Eventide of the Bear

by Cherise Sinclair

  A fist hit her forehead, splitting the skin. Blood filled her eyes even as another blow landed on her cheek. She staggered back into other bodies. Other shifters. Watching the battle.

  “Stop them!” Blinded by the blood pouring down her face, she clutched one female’s arm and was pushed away.

  The growls increased. Clothing tore as both males trawsfurred into animals. Panther and bear.

  Savage snarls. Bellows. Shrieks. Thuds. A ghastly sound of wheezing. The bear’s jaws tore into the cat’s throat. Even as blood sprayed the air, the panther’s hind legs clawed through the bear’s fur-covered stomach and groin, shredding skin and muscles and arteries.

  Bellowing in agony, Andre flung Gary away. Blood was everywhere, splattering the floor and walls.

  And then there was silence.

  Still dazed, Emma could only whimper in denial as, in death, the bodies shifted back to human. Bits of blood-soaked fabric still clung to them. Gary’s throat had been torn out. Andre’s whole abdomen was sliced open.

  Her bloody hands covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes.

  “In the God’s name, what is going on?” Still unclothed from mating, the Cosantir leaped down the stairs. He shoved through the cluster of shifters blocking the halls and saw the bodies. His face turned white.

  “Gary?” He sank to his knees beside his son. Touched the lifeless body.

  Oh, no. The anguish in his face battered Emma, hurting her heart, bringing tears to her eyes. The shifters in the hall were silent as he turned his head, taking in the carnage.

  Like a crippled elder, he struggled to his feet. “What happened?” His voice was hoarse.

  “Rich bitch Cavanaugh made them fight over her.” Standing next to Marnie, CeeCee pointed directly at Emma.

  “Yeah. The bear teased them into it,” Marnie confirmed.

  The Cosantir’s gaze turned cold, seeping into her, freezing her bones.

  Emma shook her head. “No. I-I didn’t want—”

  “Wait a minute,” said someone behind her. “She didn’t—”

  “She’s as bad as her mother,” a female said. “Cavanaughs.” She made the word into a curse.

  “Getting a thrill from goading males into fights that leave them crippled. Scarred.” Cedrick’s fingers traced a bite scar on his shoulder before his gaze dropped to Gary’s body.

  She hadn’t caused the fight, had she? But they’d killed each other…because of her. Emma shook her head again. No.

  The movement made the Cosantir look at her. Grief and fury rolled from him in icy waves. “I had no choice but to tolerate your mother.” His voice harshened. “You, though… I should have dealt with you before you cost us so much.”

  A few protests came from the shifters in the hallway—too few, too soft. The Cosantir ignored them, his gaze never leaving her. “Emma Cavanaugh, you are cast out from the Daonain, banished from us. Forever.”

  As despair filled her, she simply stood as he trawsfurred into his cat form. His paw rose. Claws slashed across her face.

  And she made no sound at all.

  Chapter One

  ‡

  North Cascades Territory – dark of the moon

  BRIGHT STARS FILLED the black sky, unchallenged by any rival light, because tonight was dark of the moon.

  The dank forest air was pungent with the fir and pine needles underfoot. The rain-slick mud on the trail clogged irritatingly in Emma’s paws. Her fur was matted, her nose wet. She gave a grumbling cough, and her ears flickered when a rabbit darted away. Too fast for her, unfortunately. Besides, her stomach was fairly full. The stream was full of trout, and fishing was one of her finer skills.

  Still… She clouted a rotting log and nosed out the scuttling inhabitants beneath. Mostly grubs. A few crunchy beetles. Only a fool turned down a light dessert. And she was no fool.

  Well, not about food.

  She stopped to listen to the humans in a wilderness campground. Their laughter and chatter rang through the trees, filling her heart with delight. Not her people, but oh, the sound of them was so wonderful. They, too, had been successful at the stream, and the chill mountain air carried the scent of fried fish.

  Her mouth watered. Cooked food. Her bear form preferred raw, but she remembered how good prepared food had tasted. These days, she rarely bothered.

