,” Lindley said around a shit-eating grin. At least he’d stopped being such a pain in the ass. “We got you a little something in appreciation for all the real work done around here.”

  Wary, Rhys tested the air. Horses and leather filled the barn, but the light, teasing scents of the others were unmistakable. He hauled his saddle off his horse and strode for the tack room—and the group gathered in front of the door. Grins splitting their faces, they parted to let him through.

  A chalkboard hung on the wall next to the door. Big, bold letters declared DAYS SINCE THE LAST INCIDENT, with someone’s scrawled number six right above it. Below, however, was a cartoon white lion tearing into an equally outlandish carcass.

  Rhys snorted and threw a glare over his shoulder. “Assholes.”

  The others threw their heads back and laughed.

  Rhys shook his head as he settled his gear in the room with all the rest. Trust those fuckers to find something to laugh about even when they all had teeth on their throats.

  Still, it was a little funny. And six days was damn impressive. Probably some sort of record, too. He wasn’t the only batshit lion in the pride ready to keep that number firmly at zero.

  He stopped in the doorway and blinked down at the beer shoved in his direction. So much had changed in a year. They never did shit like this at the end of the day. If they made it through intact, they slunk off to their separate corners, prepping to do it all ov
er again when the sun inevitably broke over the horizon.

  Nostrils flaring, his inner beast let off a rumble as he caught the scent of juniper and fresh rain. Others, too. Baked earth and fur, vanilla and wood smoke, cinnamon, apples...

  The mates had arrived.

  His eyes automatically found Sage in the crowd. She stood between Kyla and Colette, and flashed a quick smile at whatever dumbshit joke Dash spouted off. She looked... sturdier. Taller. She still stared at the floor too much for his taste when she should be flashing those gorgeous green eyes, but she didn’t hunch in on herself as much as she had even six days ago.

  Fur brushed against his mind as his lion sank down and watched her. She’d smelled so shocked when he told her she was on fire, but what else could he call it? He’d spent months watching the little flashes in her eyes. Her outburst that night proved just how much fight she still had in her.

  He’d had a mate.

  He had a mate.

  Rhys frowned at the warmth spreading through his inner beast. The lion’s fascination with the woman was dangerous. He needed to keep his distance and a tight leash on the cat. Getting attached would just hurt them both in the long run. He needed to be thankful he’d had even one mate. No one would ever replace Hannah. To even think of claiming another woman felt like a betrayal to her memory.

  Truth was, he couldn’t make himself take a step away.

  “You got time to look at my truck?” Seth asked.

  Rhys started. He usually kept better tabs on the others, and if not him, his inner beast tracked for him. Neither man nor lion liked being snuck up on.

  Both were far too occupied with the lioness darting looks their way.

  “Yeah,” he said in a gruff voice to cover his distraction. “Let me get my toolbox.”

  Rhys touched his fingers to his brow as he slipped past the rest of the pride and out of the barn. This was better, anyway. It kept his hands busy, and his mind anywhere but Sage.

  That was the plan, at least. But even as he positioned himself on the creeper and rolled under Seth’s truck, she wasn’t far from his thoughts. His lion, so distracted before, kept an ear turned to catch any word she uttered. It’d been the same with Hannah. His father finally threatened to ban her from the auto shop to keep Rhys’s mind on his work.