Tristan shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “Goddamn Agar. Keeps his big mouth shut until you need it to stay that way.”
“Be quiet,” she snapped. “Let me welcome my son home.”
Chapter Fifteen
With his mother in charge, his homecoming became more like the one he’d envisioned. She spat out orders, taking no shit from the three bear-brothers that towered over her slender six-foot frame. She balefully requested they return to their duties, along with the intimidating lion who waited patiently by the Great Hall.
“You’ve left only two to guard the entrance,” she interrupted Tristan as he tried to argue with her. “Salvador will be fine; he got himself to Zara and her report states a few cuts and bruises. Nothing that won’t heal. Go now before I double your punishment.”
When Tristan moved to dump Baylee’s limp form on the ground like a sack of feed, Dax bared his teeth and leaped forward to intercept. “You’re a bastard, Tristan. No matter what you think of her or what you believe she is, she’s still a woman.”
Tristan simply mirrored Daxon’s expression, slightly more ferocious as he chose that moment to change, flashing a wicked set of bear teeth. He turned away in mid-transformation, lumbering away as the grizzly, followed by his brothers.
“What trouble have you gotten yourself into now, my boy?”
Daxon cradled Baylee against him, holding her tight. He needed to check the severity of her head wound; Tristan had not been kind with the two blows he’d dealt her. “Depends on your definition of trouble, Mother.”
She lifted an elegant brow, her eyes searching his face before dropping to give Baylee an assessing once-over. “Your father’s waiting. He can wait a little longer,” she added when Dax opened his mouth to object. “Come, Zara will see to your lady. She is your lady?”
Subtle, he thought with a wry smile. His mother liked to think she remained neutral when it came to her sons and daughters and their love lives. “My lady,” he confirmed. “My mate, my heart and soul, and mother to my children.”
Her eyes widened. “You haven’t been gone a month, Daxon. Quick work, even for you. Does she make you happy?”
He carried her easily away from the Great Hall, veering out of habit toward a small shack tucked behind a cabin not fifty feet away. In response to his mother’s question, he nodded. “I love her. I brought her here to be with me, to raise our cubs here, to share in the safety and freedom of the valley. And in doing so, I’m not sure she’ll feel welcome or safe.”
“She’s safer in here than out there.”
“The first people we met on arrival have been nothing but hostile toward her. Efran called her an abomination. She’s seen Tristan’s attitude toward her and to me, suffered at his hands. I promised her she’d be welcome here.”
“Men,” she sneered. “Such idiots when they let testosterone rule their heads. We will make amends,” she promised as they reached the shack, and lifted her dainty hand—so small and yet so capable of boxing ears and spanking bottoms of rude little cubs—to tap lightly on the door. “Zara?”
“Delia? Please, come in.” A cheery voice called from inside.
Daxon followed his mother inside, careful not to catch Baylee on the jambs, and waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. He smiled at the sight of his childhood friend fussing with her instruments, stocking up empty spaces on her shelves.
“One moment! Salvador took a bit of bandaging up, the she-panther took a couple good pieces out of his hide. He’ll be just fine,” she continued, stretching her lithe body to the top shelf to shove gauze into a cubbyhole. The T-shirt she wore rose, exposing a strip of tanned flesh between shirt and pants. “Do they not realize stepping between a she-panther and her mate is never a good idea?”
Delia’s head cocked in interest. “How do you know the she-panther is mated?”
Zara swiveled gracefully, turning to face her audience. Her narrow face lit up with joy when she saw Daxon; she rushed to him and kissed his cheek before laying her hand on Baylee’s pale cheek. “Panthers aren’t known for getting involved in a fight; independent creatures, the lot of them. Reclusive, unsocial. The only way this pretty young woman would step into a fight between Tristan and you is if she felt her mate was threatened.”
“She tried to protect me.”