  Reluctantly leaving behind the campground, Emma ambled toward her den in an uprooted tree hollow and thought wistfully of the cave in which she’d holed up last winter. Very few bear shifters ever hibernated, but she’d needed to escape the loneliness of the long, long nights. When spring finally arrived, she’d resumed wandering through the mountain range.

  Daonain often died after being banished. Now, she understood why. If she hadn’t been used to being lonely all her life, she’d have given up her first winter.

  How many times had she despaired over the last three years?

  She missed voices the most… Children’s giggles. The gardener’s low grumble at finding a weed. The maid’s humming as she dusted. Emma could survive without hot showers and cooked food, and books. She could sing to the pixies and tell stories to the undines in the streams, but she longed for voices the way a flower fairy craved rose blooms.

  Human campgrounds lured her close far too often.

  A foul stench on the wind made her paw at her affronted nose. By the Hunter, it smelled like a rotting carcass covered in moldering oranges. The fur on her back rose.

  Overhead, a pixie chittered and disappeared into its hole.

  Emma increased her gait to put distance between herself and…whatever that was.

  A scream came from behind her. Another. Then shrieks of pain and shouting filled the air. An animal snarled. A man bellowed. Something was attacking the campground. The humans.

  Emma hesitated and kept going. A bear couldn’t help them. And Daonain Law forbade any action that might reveal the shifters’ existence to humankind.

  “Mommy! Daddeeee!”

  The high-pitched shriek of a child turned Emma as if a leash was around her neck. Abandoning the path, she galloped straight through the underbrush and broke into a forest clearing.

  A fire in a stone pit cast flickering, red light across a nightmare. Two human men lay on the ground, one gutted. The stench of blood and bowels hung in the air, recalling the hideous night from three years past. Her stomach twisted.

  Three women and two children huddled on the far side, their men trying to protect them from a…a creature.

  Grizzly-sized, but rendered almost prehistoric with bony, spiked plates. Its head was shark-shaped with terrifyingly huge, pointed fangs.

  Oh my Goddess, a hellhound.

  As terror iced her blood, her courage shattered. She froze. Even the God’s enormous cahirs couldn’t win against a demon-dog. She was just a small bear.

  The monster darted forward and seized a man’s shoulder in massive jaws.

  “Fuck. No!” Shouting, the human hammered it with his fist.

  The blows rained off the creature’s back like snowflakes. After tossing the man aside, it stalked toward the women. The children.

  No, not the cubs.

  The humans were losing. Couldn’t protect them. Move, bear. She had nothing to lose. Not really. She could save the children.

  Jolted out of paralysis, Emma charged the hellhound. She swung her paw, wide and heavy, expecting her thick claws to rip hunks from its flesh.

  Her paw impacted—the creature barely swayed—and she felt a hideous snapping as the toes of her forepaw broke.

  As her claws scraped uselessly across its ridged armor plates, the hellhound whipped around. Its mammoth jaws closed on her hind leg. Razor-teeth sliced through her fur and into her flesh.

  Pain.

  Roaring, Emma slashed her undamaged forepaw across the thing’s head. Its armored head. She didn’t even scratch it.

  The hellhound bit down viciously, and her bones shattered.

  At the blast of agony, she panicked. Her paws ba
ttered at its head, but her claws were worthless against its armor. The armor covered its whole body—nothing was vulnerable. Except…

  Instinctively, she twisted her foreleg and shoved her claws directly at the recessed left eye. One penetrated.

  The creature shrieked horrifically and scrambled backward.

  Freed, Emma tore away across the clearing, her savaged leg dragging behind her. At the forest’s edge, she hesitated. Turned.

  Shaking its head, the hellhound splattered blood everywhere. With another shriek, it fled into the forest.

  Victory. But at what cost? Head sagging, Emma moaned as the pain increased, a red fire encompassing her leg.

  The humans stared at her. One lifted his branch—his weapon—threateningly. As if she could be a threat. On three legs. But she was a bear. Of course they were frightened.

  As she forced herself to move away, the enormity of the disaster struck her. Her leg was past merely broken. Shattered bones wouldn’t heal.

  She was crippled. Alone. But if a slow death was the price she had to pay, she was content. Because, with the Goddess’s help, she had saved the little ones.

