*
AFTER THE ENDLESS night, the breakfast feast, and the singing, Emma had only enough strength to pull on a robe before she collapsed on her bed.
Brow creased with concern, Ryder hovered in the doorway. Behind him, Ben was making worried sounds under his breath like an aged grandsire.
Although their concern turned her insides squishy, she needed to be alone. Her breath hitched, and her eyes prickled with tears.
“By the God, Emma.” Aghast, Ryder started forward. “Don’t cry.”
She motioned toward the door. “Go on, you two. I’m fine. I just need to rest for a bit.” To be alone.
Ben nodded his understanding, yanked his littermate out of the room, and closed the door.
She had a moment to think how funny it was that the aloof cat was the brother most upset by her tears, and then…those tears spilled over and scalded her scratched cheeks. A sob escaped, and she buried her face in the pillow to muffle her weeping.
Oh, she wanted to scream. To hit something. To yell and mourn, and laugh and cry. And all she could do was cry.
Gary and Andre’s deaths hadn’t been her fault. Not. My. Fault.
She hadn’t been banished. Not ever. The God hadn’t agreed with the Cosantir’s judgment. She hadn’t had to spend years alone, feeling hated.
So many long, silent nights, cold and hungry, yearning for her clan. Ragged sobs tore at her throat.
And still, she couldn’t hate Cedrick. He’d lost his son. Was no longer the powerful male of her youth. The years of grief…and hatred…had damaged him. Broken him.
The years had changed her, as well, for better and for worse.
Her weeping slowed. Stopped.
The pillow was wet against her cheek as she lay quietly, feeling better for the catharsis.
The years were over and done, and couldn’t be reclaimed. However, the master bard had taught her to study the past, even while remembering the Mother was a goddess of balance.
A wise shifter would note her blessings as well as her trials.
Blessings. Hmm. Well, although the years in the wilderness had been lonely ones, she’d also matured. She wasn’t as…flutter-brained…as many females her age.
During the time alone, she’d also grown as a bard, even if her audience had been tree fairies and birds.
Looking back on her youth, she knew her mother had left her overly…sensitive…to opinion. Emma expected other people to judge her harshly, and being alone had made the problem worse. She needed to work on those insecurities—although, like Ryder, she might mess up now and again.
Her lips curved up. It had been fun to punch him. However, considering the size and hardness of his fist, she wouldn’t ask him to do the same with her.
He’d sure been unhappy she hadn’t shared her past with him. She should have, but she’d been afraid. Fear had made her do quite a few stupid things, hadn’t it? Starting with behaving like a pursued goose when she’d run into Gawain.
Sitting up, Emma wiped her face and grinned ruefully. She deserved points for…eventually…conquering her panic and turning around. A half-laugh escaped her. Maybe conquer wasn’t the right word. More like barely managed. Still, she’d been returning to face him. She wasn’t a coward. Not completely.
The time when her need had controlled her actions had been frightening in a whole different way. Living around other shifters—male shifters—had apparently increased her sex drive to a fearsome pitch. In her desperation to return to the Gathering, she could easily have gone off a cliff.
She shook her head as she stared at her dirty hands. Two fingernails had been shredded down to the quick. Her palms were abraded and sliced in places. Her whole body was scraped from branches, bruised from falls. She’d been out of her mind.
Mating with Ben under the full moon, on the other hand, had been a whole different kind of madness.
She closed her eyes and remembered the feel of his sure hands, the powerful way he’d taken her, so fierce, yet totally in control. His demands had pulled her with him until she hadn’t felt anything except her need and his pleasure in satisfying it.
At her first Gathering—before everything had gone wrong—the matings had been pleasurable. With Ben, the sex had been overwhelmingly, terrifyingly intense. But, could she have let go if she hadn’t felt so safe as well? In his arms, she was sheltered.
Over the weeks in his home, she’d come to trust him. To desire him. To love him.
Was this what lifemates felt?
A breath caught in her chest. Maybe now she’d have a chance to answer the question.