“I know, Dax. Set her down over there and let me check her out. If Tristan and his goons are responsible for this, they won’t have been gentle with her. Salvador told me what happened up until he left,” Zara said grimly as she pottered along behind Dax. She passed her hand gently over Baylee’s forehead as he set his lover down on the long bench with the utmost care. “Rumor has it she’s a shifter who is not a shifter. True or false?”
Begrudgingly, Dax admitted it. “Long story. Somehow I turned a mortal into one of us.”
“No fucking way.” Zara gaped at him, then at Baylee.
“Zara!” Delia admonished.
“I’m sorry but that’s impossible, Dax. No one in our history has ever been able to share the gift. It’s blood-born. Shifters can only be born through a shifter-shifter mating or shifter-mortal mating. What did you do?”
“I don’t know.” He took Baylee’s cold hand as Zara began her examination. As she worked in her quiet, efficient manner, he told them of the events that had transpired during his time in Montana. “All I know is she can take the form of the panther.”
Zara probed Baylee’s head gently. “Just the panther?”
“I...well hell,” he said with a scowl. “It never occurred to me to ask her to try another form. She has enough problems containing Sheba in panther form; can you imagine how hard it would be to get her back in, say, hawk form? She could fly anywhere, be miles away before we knew she’d lost control.”
Zara blew a lock of her blonde bob away from her face as she parted her patient’s hair to study the scalp. “Just a suggestion. You have the genetic limitation. Wouldn’t it be interesting to see—should you have done the impossible and turned her—if that same limitation hinders her?”
“She’s not an experiment,” he retorted darkly.
“To some, she may well be. The unknown always draws the curious.” Satisfied with the head wound, she worked her way down to the darkening bruises on Baylee’s neck, arms, thighs. She hissed as she passed her palms over her ribcage. “Clumsy men. They could have done real damage to the poor girl.”
“She is harmed?” Delia asked sharply.
“Some cracked ribs.” Zara frowned, blue eyes glazing over slightly with concentration as she moved her hands over the flat of Baylee’s stomach. She pressed her palm flat between the peaks of her hipbones, spreading her fingers wide over the lower abdomen.
And her eyes went blind.
“New life,” she hummed reverently, a sweet smile spreading over her lips. Daxon heard the love in her voice, the absolute delight. “Very new. No more than a week old, just tiny sparks of existence in the initial stage of blossoming.” Her gaze cleared and she beamed at Daxon. “Congratulations, Daddy.”
A flush worked up his neck. “They’re okay?”
She came to him, setting her hands upon his face and kissing his cheeks. “Relax, Daddy. Your cubs are fine, although it’s hard to tell how many will take root. So many little lives fighting for their place. Your mate needs rest, and food when she wakes. From a medical standpoint, I’m going to diagnose a mild concussion, some bruising from rough handling and those cracked ribs, but she’ll make a full recovery within a day or two.”
He heard a dainty sniffle and whipped around to stare at his mother. She sniffled again, a little louder this time, before she wept into her hands. “Mother, please don’t. Don’t cry.”
Delia waved him away. “I can cry all I want when my firstborn son is about to become a father. I’ve been waiting for this day for so many years; I’d feared you’d never find the one to complete you, to walk with you through life. Now you come home and bring me not only a daughter-in-law but babies as well.�
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Never one to be comfortable with tears despite growing up with hormonal teenage sisters who’d have tear tantrums at the slightest provocation, Daxon rubbed his hand over his neck. “You’re happy then? I know they’re not your first grandchildren but...”
“It doesn’t matter. I love all my grandchildren, no matter what order they’re born in or to which child of mine. You all earned a place in my heart—and your father’s—the moment you came squalling into this world. These precious ones will be no different.” It was said almost regally, in a tone that suggested heads would roll if anyone implied otherwise. “Zara, darling, how long before this young lady—”
“Baylee. Her name is Baylee.”
“Baylee.” Delia smiled softly. “Yes, I like that. How long before Baylee wakes?”
“No way to be certain. I’d say a few hours but it wouldn’t be reliable.”
“I think it would be best if Daxon and I go speak with his father. You’ll watch her while we’re gone?”