  Chapter Two

  ‡

  Farway, Deschutes Territory

  “YOU HAVE A cub. Just don’t tell that screaming shrew I was the one who ratted her out. I still have to live in the Deschutes Territory.”

  Standing on the sidewalk in the town where he’d once lived, Ryder Llwyd remembered the pity and worry in Harold’s expression. The male had good reason for his anxiety; Genevieve held vicious grudges. Sliding his hand under his jacket, Ryder touched the rough bite and scratch scars on his left shoulder. Those weren’t the worst of the wounds she’d given him in their months together.

  Apparently, she’d given him something else as well.

  A cub. What the fuck would he do with a child? He wasn’t a female or good at nurturing. He was an unmated male who didn’t even have a littermate to help, because he’d chosen a malicious, self-centered female over his brother.

  By the God, he was as stupid as a garbage-addicted gnome.

  Deep in his soul, the frayed littermate bond ached far worse than any bite. Over the years, the link had grown more painful until he’d known he had to try to make amends. Only a week ago, he’d left the Garibaldi Territory in Canada, heading toward the Pacific Northwest.

  Toward Ben.

  His only hope was that his brother would be able to forgive him.

  And then he’d run into Harold and ended up detouring to Farway.

  “Your little girl is around four. And hate to say this, cat, but your cub isn’t loved. Isn’t taken care of. Looks worse each month.”

  By Herne’s hairy balls.

  Ryder scrubbed his hands over his face, feeling the rasp of unshaven skin. Genevieve with a cub? Tough to imagine. She loathed children.

  He studied her house. It was a shit piece of construction. Even without a level, he could see the doorframe wasn’t square. Gaps showed around the windows, and the cracked roof shingles were going bald. The house color had probably been blue before fading to a mottled gray. The thought of a child of his living here under Genevieve’s care was…not to be borne.

  After crossing the weed-filled lawn, he stood on a sagging step and listened. From inside came the distinctive mating sounds of slapping flesh and grunting. Obviously, the occupants were anticipating the full moon tomorrow.

  Wait until she finishes? No. Ryder pounded on the door.

  “Who the fuck is here?” a male snapped from inside.

  Ryder knocked again.

  Thumps and swearing. Footsteps. The door swung open, releasing the pungent scent of sex…and filth and rotting food. Genevieve was still a crap housekeeper, it seemed.

  Buttoning her blouse, she stood in the doorway, impeccably made up…of course. The world might fall apart around her, but her appearance would never suffer. “Ryder! Well…” Her eyes narrowed.

  Just the sight of her made his guts twist. He pushed past her and into the house.

  Stinking of whiskey, a skinny young male on the living room couch grabbed for his jeans. “By the God, what’s the rush?” The male tried unsuccessfully to stand.

  Ryder turned to Genevieve. “Where’s my cub?”

  “Who? What cub?” She widened her eyes.

  Ryder knew the I’m-so-confused trick. Knew most of her tricks.

  Glare fading, the male offered Ryder a slack-faced grin. “You’re Minette’s sire? Should have seen it. She looks just like you.”

  Minette. Now the cub had a name. “Where is she?”

  “She’s around. Probably…” The male’s mouth shut, and he looked away.

  The cub was here when adults were fucking in the living room? Sure, the Daonain were fairly open about mating. Not that open.

  Ryder stalked to the doors at the back of the house. One was obviously Genevieve’s. Jewelry and clothing lay in piles on the dresser and nightstands. The king-size bed stank of mating and her nose-clogging perfume.

  He opened the other bedroom door. The scent of mildew and dirt mingled with little girl sweetness. The room held no bed, no dresser—no furniture at all. The wood floor was gouged and rough, and the puke-green walls displayed fist-sized holes. Small, battered shoes lay in the center of the room. A pile of blankets filled one corner.

  No child.

  He returned to the living room. Genevieve and the male hadn’t moved.

  The young fuck-buddy would be easier to intimidate. “Where. Is. She?” he growled at the male.

  The male paled. “Uh, sometimes she runs out back if—” He edged away from Genevieve.

  If her mother had one of her screaming fits?

