Eventide of the Bear

by Cherise Sinclair

  Donal walked in, nodded to her, and pointed to the staircase. “I’m sorry, my lad. I know he’s heavy, but I want him upstairs on his bed.”

  “You’re the healer?” Ryder asked. To Emma’s surprise, he put an arm around her waist to steady her. “Why is he still bleeding? Why didn’t you work on him where this happened?”

  “I slowed the bleeding down, but his shoulder bones are shattered,” Donal said. “I’ll have to make an incision to get in and align the fragments.”

  Cut him? Emma wanted to shake the stupid healer, to shove him back out the door.

  “And, as you noted, he’s bleeding,” Alec said. “On the off chance there’s another hellhound, the scent of blood would draw it like a fly to carrion.”

  She felt Ryder flinch. He pulled in a breath. “Got it. Healer, what do you require?”

  “Just yourself. And Emma.” Donal led the way up the stairs. “The cahir must return to patrol, so I’ll need you both to help hold Ben still.”

  Hold him? While the healer hurt him more? Her feet stopped. Her throat tightened with tears. She couldn’t. Ever. The breath she released held a sob.

  “Shhh, little bear.” Ryder squeezed her waist and pulled her along with him. “He’ll be all right. We’ll see to it.”

  She’d asked the Mother to watch over Ben. To bring him home safely. Now it was her turn to pull her weight. “Yes.” She looked up into Ryder’s dark, intense eyes and felt only gratitude. “Thank you.”

  *

  AN ETERNITY LATER, Ryder’s guts were so knotted that his insides threatened to come up. After healing the savage bite wounds on Ben’s side, Donal had sliced into Ben’s shoulder so he could push the bones in place.

  Ryder was holding down his brother’s injured right arm. Emma sat on the other side of the bed, leaning against Ben and holding his left hand. Neither of them were needed, because Ben had awakened even before the healer started. Although sweat covered his face with the strain of holding still, he hadn’t moved an inch.

  Watching his littermate suffer was the most horrible thing Ryder had ever endured.

  When the healer dug his fingers into the sliced flesh and pushed a bone somewhere, Ben let out the moan a bear only gives when in agony.

  Ryder’s control snapped. “For the Mother’s sake, healer, give him something more than a fucking local for the pain.”

  “You’ve spent too much time around humans, cat. Seen them handing out narcotics like candy.” The healer didn’t look away from his work, although his lips curved cynically. “Giving pain medication to a Daonain is…chancy. Some shifters do fine having their senses blurred. But if hurt badly, some will trawsfur. I can handle a cub or small wolf, but an enraged grizzly? Not so much.”

  Ryder shook his head. “He wouldn’t—

  “He might,” Emma interrupted. Ever since the healer had started, she’d been silently crying, and her face was wet from tears. “When the healer hurts you, it’s difficult not to shift. Especially when”—she breathed out slowly—“when evil caused the injury. Pain brings the memories back.”

  Donal shot her a quick smile. “Your restraint was appreciated, especially if you thought I was a hellhound attacking you again.”

  Ryder straightened. “You really were attacked by a hellhound?”

  Scowling, she met his gaze…and then her face softened. “Yes. I really was.”

  “It was a wonder the bard survived,” Donal said. “Demon-dogs leave behind only savaged flesh and shattered bones.”

  Returning to his work, the healer dug deeper into the wound, and Ben moaned again. Donal pulled out a fragment of bone. “Easy, Griz. Almost done here.”

  Ryder felt Ben’s pain pulsing through the brother bond—and had to concentrate to keep himself from trawsfurring.

  Instead, he turned his gaze to the little female. She’d wrapped her right hand around Ben’s wrist. In turn, his fingers were wrapped around her left so tightly his knuckles were white. She made no effort to free herself from the painful grip.

  Genevieve wouldn’t have let herself be hurt; Emma hadn’t said a word.

  Savaged flesh. Emma regarded the clean hole in Ben’s shoulder. “A hellhound didn’t bite him. His shoulder isn’t a mess like my leg.”

  “You’re right.” Alec walked in the door, his gaze on Ben.

