Grinning, she walked into the chaotic, mesmerizing bedlam she’d only heard in this tavern. People at the tables talked over the music—and each other. Raucous laughter came from males standing two deep around the bar. Pool table balls clicked and thudded. Females giggled, others hooted with laughter. Older males added baritone notes to the raucous song.
The tavern smelled of popcorn and roasted peanuts, of wood smoke and beer, of human perfume and cologne, and the wild fragrance of shifters.
Near the pool table alcove where Rosie was assigned, Ryder and Ben were with a group of other males. At the sound of Ben’s rumbling laugh, Emma’s heart did a disconcerting, syncopated drumbeat.
In the center of the room, Vicki was taking orders. The rightmost third of the room was waiting to order. Time to work. Emma grabbed a tray and signaled she’d cover the fireplace and surroundings. Grinning, Vicki gave her a half-salute. Rosie offered up a raspy cheer.
After several trips to the bar, Emma had only the section near the big windows left to serve. Without thinking, she’d left the table of young shifter females for last. Someday she’d manage to overcome her nervousness around females in her age group.
As she approached, she was blocked by a burly human male. He swaggered away from the table, zipping his leather jacket up over a stained tank top.
“Hey, babe.” He held up a hand in greeting, and the lights from the wall sconces flashed off gaudy rings. His gaze dropped to her breasts, and he grinned. “Want to hook up later tonight?”
Hook up. Did he mean mate? Ew. She’d rather mate with a vile, ugly boggart. From his cocky stance, he thought himself attractive…and obviously couldn’t smell her lack of interest. “No, thank you.”
Sidestepping around him, she reached the table of females, all wolf-shifters. “Can I get drinks for anyone?”
“Well, it’s about time. We’ve been waiting forever,” Sarah snapped. She probably still resented the song delivered at Wesley’s rites. “I’ll take a glass of the house chardonnay if you think you can get it here before closing.”
“Oh, now, don’t be mean.” Candice flipped her red-brown hair over her shoulder. “The way the tables are crowded together, it’s difficult to get through, especially for someone who is…large.”
“And slow,” someone else said under her breath.
Be polite. Maybe she should be grateful for her mother’s harsh training—except her mother had also made her feel large and slow. “Anyone else need a drink?”
“I’ve heard you’re living in Ben’s house.” The brunette sighed. “Ben is a cahir. And Ryder is to die for.”
True enough. “Did you want something to drink?” Emma asked her.
“You? You’re living with Ben and Ryder?” The stunningly beautiful redhead gave her a top to toe scrutiny.
“Only because she was hurt, and she’s a bear. Calum didn’t want her savaging anyone if she lost control,” Candice said.
“Oh, why you poor dear.” Sympathy dripped from the redhead’s sugary voice. “I’m so glad you’ve healed up well enough to work now.”
“Huh, if you’re working, you can move out of Ben’s house.” The curvy brunette tipped her lips up in a false smile. “When’s the big day?”
Actually, they were correct. The time had come to find her own place. The thought dug a hollow next to her heart. “We haven’t discussed it.”
“Oh, honey, you aren’t staying in hopes of attracting their attention, I hope. I know Ryder. He prefers his females…well, smaller.”
The insult was sharp, sliding soundlessly between her ribs. But it reached her heart. Oh, it did. Emma tightened her fingers on her tray.
The redhead made a sympathetic tsking sound. “He’s probably found other uses for you around the house, but I’d hate for him to take advantage of you.”
“Oh, I guess a female bard would be a good cub-sitter,” Sarah pointed out.
“And a maid and cook. It’s good you’re learning to cook,” Candice said. “Males love cheap help.”
No. Ryder and Ben weren’t like that. They…weren’t. But the sinking feeling in her stomach said she might be wrong.
“But don’t be unhappy. I’m sure other males might be interested in you.” The redhead smiled at Emma. “We heard about the gory Gathering in Pine Knoll. Obviously your looks appealed to at least a couple of males.”
Who fought and died.
The falsely sympathetic words raked over Emma’s senses cruelly. This conversation was worse than blundering into blackberry bushes and emerging covered in blood.
