“Yeah.” The answer came so easily Owen knew he’d been burying his feelings deeper than he would his own scat. Sharing a room at the lodge with his littermate was comfortable. Home-like. No, better—since they’d never had what could be called a home. There was no stress in being with Gawain, just familiarity. “As long as we can find something near the edge of town.”
Gawain nodded. “Aye. And I need a place for smithing. We’ll find something that works.”
A tug made him realize he was still holding the female’s hand.
Her eyes were the darkness of a lake at midnight…and narrowed. At him.
“You’re glaring at me, little cat.” By Herne’s holy antlers, she was pretty when she was pissed-off. He had to say, it was refreshing not to be treated like a stud male…or feared. “Are you still angry with me for finding your hiding place this morning?”
“For finding me? No. For knocking me into the creek? Oh, yes.” The fiery snap in her voice made him grin. The screech she’d let out had been amazing and then she’d lost control and shifted to human. Fuck, she’d been angry. Yet her voice had never risen above a whisper as she spewed a stream of very interesting human curses.
She tugged on her hand again. “Please let go.” Even now, her voice was low and polite.
Her personality was remarkably restrained. Why did that spark a perverse need to shake her up? Rather than releasing her, he kept her hand imprisoned. Such a delicate hand, and yet her fingers held calluses that spoke of hard work.
“Darcy, thank you for coming.” The Cosantir smiled at her before glancing at Owen, then her hand in an unspoken order.
Well, scat. His fun was over. He opened his hand.
Moving closer to Gawain, she cast Owen a fulminating look. With her strong personality, it was easy to forget her size. And whenever she was steaming mad? He could swear she grew almost a foot.
Still left her a fuck of a lot shorter than he was.
Wisely holding back laughter, Gawain winked at him before asking, “Darcy, are you in the mood for some coffee?”
“I…” She pushed her annoyance aside with impressive skill. “Sure. I’d love coffee.” Her smile curved her cheeks, created dimples beside her mouth, and totally transformed her face.
He realized interest hummed in his blood, and he was watching her as a male would a female he wanted to mate.
No. Owen stomped on the emotion with a ruthless paw. Absolutely not. Maybe if she chose him at a Gathering, he’d enjoy her favor then. And only then.
Darcy caught the dawning masculine appreciation in Owen’s gaze before his expression went blank and his eyes shuttered. The loss seized her before she regained some common sense.
She didn’t want to attract a male. This wasn’t the time or place. There probably would never be a time or place. She couldn’t afford to rely on a mate—or anyone. Not really. She’d learned to stand on her own two feet…and now she had four paws. Four paws were wonderfully stable, far better than feet any day.
Well, they would be more reliable if she could regulate when she had paws and when she had feet. Honestly, inadvertently shifting was—
“Here you go.” Gawain set a cup in front of her and slid the cream and sugar closer. “Owen said you hunted well this morning.”
She couldn’t have asked for a better opening. “I did. In fact,”—her attention turned to the Cosantir—“I’m ready to go search for my brothers and the shifter-soldier compound.”
“Indeed. Are you in control of your shifting?”
Under the Cosantir’s level gray gaze, she couldn’t lie. Getting dumped into cold water had made her trawsfur. And just this morning, she’d rolled out of bed, landed on four paws, and realized she’d changed in her sleep. She shook her head. “Soon, though.”
She couldn’t wait forever. “Cosantir, the male villagers—the shifter-soldiers—must be told about the hidden trackers right away. Since the males visit the female littermates every few months, they—”
“Why the visits?” Owen asked. “Why show captives that mercy?”
Mercy? Darcy’s laugh came out bitter. “Not mercy. The Scythe think they have to let us visit. You see, humans can’t feel their bonds to family or lovers. If they’re parted too long, apparently the love dies. So, the shifter-soldiers visit the prison to ensure each male continues to love his sister and won’t put her at risk by trying to break free or refusing an order. It also proves to the males their sisters are still captives.”
“Clever and effective.” Gawain tilted his head at Owen. “Face it, we’d do just about anything to keep Bonnie from being hurt.”