  When he’d lived with Genevieve, he’d done the same. Ryder went out the back door and across the barren yard. A straggly wire fence. No toys. One aged oak tree. No good hiding places. However, as he crossed the weedy excuse for a lawn, he spotted a tree pixie hiding on the lowest branch. It was dividing its attention between him and something in the hollow dug out between the oak’s roots.

  Ryder approached the tree slowly and looked down.

  A tiny child huddled in the damp and dark burrow. So thin. Big, hazel eyes stared up at him. Bruises showed on her chin and one cheekbone, with more scattered on her bare arms and legs.

  The Goddess would weep.

  Slowly, he went down on one knee. What did one say to a cub? Hell, he didn’t even enjoy talking to adults.

  “Hey.” He swallowed, feeling huge as he stared at the miniature person. “You must be Minette.”

  She cringed away, breaking his heart.

  Her shirt and shorts were torn. Her brown hair was matted. And her scent said she hadn’t been washed in a long time. How could anyone—even Genevieve—treat a cub so poorly? Rage boiled in his veins—but he shut it down. And tried to smile.

  The bone structure of her face was a feminine version of his own, as was the dent above her upper lip. The straight nose and high cheekbones were not only his, but reminded him of how Ben looked at five. Minette was his, all right. It wouldn’t matter if she weren’t. He wouldn’t leave a badger cub in this place, let alone a shifter child.

  “I’m your daddy, Minette.” Only a hint of a growl crept into the words. “I’m going to take you to a place where you’ll have a soft bed and all the food you want to eat.”

  No reaction. Not even tears.

  Herne help him, what would he do if she cried?

  Feeling like crying himself, he leaned forward. She didn’t fight as he lifted her and cradled her against his chest. She couldn’t weigh more than a feather. Too fucking light.

  He walked into the house. “She’s going with me.”

  “Oh, no. No, she’s not. That’s my cub.” Genevieve blocked the front door, hands on her hips.

  His anger increased to a roaring fire. No. Don’t scare the baby. “She’s mine, as well, and you obviously aren’t capable of caring for a child.”

  Calculation flickered in
her gaze before her lower lip quivered, and she held her hands out. “You don’t understand, my love. Since you abandoned me, I’ve had a dreadful time. Look at where I’m—Minette and I are—living. Such a dump. We need you, Ryder.”

  “Right. I can see how undernourished you are. The rags you’re forced to wear.” He ran his gaze over her well-fleshed body clothed in a perfectly fitted silk skirt and blouse. “I’m taking my child. I wouldn’t take you on a bet.”

  “Oh, Ryder. Darling…”

  “Move, or I’ll move you, and you won’t like it.”

  “Damon,” she yelled. Her voice held the viciousness he’d grown familiar with before he left. “Stop him! Don’t let him take my baby.”

  In Ryder’s arms, Minette had started to shake. She still hadn’t said a word. “Sorry, kitten,” he said under his breath.

  Having managed to don his pants, Damon almost tripped on his shoes. He stood, swaying slightly. “But, Gen, you said she was a worthless brat. Why don’t you let him—”

  With a scream, Genevieve launched herself at Ryder. She might be a wolf, but he’d learned the hard way she used her fingernails as effectively as any werecat.

  Sidestepping, he caught her arm with his free hand and propelled her into the male. As they went down in a tangle of limbs and curses, Ryder looked back at the female who had destroyed his life.

  He opened his mouth, then shook his head. There really was nothing to say. With luck, she’d forget her offspring and continue fucking her way through the males of Deschutes Territory.

  Silently, he walked out of the house with his newfound cub.

  Herne help them both.

  Chapter Three

  ‡

  Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory – full moon

  BENJAMIN LLWYD INHALED slowly. The firelight in the small room above the Wild Hunt Tavern glowed off the female’s dusky skin. The scents of musk, sex, and wood smoke hung in the air. Ben drove his cock deeper, pumping quickly. Sarah had already climaxed twice, but had come into arousal again before he’d gotten her moving and out of the room.

  She wasn’t a particularly likable female. He’d only brought her to the mating room because it was easier to mate with her than to keep brushing her off. Nonetheless, a decent male didn’t leave a female in need. He’d get her off one more time.