  Feeling as if he was waking from a nightmare, Ryder realized sunlight was spilling into the room. The long night was over. “If not the hellhound, what fucked up his shoulder?”

  “A bullet from one of the cahirs here to be trained.” The sheriff dropped into a chair off to one side. “Wesley was supposed to get the hellhound’s attention—nothing else. Ben’s job was to gut the demon-dog with a knife. He was under the hellhound when Wesley started shooting. I don’t know if Wesley hit Ben directly or if the bullet ricocheted off the hellhound’s armored plates.”

  Some cahir had shot his littermate? Fury rose in Ryder. “Where is the bastard? I’ll—”

  “He’s dead.” Ben’s voice was hoarse with grief and pain.

  “Aye. He has returned to the Mother.” The sorrow on Alec’s face matched Ben’s. “The bullet destroyed Ben’s chance to use his knife, and the hellhound charged Wesley.”

  “Why did he shoot if he wasn’t supposed to?” Emma asked. “I didn’t think cahirs got scared.”

  The healer snorted. “Only an idiot would face a hellhound without fear.”

  Ben met Ryder’s gaze and half-grinned his agreement.

  “We were scared, Emma,” Alec said softly. “Cahirs only manage to continue because our protective instincts are stronger than our fears.”

  “You attacked a hellhound to save a child.” Donal gave her a glance from silver-gray eyes. “Weren’t you afraid?”

  After a second, she nodded her understanding.

  Her understanding? To save a child? Ryder’s preconceptions were disappearing faster than shadows fleeing before the dawn.

  Her nightgown and robe had worked up to above her right knee, exposing the remnants of the wound. The pink and white scars laid out an ugly pattern of torn muscles and skin. The rows of puncture marks were mute evidence of a bite from a huge jaw.

  She hadn’t lied. And she’d risked her life to save a child. Taken on a hellhound. By the God, no wonder Ben had assured him she’d never hurt Minette.

  Fuck, he’d been as blind as a drunken dwarf at dawn.

  An hour later, Ryder staggered into his bathroom. Sweat had plastered his shirt to his back. Tears burned his eyes; his throat felt raw, and his hands shook as he bent over the sink to splash cold water on his face.

  “By the God, bro,” he whispered. He’d far rather have his claws ripped out one by one than watch his brother put through such agony.

  With a grunt of effort, he straightened. It was over. Ben would be all right, although he’d have to take it easy for a few days until the re-set bones had a chance to knit and finish healing.

  Leaning on the sink, Ryder let his mind think toward the future. He wasn’t as good a crew boss as his littermate, but until Ben was back to normal, Ryder would do whatever needed to be done.

  Right.

  Time to check on Minette. And somehow watch over Ben as well.

  Two steps outside his bedroom, he ran into someone. The soft squeak and light cinnamon-and-flower scent told him who. “Emma.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered. “I was… He might get chilled.” She lifted the blanket in her hand.

  “You plan to sit with him.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was hoarse from the tears she’d smothered. “I’m afraid he won’t call out, even if he needs something.”

  “You know him well.” Ryder studied her, this little female who obviously cared for his brother. All night, with every moan Ben had made, the anguish had deepened in her face. “He’ll be pleased to have you beside him.”

  Her blink of surprise at his compliment shamed him. Time to man up, cat. “Emma, I’m sorry for accusing you of lying. For the coldness I
’ve shown you since I arrived. I hope you can forgive me.”

  “O-of course.” She hesitated. “Can you tell me what I did to make you…um…”

  “Be such an asshole?” By the God, he should be taken by the scruff and given a good shake. “You did nothing wrong,” he said firmly. “Aside from being female.”

  “You hate me because I’m female?”

  She sounded so appalled, he grinned. Because she deserved far better than the way he’d treated her, he tried to explain. “I’ve obviously met the wrong kind of females. And the last one”—the last one had totally screwed with his head—“was Minette’s mother.”

  “Oh. I wondered.” She paused, and her brows furrowed. “How did she die?”

  “Die?” His bitter laugh made the little female flinch. Hell. Carefully, he laid his hand on her shoulder. So soft and warm. “I’m sorry I laughed. But Genevieve isn’t dead.”

  “Oh.” Her pale brows pulled together. “Then…why do you have her cub?”