“Mother, I’m not leaving her. If she wakes when I’m not here, I don’t want her to be with a stranger.” He gave Zara an apologetic shrug. “She knows no one here and everyone she has met has hated her on sight. I won’t have her thinking I’ve abandoned her.”
Zara laid her hand on his arm. “If she wakes, I will look after her. Speak to Shax, you know what he’s like if he’s kept waiting, and by now he’ll have heard all the rumors about her and none of the truth. The sooner you go,” she said wisely, “the sooner you’ll return to her.”
Outnumbered and outmatched by logic, Daxon laid Baylee’s hand down gently, then cupped her face and bent to kiss her tenderly. “I won’t be long, baby. I’ll be back, I promise.”
He felt the waves of adoration wafting around the room as his mother and his friend both sighed wistfully. He strode for the door, determined to get this next hell over with. He stepped out into the world again, his home, and looked around as though seeing it with Baylee’s eyes.
He didn’t know if her initial introduction to the clan would stain the view of what surrounded them. There was beauty here, ages old and governed by nature alone. What changes the clan made were in keeping with the natural landscape; no one could deform the valley without swift and merciless repercussions. After all, they were part of nature, and nature looked after itself.
Delia matched his stride as they took the path back to the Great Hall. They moved as one, mother and son, the most sacred of bonds. What he was came from her, his life and how it had turned out was the result of how he’d lived his life to this point; his mother had shaped him into the man he’d become.
“Trust your father not to make rash judgements,” Delia advised as they headed for the Hall doors. “He will listen to you if you make him. You have his temper, and his reasoning. Use both.”
Daxon blew out a heavy breath as he crossed the threshold and paced down the aisle between rows and rows of seats. Wooden pews carved from fallen trees, arranged to face the chair—throne, Daxon thought with a sneer—on the platform in front. When it was his time to rule, he’d rid the Hall of the eyesore. He didn’t want to be displayed as untouchable object; he wanted to be approachable, open to the people he was destined to rule.
“I don’t see your brother, Daxon.”
Dax rolled his eyes. Never so much as a hello or how are you with his father. Just straight to the point. “Neither did I, Father.”
“You’re telling me you failed. I sent you to fetch your brother home and instead you bring me a wraith.” Seated on the throne, Shax made an impressive figure, one that screamed power and authority. “I hear things, son of mine. Disturbing things about the wraith.”
“She’s not a wraith. She’s vibrant and funny and full of life.”
“She’s human,” Shax said flatly. “You know the rules when it comes to humans in our midst.”
“They don’t apply here. She has the gift. She belongs here with me, by my side, in the company of my family and friends.”
“Dalliances with humans are only tolerated outside the valley. They do not step foot on sacred ground. Tell me why I shouldn’t end her existence while she drifts in the beyond. It would be a quick and painless death, boy. She would not know fear as she left this life.”
Daxon moved closer to the platform. “Kill her, kill me. We are bonded, fully and without question. Both parts of me are connected to both halves of Baylee. One of us dies, the other will soon follow. Would you trust the future of your legacy to Efran’s hands, Father?”
Shax’s weathered face bore the test of time. He had years left to rule and he knew it. But Daxon saw wariness flicker through the sharp brown eyes he’d had the good fortune not to inherit. “You know your brother has never had his eye on the rule.”
“I know,” Daxon said firmly. “Just as I never wanted it, yet bore the weight of heir as directed. It falls to me as firstborn son to carry the mantle after your death, and history has taught us no clan leader has ever ruled properly without his mate at his side. The union makes him stronger, more decisive. He’ll do anything to protect his mate and, in turn, the clan. He needs his mate to breed strong sons to continue the line, smart daughters to hold this place together. I know my duty, Father.”
“Good. Take a seat, Daxon. I want to hear everything from the time you set foot in Montana to when you left. I’ll make my decision when you’re done.” Shax studied his son’s face; Daxon felt the intensity of it as fiercely as heat on his skin. “And don’t think you’ll get away with not explaining why Kaiyan has not returned with you.”
