Gawain’s body tensed. “When the males got to thirteen? Darcy, how long ago were you captured?”
Every year felt like a boulder piling onto her body. “Over ten years ago.”
As the color in the Cosantir’s eyes darkened, she kept talking, and the words spilled out like water from a broken faucet. “The Scythe are using the males as soldiers and spies. Shifter-soldiers. All the females are kept in the Seattle prìosan.”
“If they can’t use the females as shifters, why didn’t they kill you?” Calum asked in an even voice.
“We’re hostages.” Hatred tasted bitter in her mouth. “As long as they have a male’s sister, they can make him do whatever they want.”
The ache in her heart increased as she told them, “They told Firth to assassinate some politician, and he refused, so they…they tortured his sister until she died. Broke her…” Darcy swallowed despite her dry throat. “Ripped her s-skin off. They made us watch and showed the video to the males. After that, everyone cooperated.”
The growls behind her turned deadly, and she felt Gawain’s blazing anger.
The Cosantir didn’t speak. The power around him was an unsettling thrum in the air before he simply turned and walked away, brushing past Donal and Owen as he left the room.
Feeling as if ice was filling her, she pulled the blanket closer.
Owen was watching her with eyes the dark green of a forest at night. “You were imprisoned for over a decade?”
She nodded.
Donal walked up to the table. “That partly explains why you couldn’t trawsfur. Breanne didn’t shift until she was over twenty—because she lived in the city and took those drugs.” He moved the blanket off her wounded leg. “Let’s get the rest of these holes closed up.”
Still leaning against Gawain, she had her legs straight in front of her. The healer gripped her right leg and poured the so-called numbing liquid into the gunshot wound in her calf.
Pain. It felt as if he’d shoved a red-hot stick in her leg. Her leg tore from his grip.
“I’m going to need both hands, so Owen, could you could hold her leg, please?”
“Aye, Donal.” Owen curled a big hand around her ankle and his other above her knee, then added his weight to press her leg against the table. “What drugs were you on, Darcy?”
“I don’t know what you mean. We didn’t take any medicine or drugs.”
“The stuff that keeps females from having children.” Donal turned to the equipment table, ready to start.
Oh Gods, more pain. Darcy tensed.
Gawain’s arms tightened around her. Behind her, his body was a warm, breathing wall. She rested her head back against his shoulder.
“Medicine?” Owen prompted.
Stuff to keep females from having children? “You mean birth control? Yes. After a human raped a shifter, they stuck something in our arms to make sure none of us got pregnant. They used to replace it every few years, but the nurse was killed, um, about four years ago. Since then, a medical person only visits if someone’s injured.”
“Breanne took pills, but what you’re talking about sounds like a hormone implant.” The healer ran his palms up and down her arms. “There it is. It would be best to remove this right away. May I?”
Hormones. Trackers—and hormones. They kept putting horrible things in her body. “I hate this,” she whispered, then looked at the healer. “Yes, take it out.”
“I’m sorry, Darcy. If you grit your teeth, I’ll be as fast as I can.” When she nodded that she was ready, he picked up a razor and sliced her arm. The pain made her gasp, but within a second, he’d plucked out the implant and healed the cut. Only a tiny pink line remained. He’d even healed the spot where she’d removed the tracker.
Darcy blinked. He really had been fast. Her arm didn’t hurt any longer, and the trackers and foreign implant were gone. Each breath she took was freer. Her body was more and more her own, except for one spot. “Can you take the bullet out of my leg now, too? Please?”
Obviously braced for her to ask the opposite, Donal gave her a nonplussed stare.
Gawain chuckled. “Never underestimate a female.”
Still holding her leg, Owen studied her, his brows pulled into a line.
“All right, Darcy. Since you’re ready…” The healer examined the ugly hole in her calf, and his expression darkened.
She could see the skin around it was crimson and puffy. Red streaks of infection extended upward. “I’m ready.”
After the healer cleaned the hole out, the true torture started.
As Donal used forceps to dig for the bullet, fire erupted in her leg, and she clenched her teeth to keep from screaming. Sweat broke out on her face, tears ran down her face, and she…endured.