She could stay here in Cold Creek, where they valued her as a bard. Where she had friends who stood beside her. She snorted. And where friends instructed her on the fine art of punching a wayward male.
Above all, the most thrilling—frightening—wonderful part of staying in Cold Creek was that Ben and Ryder lived here.
Needing comfort, she gathered her pillow into her arms. For years, she hadn’t needed to think about risking anything other than her physical safety. Risking her heart was—be honest, bard—a done deal. The two males already owned her heart.
She’d fallen for Ben a long time before, Ryder more recently, but no less powerfully. Just as well she loved them both, since they couldn’t be separated.
What did they think of her, though? Could they possibly…ever…want her for more than a female friend?
She’d mated with Ben. Ryder’d kissed her. He’d wanted to mate with her at the Gathering, Would he still be interested when the moon waned?
With an irritated laugh, she buried her head in her pillow. Actually living life was nerve-racking.
But she had time, didn’t she? Perhaps that was the greatest gift Cedrick’s appearance and the resolution of her worries had given her. There was time to figure all this out.
She gave a determined nod. And she would.
A tap at the door dislodged her thoughts.
Before she could answer, the door opened, and the healer stepped inside. “The Cosantir said you needed tending.” His silvery gaze took her in, head to toe, and his lean face darkened with anger. “By the God’s fucking balls, what have you done to yourself?”
*
RYDER OPENED EMMA’S bedroom door and stepped in. Sounded as if Donal was still on a rant.
“By Herne’s holy prick, I better not have to come and do another healing. If you want to go running off in the forest, you fucking wait until I say you can. Am I clear?”
Her eyes, red-rimmed from recent tears, sparked with irritation. Nonetheless, she said, contritely, “Yes, Healer.”
Ryder grinned, his worry receding. She’d had one fucking traumatic night, had undoubtedly had a cry fest and, despite the healer’s work, still looked battered, but her spirit was alive and well.
Damn, she was something.
When Donal turned his back, she made a face. Ryder couldn’t smother his snort of amusement.
Donal turned his icy glare on Ryder. “After she showers, keep her off her leg. I healed the damage she did, so tomorrow, she can go back to using the brace and cane for another couple of days.” He stepped around Ryder and stalked out, slamming the door behind him.
Ryder considered following. Nah. By now, the healer knew his way out.
Ryder turned his attention to Emma. Donal had reduced the swelling in her leg, but the rest of her was a mess. “Ben’s taking a shower. He sent me to help you with yours. He doesn’t want you to fall. Again.”
The pink in her cheeks increased to a sweet red. Fuck, she was pretty. “I can stand up by myself.”
“Nope.” He plucked her off the bed. Had anyone ever felt so perfect in his arms?
Ben, being both grizzly and cahir, had always preferred larger females.
Once Ryder’d reached his mature weight and size, he, too, had discovered a preference for females tall enough to kiss easily and with ample flesh to fill his big hands. Although females of all sizes were appealing, he liked not worr
ying if he’d break a female when he was on top.
Nuzzling her hair, he held her closer, enjoying the soft, round curves against him. Reminded him of the human Goldilocks story. This pretty bear wasn’t too little, wasn’t too big; she was just right.
When he didn’t set her on her feet, she realized he planned more than helping her out of bed. “I can walk, you know.”
He headed across the room.
She started to squirm.
“Uh-uh,” he warned—and was ignored.
She’d learn. Threatening to drop someone was a sneaky technique—definitely not one his straightforward brother would employ. Being an evil-minded cat, Ryder had no such scruples. Loosening his grip, he let go.
“No!” With a satisfying gasp, she grabbed his shoulders.
He caught her with nary a jolt and managed not to laugh—barely.
Her glare made him feel a hell of a lot better. He could deal with anger. But tears? Emma’s tears? Seeing her cry earlier had shredded his heart into confetti.