“You know, when I mated with Ben at the last Gathering,” Sarah said, “I had to insist he take me downstairs and let me go. He’s quite possessive.”
Ben had been with her? He’d never mentioned it when they’d been talking about how Wesley died. Emma stiffened. Had he taken Sarah to his home? Enjoyed her in his massive bed? Laughed with her? Tucked her against his side? Rumbled his enjoyment and appreciation? Feeling her lower lip start to quiver, Emma pressed her mouth into a straight line.
“Oh, Ben. He’s so big and strong. I have my eye on him for next Gathering.” The female sitting beside Sarah pushed her curly, blonde hair over her shoulder.
Emma looked around the table. All of the females were pretty. The redhead was spectacular. No male would refuse them.
Standing over them, Emma felt…enormous. And ugly. Realizing her shoulders had started to hunch, she straightened.
Did barmaids have to put up with this kind of sly abuse? Vicki would probably knock them on their asses.
Maybe, someday, Emma would have the courage to get physical. That day had not yet arrived.
But a refusal to be prey could be delivered courteously. Thank you, Mother for those lessons. “I am so very sorry. You are quite right—I’m a slow bear. Since the service isn’t meeting your needs, perhaps you should take your orders to the bar.”
Gratifying sputters came from the females.
Emma walked away with her back straight, head held high.
She still felt ugly.
*
AFTER PARKING HIS SUV on the street, Ryder strolled up the sidewalk to the house. A glance at the stars told him the time was around midnight. With the clearing of the sky, the temperature had plummeted. Frost glazed the grass, and the clean scent of glaciers filled the air. After the heat of the tavern, the chill wind was bracing.
He glanced at the dark windows in the main house. In the tower, Ben’s downstairs office and upstairs bedroom windows showed no light. Didn’t look as if anyone was still awake. His littermate had worked a twelve-hour day and would be on the job early tomorrow morning. Even grizzlies wore out eventually.
Ryder didn’t feel tired. Emma’s performance had included several bitterly tragic Daonain tales. Afterward, he, Ben, Quentin, Owen, and Joe had downed a few while dissecting the history behind the stories. Ben had wanted to play a new board game with Minette, so he left early to pick her up. After Quentin and Joe had gone home, Owen had challenged Ryder to a game of chess, which had turned into three.
Good music. Good conversation. Good beer. He hadn’t had so much fun in a decade or more.
Hadn’t had good friends, either.
Years ago, he and Ben hadn’t figured a predominantly shifter village could support a construction company, so formed their construction company in a human town. Their friends there had been human.
During the time with Genevieve, Ryder hadn’t made friends. She threw a screaming fit if he wasn’t dancing constant attendance on her. When they were with others, all conversation revolved around Genevieve. Discussing historic battles would never have happened.
On the fair circuit, he’d enjoyed the humans—some were damned smart—but as in the human towns, he’d had to monitor his words and behavior. Drunken discussions were out.
It was fucking nice to be amongst his people again.
Smiling, he let himself into the house. The various electronics—the glow from the various kitchen devi
ces, a ceiling smoke detector in the foyer, a clock’s digital readout—lent enough light he didn’t turn on the overheads.
The soft strum of a guitar from the great room surprised him. Since the Gathering, Emma had spent her nights with Ben.
Pleased his littermate had slid past her defenses, Ryder’d been content to wait. She was a shy little bear. He wasn’t about to do anything to distress her—she was worth a long, slow hunt.
But why wasn’t she with Ben now? In a mournful minor key, the haunting tune indicated a little bard might be unhappy.
With a feline’s soundless stalk, Ryder entered the room. The only illumination came from the fireplace where a golden salamander basked in the red coals of a dying fire.
On the sectional, Emma was curled around her guitar as if she’d suffered a blow to the gut. With her face turned toward the black forest beyond the windows, she looked…sad. Lonely.
The little bear should never look so lost.
“What happened?” His voice came out gruff.
She startled. “Oh. Hi.”
He removed the guitar from her lap and sat close enough his thigh rubbed against her soft hip.