“Almost…” With a pleased sound, the healer pulled out the forceps and dropped the bullet onto the instrument table. “By the Mother, you’re a brave female. Didn’t even try to claw me.”
“She is brave, isn’t she?” Gawain released her and ran his hands up and down her arms.
At her feet, Owen studied her.
He’d been so brave, had drawn off the dogs, had run for the truck on a broken foreleg. And she was sitting here bawling. Sit up and act like an adult, tinker. With a shaky breath, she wiped her face.
“One more minute, and I’ll have this closed.” Donal bent his head, his hands on either side of her leg wound, and she stared as the hole filled with tissue, as the skin grew over the hole.
Donal straightened, ran his finger over the slightly dented, shiny pink skin, and scowled. “I’m sorry, lass. This one will have a scar.”
“Sorry?” She stared. “I’m alive. You got the bullet out and closed the hole. What do I care about scars?”
Owen’s gaze met hers, his surprise obvious.
Not noticing, Donal laughed. “You’re a prize, my sweet. Now, since healing takes a toll, you’ll be sleepy for another day, tired for a week. You can—and should—trawsfur to cat and back. Since the repaired tissue remains fragile for a few days, take it easy. You’re underweight, so eat more, especially meat. Am I clear?”
She nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“You sound like Calum’s Vicki.”
The scary Cosantir had a mate? Her mind boggled at the thought. The female was probably over six feet tall, hugely muscled, and as scary as Calum himself. Maybe the female was a grizzly shifter or—
The Cosantir walked in, and Darcy flushed, feeling as if she’d been caught doing something embarrassing. Calum’s gaze ran over her, and he glanced at the healer. “Donal, are you finished?”
“Almost. There’s just this mess on her thigh.” He poked at it, making her wince, and clucked his tongue. “Were you in a knife fight? Why did someone stab you several times in the same spot?”
“I stabbed myself. There was a GPS tracker in my leg, and I couldn’t find it at first.” Yawning, she sagged against Gawain. As her fear waned, so did her energy. Somehow, the table had turned into quicksand, pulling her down into its softness.
As her eyes closed, she heard Owen ask, “A tracker. Is that something they could use to locate you?”
“Mmmhmm. I removed it and the one in my arm and smashed them with a rock.”
She felt the healer’s fingers run over the wound, and pain flared. “There’s nothing in there now.” Heat tingled deep in her thigh muscles, moving outward as he healed the sliced flesh.
“I need to find the shifter-soldiers. To tell them…” Her thoughts drifted away despite her attempts to cling to them. “I need to find them.”
“Check for other surprises,” the Cosantir said quietly.
The healer ran his hands over her, head to toes. “Help me turn her over, cahir.”
She was slid down on the table and rolled over. They were being very careful not to hurt her. Wasn’t that lovely?
Light hands ran over her scalp. Her neck, shoulders, and down. “Nothing else, Calum. I’ll check on her tomorrow, but I’m done for today.”
> “Excellent. Owen, Gawain, please take Darcy to the Wildwood Lodge. Zeb and Shay have a room for her in the main cabin.”
“Aye, Cosantir.” That was Gawain’s smoother voice. Owen made only a sound of assent.
Donal cleared his throat. “Cosantir, save me some work and order your cahir to take a few days of rest. At the lodge, not his cabin. His broken wrist and the new wound need time to heal—and he’s more stubborn than a boggart spotting salt.”
Calum huffed a laugh. “You heard the healer, cahir. Consider that an order.”
Darcy thought Owen’s rude response wasn’t nearly as muffled as it should have been considering he was answering a Cosantir.
She tried to open her eyes to see how the guardian had reacted to being snarled at, but…someone had tied boulders to her eyelids. That was discourteous. Honestly, she needed to get on her feet. To find Fell and Patrin. To help…
Her thoughts faded away like mist dissipated by a warm sun.
Chapter Five
‡
By the God, Calum had a nerve, ordering him to stay in Cold Creek. Growling under his breath, Owen led the way up the stairs in the Wildwood Lodge. Behind him, Gawain carried the female—the one who had caused all this fucking trouble.