After sneaking a quick kiss, he carefully set her on her feet in the shower. Without asking permission, he stripped off her robe and received another glare. Now she was naked and thoroughly annoyed. Under such provocation, some shifters might trawsfur and seriously damage the instigator, but Ryder knew right to the bottom of his soul this little female would do anything to avoid hurting a person.
He turned on the shower and handed her the shampoo. “Need help?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Don’t be mad, little bear. I’ve been worried about you.” He ran a finger down her soft cheek and frowned at the scratches from bushes.
“I…” Her expression softened. “I’m sorry for being grumbly.”
“Understandable.” He gave her a wry smile. “I daresay I’d be worse. I hate feeling helpless.”
“I bet.” Her smile flickered. “But thank you for caring.”
Oh, he’d gone far beyond caring and was well into much, much more.
He stepped far enough away to stay dry, but close enough to grab her if she lost her balance.
Rolling her eyes, she stepped under the water, and her sensuous sigh hardened his cock. “After three years of washing in icy streams, I’ll never take hot water for granted.”
Bet not. “Aye. And soft mattresses. When I spent a summer in the mountains, I missed my bed.” He grinned. “Ben would probably pine for sweets—like your cookies.”
Her laugh could make a dwarf smile.
As she bent to wash her hair, the overhead light revealed pink bite marks on her neck and shoulders.
His brows lifted. Her nipples were red and swollen. Faint fingermarks showed on her round hips…and she still smelled of a thorough mating.
Well, well, well. Ben had definitely found her well before the moon had set. Good for you, my brother.
His cock surged awake, right along with the urge to take her and leave his own handprints and bite marks alongside his littermate’s.
That would feel right; the way it should be. Littermates shared.
As she washed, he leaned against the wall and kept an eye on her. So beautiful—not only on the outside, but on the inside as well, even to forgiving her previous Cosantir.
He fucking wouldn’t forgive the weasel who’d banished a young, confused female. By the God, he wished he’d been there to defend her. To protect her, even if it meant living in the wilderness for three years.
He still had trouble believing she’d survived.
But she had. And he had a feeling she’d emerged stronger for the ordeal. She had a…balance…to her. Yes, she worried about what others thought, but she also had rock-steady values no one’s opinion would shake.
The longer he knew her, the more he respected her. And more.
When she turned the water off, he lifted her onto the bath mat and set her hands on the grab bar just outside the shower. With a fluffy towel, he started drying her off.
“I can do it.” She tried to take the towel from him.
“Little bear, you concentrate on keeping your weight off your leg.” He stroked down her back, her sweetly rounded ass, and her long curvy legs. Around to the front, carefully over her sore leg, and up her thighs. He patted dry her mound and her soft abdomen and her full breasts.
Catching the scent of her interest, his desire surged. Everything in him longed to abandon the towel and fondle and lick, and—
No. She’d had enough. Although the fragrance of her awakening was sizzling through his blood, more upheaval at this time wouldn’t be good for her.
He could wait. For this female, he’d find infinite amounts of patience.
After tossing the towel into the hamper, he helped her into Ben’s brown robe. It swamped her smaller frame, and as he rolled up the sleeves, she looked up at him. Her lower lip quivered. “Thank you, Ryder.”
Heart aching, he traced a finger under her still puffy eyes. Was something else wrong? Unable to help himself, he pulled her into his arms. “Little bear, what can I do to help?”
Without any hesitation, she leaned into him. Trust. She trusted him. Gratitude for the gift filled him to overflowing.
“I’m all right. Really.” She rubbed her forehead on his shoulder as Minette did when she was exhausted. “I just needed a good cry. It’s a female thing.”
Genevieve never cried unless she had an audience…and needed something.
Emma…
She’d become far more than a female he wanted to mate. He cared…truly cared for her. Worried about her. Knew her better than he’d known any female, and still, still she had hidden depths he hadn’t discovered. Did being friends deepen the pathways to a true mate?
“All right.” He kissed the top of her head as he would his cub. “I’ve heard you damned females enjoy chocolate. I’ll make you a cup.”