Her eyes widened…but he could detect no scent of fear. Progress.
“Emma?” he prompted.
“Um. Nothing. Nothing happened.”
He took her hands, feeling calluses on the fingertips from her playing. “Try again, little bear.”
“Enough, Ryder. I’m just in a bad mood.” Her laugh was bitter. “No need to sit with me or try to be nice when you undoubtedly want your bed.”
“Good to know.” He studied her silently. This wasn’t the Emma he knew—not that he knew her well. But he’d never seen her grumpy without a reason. Something had created a storm in her sunny personality. When? During her performance, she’d glowed with delight in the music and the audience. Soon after, he’d seen her laughing and chatting as she served drinks.
But when she’d moved farther away, he’d become immersed in the discussion at his table. “What happened at the tavern?”
“Nothing.” Yet the twitch of her fingers said he was on the right trail.
He considered the possibilities. Had something happened with her friends? Unlikely. With the tough old barmaid, Rosie? Be a hell of a fight, but, no, Rosie appreciated Emma’s music and was grateful for her help afterward.
Maybe a customer had been rude?
A disturbing memory nagged until it came clear. On his way out of the tavern, he’d seen Genevieve. Seated with a group of females, she was in Emma’s section. The trail held a disturbing scent, especially since Genevieve had already mentioned Emma once. The shrew would have gone for her. Yeah. “What did she say to you?”
“What? Who?”
“Genevieve.” At the bard’s confused stare, he prompted, “Redhead, pretty, at the tavern. Sitting with Candice.”
Her amber eyes widened. “She was Genevieve?”
“Oh, yeah. And she’s well-known for sinking her teeth into anyone who provokes her jealousy.”
Damned if the little bear didn’t look even more surprised. “Why in the world would she be jealous of me?”
She didn’t know. Her lack of pretension was more compelling than any flirtatiousness. “Because you’re beautiful, Emma. Because I like you. Because I want you.”
His direct stare let her know exactly what he meant by want.
Her lips formed the word oh, and he had to grin. By the God, she was lovable. He pulled her onto his lap, so her legs dangled off his left side and his right arm braced her back.
Her ass was a warm circle on his thighs. Perfect.
“Ryder.” With her gasp, her breasts strained against her shirt in a carnal invitation. “I’m too heavy. I’ll squish you.”
“Mmm, I’d say you’re just the right weight. Right size.” He pulled her closer, until her hip rubbed his rapidly thickening cock, until he could touch his lips to hers. Then her claim caught up with him, and he frowned. “She said you’re too heavy?”
The stiffness in her shoulders said yes.
“What else? She wouldn’t stop at one insult.”
Emma’s attempted laugh sounded like a sneeze. “It’s nothing.” Her gaze wouldn’t meet his.
He rubbed her cheek with his, marking her with his scent, inhaling hers. He nipped her earlobe. “Talk, bard.”
Her fragrance changed, deepened with arousal. “Ryder.”
“I can torture the information out of you,” he whispered in her ear. And wouldn’t he fucking enjoy that?
When her breathing actually halted, he grinned and teased her ear with his teeth.
“Oh, fine,” she huffed. “She simply said you preferred smaller women, and how you and Ben were probably using me for other things around the house. A cub-sitter and maid were suggested.”
He looked into her wary eyes. “Not a cook as well?”
“One of them said it was good I was learning.”
At the hurt in her face, he wanted to claw something. “I’m sorry, Emma. I should have known she’d come after you.”
Emma shrugged. “She didn’t say anything I didn’t already know about myself. I just—”
WHEN RYDER FISTED her hair, Emma forgot what she’d been saying.
He gently, but determinedly, tugged her hair, forcing her to meet his sharp, perceptive gaze.
Her heart did a slow flip-flop within her chest.
“What exactly is it that you know about yourself?”
Lovely. Force her to speak the humiliating words aloud. “That you weren’t interested in me…that way. For mating.”
He gave a deep, masculine laugh. “Oh, little bear, you’re very wrong. Have I mentioned you’re gorgeous?”