  “She wasn’t taking care of Minette. Genevieve craves having males waiting on her. To be the center of attention, she’ll scheme, tell tales, manipulate—and even set male against male. Minette was…inconvenient.”

  “Oh.” Emma looked disgusted. Then she frowned. “So mostly because of one person, you think all females lie?”

  Didn’t that make him sound like an idiot?

  Accepting the hit, Ryder gave her a rueful smile. “I didn’t catch on until now how distrustful I’ve become. But, yeah, with everything a single female says, I look for hidden meanings and lies.”

  “That’s not good.” Her eyes lit with hope—for him? Damn, she was cute. “But you know now you’ve got a problem with your interactions with females?”

  “Yeah.” He tugged a lock of her hair in the way Ben would. “I’ll work on it. Will you help out by walloping me if I mess up?” A wallop from the little bear would be far less painful than one from the grizzly.

  “Me?” She almost squeaked.

  “Please?”

  In wonder, he watched her straighten her spine. “Yes, of course. I’d be happy to assist.”

  The shy little bear would step out of her cave because someone needed help. He really had been a dumbass.

  Regarding her, now with no preconceptions, he noticed that everything about her was appealing—her straight gaze, the way she faced her problems despite her fears, how she tried to pull her own weight no matter how much her leg hurt, how she cared for Minette, her joy when she was singing.

  And more than anything, the way her kindness flowed from her like a blessed fountain.

  Chapter Fifteen

  ‡

  BEN’S SHOULDER FELT as if a dwarf was excavating it with a pointed pickax. Pain or not, he was fucking starving. Time to raid the kitchen.

  With a grunt of effort, he managed to sit up in his bed. He cursed as the sling Donal insisted he wear slipped sideways and pulled painfully.

  “What are you doing?” Leaning on her cane, Emma stood in the doorway.

  “What’s up, honey bear?” His question came out jagged as hemlock bark.

  Glowering, she limped into the room—and he didn’t…really… notice the way her hips filled her jeans. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

  Fuck, she was cute. And he inwardly cheered when her emotions swept away her shyness. “Sun’s up.”

  “But…but you nearly died.” She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare move. Donal said you were to stay in bed this morning.”

  He planned to ignore the idiotic restriction. Although he might have to skip work for a day or two. Thank the Mother that Ryder’d volunteered to oversee the crews—and the poor cat would hate every second of being forced to interact with others.

  “I’ll be good,” Ben said. “If you bring me some breakfast.”

  “Already prepared. The Cosantir arrived and said he’d carry it upstairs.” She bit her lip…her very soft, curved lip. “A Cosantir shouldn’t perform such a lowly task.”

  Calum entered the room behind her with his customary cat-footed silence, and his dark gray eyes lit with amusement. “As the owner of a tavern, I am quite accustomed to carrying trays.”

  Emma spun and almost tripped.

  Calum tilted his head. “You see why I carried the tray? You aren’t yet up to managing without your cane.”

  “She isn’t, so thank you, Calum.”

  Wearing a quite kissable pout, Emma propped pillows behind his back before pulling out a lap table from under the bed. As she set it over his thighs, he smelled freshly cut, unfinished wood. “Where’d you get this?”

  “Ryder made it this morning before he headed out to check on your construction crews.” She moved out of Calum’s way.

  Calum put the tray down, glanced at Ben’s shoulder, and poured the coffee for him as well.

  Ben looked down at the tray. Someone knew his preferences. The plate held a heaping mound of bacon and freshly scrambled eggs. The toast was already buttered and covered with a generous amount of honey. As the scents wafted up, his appetite turned to a raging hunger. “Thank you, Emma. I’m starving.”

  Her flush was delightful. “I hope it’s edible. Ryder showed me how to scramble eggs and cook bacon when he made breakfast for Minette.”

  Good job, Ryder. Ben took a big bite and another. Excellent. The little female learned fast. And she’d shown courage in risking another culinary failure; he’d seen how the last one had devastated her. “You’re a damn good cook, li’l bear. This is fantastic.”

  Her audible sigh of relief made him laugh.

  Even Calum grinned. Just why was the Cosantir paying him a visit?