Wait, had he actually thought that? Talk about badger-spirited meanness. He gave himself a good mental shake. The female hadn’t asked for any of this to happen. He’d sure run down the wrong trail when he figured she’d been in the city on a dare.
Captured as a cubling and held prisoner for a decade. Ripping her arm and leg open to remove the human devices. She was a fucking brave little cat.
Shay’d given her the room near the end of the hall. Owen opened the door and then turned the covers back on the bed.
Gently, Gawain laid the female on the mattress. Despite the bumpy gravel road to the Wildwood, she hadn’t woken once. She was exhausted. Poorly fed. Young and fragile and incredibly determined.
Unable to help himself, Owen touched his fingertips to her cheek. Silky soft…and overly warm. “She’s running a fever.”
“Not surprising. Her leg looked nasty.” Gawain tucked the covers around her. “She’ll shake off the fever now the infected wounds are clean and closed. The healer looked competent.”
“Aye, Donal’s incredible.” Fuck knew the healer had saved his ass more than once. Owen frowned down at the female. She was so tiny and helpless, and he wanted to settle into a chair and keep guard until she woke. Talk about being an idiot. He shifted his weight and caught his brother watching him.
“Want to stay?” Gawain asked.
“No. We got her delivered.” As off-balance as if he’d put a paw into a gopher hole, Owen headed out the door. Quickly.
“Herne’s antlers, Owen, slow down.” Gawain followed him down to the ground floor. “She’s a female, not a rabid skunk.”
He grunted.
A laugh halted his flight.
Shay and Zeb were in the sitting area near the stairs.
Grinning, Shay asked Gawain. “Was there ever a time Owen liked females, or was he born this way?”
Gawain stopped dead.
Ice in his gut, Owen stared at his fellow cahir. As far as he knew, his mother had despised him at birth. He had no memories of love, only of the stinging slaps she had dealt out. The hatred and the screaming, swearing abuse.
Shay’s smile faded. “A brathair-faoirm, I didn’t mean to…”
“Way to step on your own tail, brother.” Zeb always sounded as if he’d eaten rocks for breakfast. “Did the female wake up?”
“No, she’s sound asleep,” Gawain said.
“Sorry, cahir,” Shay said, still looking at Owen. When Owen nodded, he continued. “I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but we put you two in the large corner room next to hers. It has two oversized beds.”
Owen shook his head. “I’ll stay in the cabin I rented, thanks.”
“Cosantir’s orders.” Zeb’s black eyes held open amusement. “He said the female trusts you, and she doesn’t know anyone else here.”
“He also said to remind you that you’re to remain on two legs and rest.” Shay’s smile faded. “I don’t know what’s going on, but Calum sounded like a pissed-off wolverine. Made my fur stand on end.”
“Fine, I’ll stay for a day or two.” It was too much work to argue. Fuck, he was tired, and it seemed nothing was going right today. As if Calum’s orders had sucked away his energy, Owen sank into the nearest chair. Come to think of it, he’d just been healed. Like Darcy, his tail would be dragging for a good day or so.
Gawain gave him a concerned look and asked Shay, “Mind if I scrounge up some food for him from the kitchen?”
Before they could answer, the front door swung open, and Bree hurried across the room. Her pretty breasts bounced with every step, and her hair was such a golden yellow it seemed as if the sun had entered with her. “Vicki said the Cosantir sent over a hurt female. Is she badly injured? Has Donal seen her?”
Shay snagged her hand, pulling her into his lap. “The healer tended her. Gunshot wounds. Am I right, Gawain?”
“Aye. Infected. He had to remove a bullet.”
“Well, my God, who shot her?” Bree’s eyes narrowed as if she were ready to take on the attacker.
“Humans.” Zeb’s eyebrows lowered. “Glad I wasn’t there at the healer’s. Even strong shifters yell when Donal digs for a bullet. A female’s screams would break my heart.”
“She didn’t scream,” Owen said slowly. “Though she had tears streaming down her face, she was completely silent.” By the God, she’d been amazing.