“Uh…” He had, hadn’t he? She hadn’t believed him.
“And I don’t usually kiss females unless I want them…that way.” He smiled slightly. “Do you remember that I’d been looking forward to mating with you at the Gathering?”
“Oh. Well. The kissing was you and Ben helping me get used to males. And the effect of the moon.” Wasn’t it? Her heart started to thud rather fast. He meant so much to her. Thinking he didn’t find her attractive had…hurt. Had that female lied to her?
“I see. Little bear, the moon is waning now.” His mouth closed over hers, forceful, demanding.
Her startled inhalation brought the scent of his desire for her. His thick erection pressed against her hip. He wanted her. He did.
He pulled her hair, deepening his possession of her mouth. His other hand held her hips firmly against his cock.
Like icicles under a hot sun, her bones were melting.
He lifted his head. “Genevieve was trying to make you feel bad. Ben and I can cook and clean, although it’s nice you can, too. We don’t need a housekeeper, Emma.”
They weren’t using her. Even more, they were planning a future with her in it. The knowledge was heartening. Frightening. “But…”
“I can find babysitters anywhere for Minette.” Ryder kissed and nipped her jaw, then down her neck, sending shivery sensations outward. “However, a female who loves the cub like you do? Whom she loves? That’s worth more than money—and can’t be bought.”
How had he known how much she loved his cubling?
Slowly, under his lips and teeth, her body was coming alive, even as her spirit revived like flowers in a spring rain.
“Do me a favor and ignore Genevieve and her mean-spirited females.”
His beard-stubbled jaw against her neck created an exciting abrasion that sent tingles all the way to her depths.
“I’d suggest you pay attention to me and Ben, instead. Especially me, right now.” He’d pinned her left arm against his side. His right arm was around her waist; his hand gripped her right elbow. The amusement in his eyes said the werecat knew he had his prey trapped.
A shiver shook her deep inside.
With his free hand, he unbuttoned her shirt until the front gaped open and bared her round belly to h
is gaze. His gaze smoldered, and he purred in appreciation. Slowly, he stroked from her neck to her breasts. His skillful fingers undid her bra’s front clasp to free her breasts. Cool air wafted over the exposed skin. Barely breathing, she tensed in anticipation of his touch.
“Been wanting to enjoy these.” He cupped his lean, callused hand over her right breast and lifted, as if weighing it. The heat from his palm sank deep, pooling like a sunlit lake in her groin. When his thumb circled the areola, her clit began to pulse with urgency.
“Oooh…” Her breath left her on a long sigh. This desire wasn’t the raging flood caused by a full moon, but a slow, inexorable tide of sensation that wakened nerve after nerve until her entire body felt sensitive. She struggled to touch him, in return.
His grip on her elbow tightened, staying her movement. He considered her, and the corner of his mouth tipped up. “All right.” Releasing her breast, he grasped his T-shirt behind his head and yanked the garment up and off.
He was shirtless. The feeling of his smooth, heated skin against her side and back was more tantalizing than having him entirely bare all at once. The tanned skin was taut over his muscled chest—a lure she couldn’t resist. She made a needy sound.
Releasing her elbow, he kissed her fingers and pressed her palm against his sternum.
Oooh, yes. “You’re so warm,” she whispered.
“You make me that way.” He nuzzled her temple, nibbled the top of her ear, and triggered flutters deep in her core.
She ran her fingers down his neck and frowned at ugly scars from bites and nails. When her gaze met his, she knew. That cruel female had hurt him physically as well as emotionally. Pushing the thought out of her mind, she moved her hand away. Instead, she traced the contours of his chest, the valley between his pectorals. He had satin skin over rock-hard muscles.
He mirrored her movements. When she brushed over his collarbone, he ran his fingertips over hers. She ran her hand over his washboard abdomen and felt him stroke her much softer belly.
Experimentally, she touched his button-flat nipples and gave one a light pinch.
“Good idea.” His fingers tugged on one nipple and then the other.
A storm of sensation blew through her, abolishing inhibitions, leaving only desire in its wake.
Eventide of the Bear Page 24