Owen looked like he’d bitten into a sour huckleberry. “Yeah.”
“When the males visit the prìosan in two to three months, my brothers won’t find me there. They’ll revolt—and the Scythe will kill them.” The thought made her breathing go all funny, and she closed her eyes.
Her hair was given a stern tug. “Stay human, Darcy,” Owen growled.
She froze, realizing that, in her mind, she’d opened the door to the wild. Had been about to trawsfur. Appalled, she slammed the door shut and edged away.
When she looked up, Gawain’s hand was on her back. Owen’s fingers were wound in her hair, keeping her from doing something stupid.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
With a grim nod, Owen released her hair and moved back.
Well, that sure showed the Cosantir she couldn’t leave yet. Her breath escaped in a long unhappy sigh.
Gawain squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll get better, catling.”
“Tynan is searching for the property where Darcy was held,” Calum told Owen. “But she couldn’t give much of a description of the location or property. Two three-story houses surrounded by a high stone wall. Somewhere in Seattle to the west of Lake Washington.”
Gawain snorted. “If I were chased through the streets without a map and no knowledge of cities, I’d do no better.”
Gratitude for his understanding welled within her.
“Aye. Human cities are pure chaos.” Calum frowned. “From what Darcy’s said, even if Tynan finds the location, we cannot rescue the females until we—”
“You’d help? Help get the villagers free? Even though they’re in a city?” Hope rose like a fountain.
Calum considered her thoughtfully. “Having any of our people—especially females—held by humans doesn’t sit well with me. Yet I can make no promises, Darcy. Danger lurks on every path I can see, so at this point, we are merely collecting information.”
Her hope drained away. For a moment, she had childishly hoped for miracles. Unable to speak past the disappointment clogging her throat, she nodded her understanding.
Calum turned back to Owen. “Rescuing the females before finding the soldier’s compound won’t work. If the hostages are lost, the Scythe would undoubtedly eliminate the males as an uncontrollable risk.”
No, no, no. Her hands closed into fists as she fought the need to shift and run and find her littermates. Owen’s lean hand landed on her shoulder and kept her focused.
Although the cahir wasn’t touching her for comfort, but to prevent problems, she couldn’t help but feel thankful.
“I can assist, Cosantir,” Gawain said. “Maybe Owen and I could do some scouting for the males’ location.”
Owen nodded. “Agreed. Where should we start?”
Sheer surprise left her speechless.
The Cosantir shook his head. “I fear your search will take you out of Herne’s domain. There are no unknown shifters in my territory, and when I contacted the Washington and Oregon Cosantirs, they verified the same.”
“How do you know that so quickly?” Darcy asked.
Owen answered for Calum. “A Cosantir can sense every shifter in his territory. It’s one of their powers.”
Her teeth ground together. Wasn’t it appalling how much she didn’t know about her own people?
“Permission to leave the territory and search, Cosantir?�
�� Owen asked.
Calum nodded. “If you and Gawain find time from setting up your household, I’d appreciate if you searched for the shifter-soldiers.”
Owen grinned. “We’ll need a break from that moving shit anyway.”
“Do you have any suggestions on where to start hunting, Darcy?” Gawain asked.
She’d already spent time trying to determine her brothers’ location. “Fell and Patrin mentioned doing training at Twin Sisters Range. Since they called their place a forest camp and forest compound, it’s in the woods. But they never spoke of having to hike to get out, so I think the barracks are probably close to Highway 20. I’m afraid it’s all guesses, though.”
Calum’s fingers tapped the top of the bar as he thought. “My territory ends east of Mt. Baker and not nearly to the Twin Sisters, so that will narrow the search.”
A sound from the other side of the bar drew Calum’s attention, and he turned. “Excuse me, please.” After drawing two drafts of very dark beer, he carried them to a table in the shadows.
Darcy stared. OtherFolk—here? The two at the table were shorter than she was with long beards and gnarly faces like old trees. “Dwarves come to this bar?”
“There’s a dwarven hall nearby, and some of them get a kick out of sampling what’s on tap,” Owen said.