“Impressive.” Shay squeezed the female on his lap. “Calum said she’s underfed, which means she’s in the right place, aye?”
“She’s in exactly the right place. Donal and I have been working out the optimal nutrition for post-healings.” Bree’s nod held the determination Owen had come to expect from the pretty blonde.
Humans called her a chef. Considering what she created in a kitchen, he’d call her a magician.
Zeb smiled at his mate, a rare sight in the lethal cahir. “She’s asleep, but Owen could use some food now. He got shot rescuing her, and Donal patched him up.”
“I remember how crummy I felt after being healed.” Bree jumped to her feet. “One big sandwich and the fixings coming up.”
Gawain gave her a pitiful look. “I didn’t get shot, but…any chance you have more food in there?”
“For you? Always.” Laughing, Bree headed for the kitchen.
Owen snorted. His littermate could charm pixies out of the trees and gnomes out of the sewers. When Gawain grinned at him, Owen couldn’t help but laugh. Yeah, despite the faded echo of Edwyn’s broken bond, it was good to be with his brother again. Their own bond had thinned over the years apart, but still held together. “Want to come back to my cabin when I leave?”
“Ah, about leaving…” Shay eyed Owen warily. “Calum also said you and Gawain were to mentor Darcy.”
Owen’s mouth dropped open. “Me? Mentor a female?”
When Zeb burst out laughing, Owen glared. “What’s so funny?”
“You, pigeon-brain. You insulted a female right in front of the Cosantir.” Zeb snorted. “You should have expected some fucking nasty consequences. I’d say you got off easy.”
Mentor a female. Owen’s fingers curved as he imagined clawing a nice set of stripes down Calum’s ribs. Of course, the Cosantir would kill him dead, but still…
By Herne’s holy antlers, this wasn’t fair.
*
The pillow smelled of soap and lavender. Eyes closed, staying immobile, Darcy regulated her breathing as she tried to figure out where she was.
Had the Scythe caught her?
There was no sound of traffic, no planes overhead. She wasn’t in the city. The tang of conifers perfumed the air along with the aroma of roasting meat. And she could smell one…no, two…males.
“I know you’re awake, little female. Might as well o
pen your eyes.” The guttural voice sounded like the prìosan’s biggest chainsaw when the motor ran rough.
She knew that voice. Her muscles relaxed, and she opened her eyes. The mean looking shifter, the one called Owen, sprawled in a chair with his denim-clad legs stretched out. Very long legs. She’d heard cahirs were huge—this one sure was. His darkly tanned skin brought out the disconcerting green of his eyes. He’d shaved away the dark stubble, revealing the angular line of his jaw. Thick, dark brown hair touched his shoulders.
He shot her a sharp look. “How do you feel?”
“Well…” Her wounds no longer burned, but throbbed slightly as if bruised deep within. The rest of her ached almost as bad as the first time a guard had beat her senseless. “I’m fine.”
He snorted his disbelief. “Sure you are. You—”
“What time is it?” she interrupted hastily.
“You slept the day away. It’s after supper.”
Her eyes widened, and she looked around. A bedroom with a sturdily constructed dresser and dark wooden nightstands. The hardwood floor was covered with a beautifully woven rug. It didn’t have the smell of the healer’s house. “Where is this?”
“The Wildwood Lodge, a fishing camp that rents out cabins and a few rooms. It’s run by shifters.”
Rent? “I can’t stay here. I don’t have any money.” If she pulled the covers over her head, would the world go away?
“The room here is free for shifters in need. Don’t worry.”
Worry was all she had. How could she manage with no money? No food. She didn’t even have any clothing.
However… Her lips curled up slightly.
“What are you smiling about?”
He sounded so grumpy. The male needed an attitude readjustment, as the human girls would have said.
“Because, even though I’m broke, at least I can turn into a cougar. With the infection gone, I’m sure I can figure out how to hunt and feed myself.” Her smile widened. As a cougar, she could head toward the mountain range where the shifter-soldiers had their compound. Eventually, she’d find them.
Leap of the Lion Page 7