Resigned to telling the tale again—telling and retelling until his father knew every detail like scripture—Daxon climbed the platform and seated himself in front of Shax. With a bracing breath, he began.
SHE HEARD VOICES WHEN she came to, female voices, and felt a clutch around her heart. Her friends had found her, travelled for miles to be by her side in this horrible place. That clutch turned into a sinking sensation in her stomach when she realized she didn’t recognize any of the voices.
Baylee cracked her eyes open, braced for anything from darkness to blinding light, and instead discovered some kind soul had dimmed the brightness down to a muted glow. She blinked, taking a moment to gather her bearings and eye up her surroundings.
Unfamiliar.
Whatever she was laid on felt like a rock under her back. Unforgiving. A warm blanket covered her from feet to shoulders but when she fidgeted, bare skin rubbed against the material. She gave a disgruntled sigh and wondered how many people in this godforsaken place had seen her naked.
Her body yowled in protest as she struggled to sit up. Bruises spread over her flesh like masterpieces from a dark artist. Her head echoed with thunderous thuds, pulsing with nasty little thumps. Nausea rose in her throat and was barely held back—probably a good thing if the throbbing ache covering her ribs meant anything.
“...Daxon’s brought a bitch home.”
Baylee stilled, ears pricking at the sound of Dax’s name. Her hackles rose at both the bitch comment and the speaker’s tone. How did people around here function with so much hate in them? It was a wonder the whole damn species hadn’t died out from infighting or chronic malcontent syndrome if this was how they treated newcomers.
“Saxa. That’s enough. I did not raise you to be a bitter woman.”
“No,” the original speaker—Saxa—retorted. “I was raised in the shadow of the little prince. Now he flaunts our laws and brings home a stray, expecting us to welcome her with open arms. He knocked her up, he can deal with the consequences.”
Note to self, Baylee thought as she shivered at the viciousness of Saxa’s words; this one is not, never will be, a friend. Consequences. Although she still couldn’t quite believe her body harbored new life, Baylee pressed a hand to her stomach in a protective move.
“Why must you be such a bitch, Saxa?” A new voice chimed in, sounding bored. “The girl has done nothing to you. The consequences you so readily dismiss are
your blood kin.”
“They’re no kin of mine.”
Her entire situation summed up in five bitterly passionate words. Baylee couldn’t be more aware she’d never be a part of what Dax wanted her to be part of; the community wasn’t open to discussion on that point. But she’d harbored a wish, a dwindling hope that they would see past the questionable lineage of her children’s mother and accept them as their father’s blood.
“Spoken like a true spoiled brat. This Baylee means something to Daxon. If he says he’s found his mate, none of us have the right to deny him. He’s been groomed from birth to take over from Father; he needs some light in his life.”
Baylee heard something crash, followed by a stern, “Hey!”
“You’ve followed him around since the day you could walk, Reena. Daxon’s shadow, trailing him around like a pathetic puppy. Why don’t you shut the fuck up and go back to teaching your kindergartners? It’s about all you’re good for.” That snide voice became cold, an arctic winter in vocal form.
“Enough!” This voice, again female, carried an authoritative ring. There was power there, strong enough to twist words and shatter them into pieces. “Bickering like adolescent cubs. I’m disgusted. Five beautiful girls born to me and not one of you behaves like a child of Shax.”
Brilliant. Baylee sighed. Not only had she intruded into the valley, she’d stepped into a sibling war. Maybe—if her luck turned from piss-poor to average—she could find an ally among the clan’s chain of command.
“All of you will behave around Baylee. Her welcome was not one I am proud of; as my daughters, you will give her reception, warm and willing—yes, Saxa, that includes you—and show her we are not all monsters. Pagan, Bekka, Thalia, you’re excused. I expect you to be ready for dinner at six.”
Baylee leaned forward, managed to catch the sound of feet and the closing of a door. Even that small movement sent her head reeling, and she eased back gently to set it on the thin, flat pillow beneath her.
Wild: Hangman's Haunt Book 1 Page 22