The way she was laughing as she gave him a token punch warmed him from the inside out.
Chapter Twenty-Two
‡
AFTER ENTERTAINING THE tavern crowd and answering questions in her after-performance chat, Emma relaxed in the tavern kitchen and savored the light Riesling wine Calum had brought her. The fragrance of popcorn hung in the air from the last batch made, and Vicki’d left a bowlful for Emma to enjoy. The jukebox had been restarted, and Tim McGraw’s “One of Those Nights” drifted down the hallway. Oh, how she’d missed hearing music during her years alone.
Now she had all her heart could desire. Festivals like Beltane last Sunday and these nights at the tavern along with playing guitars with Ryder and Ben at home. She smiled. She could swear she’d heard Minette humming along once or twice.
Emma sipped her drink. Although the sounds of the packed barroom were audible, the kitchen was quiet and empty. She had time to unwind and evaluate her performance.
She did love Thursday nights. Well, actually, both her nights at the tavern were fun. On Sundays, the children listened with touching attention to the traditional ballads and teaching songs. On Thursdays, she could be more versatile, changing her song choices depending on the mood of the crowd.
Tonight, she’d planned a romantic theme, but after seeing Ben and Ryder, she’d changed to some less revealing, more historic choices. No need for everyone in the world to know how she felt.
Someday, she’d have to share her feelings, but…not yet. Maybe she was a coward, but she couldn’t get past the memories of when she’d blurted out her love to her mother and received a dismissive look. Or when she’d hugged the maid and learned her affectionate behavior was inappropriate.
If she said she loved Ben, he wouldn’t be cruel, but…what if he didn’t feel the same? No, she wasn’t ready to expose herself in such a way. Not yet.
Her lips curved up, because…she’d found other ways to show her love. For the last few nights—ever since the Gathering—Ben had taken her to his bed. The first night, she’d tried to object out of a sense of decorum, and he’d laughed, sniffed her wrist, and kissed her so thoroughly she’d forgotten
anything other than his body, his taste, his scent.
The male was insatiable, and mating with him had been an education. Sometimes, as the target of his intense passion, she could see and feel nothing beyond desire. At other times, he was sweet and gentle. Or playfully affectionate. Sex could be…fun.
And she’d never felt as safe and loved as when he pulled her against his massive body, wrapped his arms around her, and…simply cuddled her.
Oh, she loved him so, so much. Thank the Goddess, she could show him physically even if her tongue froze on the words.
And Ryder? Slowly, surely, she was sinking under his spell. Did he care for her at all? He’d seemed interested during the full moon, but…perhaps no longer. The thought set up a slow aching, as if she’d bruised her heart.
Brothers often shared their females, but maybe…maybe Ben and Ryder didn’t. She shouldn’t make assumptions.
Maybe Ryder wasn’t interested in her…that way.
With a sigh, she scooped up some popcorn. The buttery scent made her smile. Perhaps one of these days, she’d declare a movie night and make popcorn for Minette.
Tonight, the cub was visiting Bonnie’s children and delighted with the “tradition” of visiting playmates on Thursday nights. After seeing her mother on Tuesday, she’d been subdued, clinging to Emma or Ryder or Ben, and hadn’t wanted to leave the house on Wednesday. Thank goodness, she was almost back to her bright little self.
Emma scowled. The males never hurt females, but females didn’t have such restrictions. Genevieve could certainly benefit from a nice wallop or two.
Of course, someone would have to point her out, since Emma’d never met her.
The thought of Minette’s foul mother had destroyed the quiet of the kitchen. With an annoyed huff, Emma drank the last of her wine and rose.
A glance at her legs lifted her grumpy mood. Earlier, the healer had visited and announced she could give up the leg brace and cane. She could even go on outings into the mountains. Of course, being Donal, he’d scowled and added, “Short outings.”
He’d probably have had a heart attack if she’d kissed him…although she’d been sorely tempted.
Eventide of the Bear Page 23