  “Did anything else happen last night?” Ben asked. Surely, there hadn’t been another hellhound.

  “The rest of the night was quiet.” When Calum settled into a chair beside the bed, Emma stood by the window like a silent guard. “A car accident down Highway 20 has Alec occupied, so he asked me to update you on our conclusions.” By Calum’s request, after any incident during their patrols, the cahirs reported to him. He’d have heard how and why the young cahir died.

  As dark guilt flooded his veins, Ben set his fork down, appetite gone. “Wesley was my responsibility last night. His death is on my head.”

  “No.” Emma moved to stand between him and the Cosantir…who hadn’t stirred. “Ben didn’t cause his death. He couldn’t. Don’t you blame Ben.”

  Calum’s lips twitched. “No, Benjamin didn’t. But I’m glad to know he has someone to guard him until he’s back on his feet.”

  With a suspicious stare, she settled at the foot of the bed, as if ensuring she’d be close enough to take action if need be.

  Ben felt an unexpected warmth burning away some of the chill.

  “The other cahirs agreed you did everything correctly,” Calum said quietly. “They also said Wesley started off in the right way, playing decoy for the hellhound.”

  Ben shook his head. “I didn’t do everything, or—”

  “Stop.” The word wasn’t loud, but held enough of a Cosantir’s power to make Ben’s jaws snap shut. “I want you to think through the event—only this time, imagine Alec in your place. Tell me what he’d have done differently.”

  Under the level gaze, Ben replayed the night’s disaster, minute by minute. Alec would have run up behind the hellhound, done the same twist onto his back…would have been shot. The sheriff possessed as much determination as Ben, but his frame was smaller. The bullet could have killed or completely incapacitated him.

  Either way, the result wouldn’t have changed. Wesley would still have died.

  Calum leaned back in his chair, not needing to hear Ben’s conclusions. “Exactly.”

  The knot in Ben’s gut relaxed slightly. If only Wesley hadn’t fired, Ben would have gutted the hellhound. “But…why? Why did Wesley shoot?”

  “Ah. Alec said Sarah was screaming at Wesley to kill the hellhound. To save her. Right before he lost it, she’d started shrie
king, ‘Shoot. Shoot. Shoot.’ ”

  He must have been rolling under the hellhound right then. “I heard her. No wonder Wes lost focus.” By the God, what a mess.

  Emma asked, “What does her screaming have to do with anything?” She was rubbing his leg, as if trying to comfort a cub. It worked, actually.

  “At a certain age, male shifters are impelled to procreate and are susceptible to emotional females,” Calum said. “The drive to impress a female can overcome even the instinct for survival.”

  “So he wouldn’t have died if…” The color faded from Emma’s face, leaving her milk white. “The female caused the young male’s death?”

  Calum nodded. “She couldn’t have anticipated the result. Nonetheless, some females revel in inciting males to violence.”

  Ben nodded.

  Calum set one finger on the tray. “If you don’t eat this breakfast, I will.”

  The gesture and threat set off the bear instincts. With a low growl, Ben pulled the tray closer and started to eat, rediscovering his appetite.

  Emma gave a half-hearted chuckle. “We’re truly ruled by animal instincts, aren’t we?”

  “Often more than we’re willing to acknowledge,” Calum said ruefully. “If Wesley had been warned about the effect of an endangered female’s screams, he might have been able to throw it off.”

  “Aye,” Ben agreed slowly. “He was a sharp lad, although hankering to be a hero. The decoy assignment annoyed him, so her goading fit right in with his own inclinations.”

  “Ah. I see.” Calum rose.

  “The rites for Wesley will be at sundown.” Calum inclined his head toward Emma. “If the bard would care to sing, the gift would be valued. But it isn’t mandated.”

  Emma nodded, not committing.

  But why?

  As Calum left, Ben considered her. Her golden eyelashes were a thick fringe on her cheek as she stared at her hands in her lap. Her loose hair blanketed her shoulders in a silken mass. By the God, she was a compelling female. And impossible to understand. “I thought bards liked to sing.”

  Her soft brown eyes were unhappy. “I didn’t know Wesley. How can I do him justice in a song?”