Wow. She frowned. “Don’t the humans ask questions about the strange-looking visitors?”
“Not unless they have the Sight.” Gawain shook his head. “Dwarves have a don’t-look-at-me magic in the same way sprites and gnomes do.”
The Cosantir tilted his head, the dwarves bowed slightly, and the Cosantir disengaged. Returning to the bar, he picked up his cup of coffee. When he looked at her—and she was probably gawking—his eyebrow went up.
“I don’t think our catling has run into dwarves before.” Gawain covered her hand with his.
She took a step back and then stopped herself.
Frowning, he picked her up hand. “Does it bother you to be touched?” Both her mentors often took her hand, squeezed her shoulder, or tugged on her hair.
Owen turned to look at her.
“It’s a habit. In the prìosan, contact between captives wasn’t allowed—although those of us who were older would sneak hugs to the children when we could.” She’d earned a few canings that way.
Gawain’s clear blue eyes held concern. And wasn’t that wonderful?
She tried to lighten her tone. “If I’m not expecting to be touched, my first reaction is to move back and check for guards watching. But I like being touched.” Like was such an inadequate word. Sometimes it seemed as if her entire body had been waiting forever to be stroked or held. As if her skin drank in the feeling of someone else touching her.
With the back of his knuckles, Gawain stroked her cheek. “I like touching you, so I’m glad you enjoy it.”
Owen made a low growl. “I look forward to meeting those Scythe bastards.” To her surprise, he pulled her back against his chest long enough to rub his cheek over hers.
A panther mark of affection…from the grumbly cat.
The surprise left her silent, and as her mentors turned to discussing their upcoming move, she stood between them, feeling content.
Chapter Eight
‡
On Monday, Gawain spotted a turnout on the forest service road and pulled the car into it. Time for shifter-soldier hunting as they’d promised Darcy.
Yesterday, they’d let her practice on her own while he and Owen had run up to his littermate’s remote cabin. The setting was beautiful—a tiny mountain valley with a stream at the front door—but also what the humans called “off the grid”. No electricity. No road.
While Gawain had looked around, his brother had figured out what belongings he wanted to move to town. After a few hours of savoring the peace, Gawain suggested Owen keep the cabin. Having a quiet sanctuary was good for shifters—especially introverts like his littermate.
This morning, over breakfast, they’d listed out what they each needed and wanted in a house, and shared some of their experiences in the years apart. Gawain glanced over at his brother, seeing the scattered scars on his arms, face, and neck. Owen had been far too nonchalant about the dangers of a cahir’s life.
Sliding out of the car, Gawain looked around and gave a sniff. Odd how the air smelled different outside of Calum’s territory. Even the feeling of the land was strange—thinner or less rich or something. Perhaps the lack was because the Gods had no influence over the Twin Sisters Range.
As Owen stepped out of the car, he was absent-mindedly scratching his neck and arms.
Being resistant to the effects of metal, Gawain didn’t suffer from vehicular-induced itching. But he knew better than to laugh. In fact, it had been a very quiet drive, since his itchy littermate had been as grumpy as a dwarf without any gold to his name.
Speaking of dwarves… “Did Calum find out if the dwarves had seen any shifters around here?”
“They weren’t any help.” Heading into the underbrush, Owen unbuttoned his shirt. “Their only hall this far north is within the North Cascades Territory, so they don’t know any more than Calum does.”
“That’s a shame.”
“We might get more help, though. Tynan, Donal’s littermate, lives in Seattle. Did you see him when we brought Darcy to the healer’s house?”
“Big male? Square jaw and Irish accent?” Gawain followed as Owen led the way into the underbrush.
“Yeah. The cop doesn’t come to Cold Creek often. He worries if he’s ever exposed as a Daonain, someone might track his movements back to the town. But he misses other shifters—he’s a wolf—so he and Donal want to join us next time we come to search.”
The poor bastard; wolves weren’t meant to den alone. “I don’t know how anyone could tolerate being in a city surrounded by humans. Of course they can join us.”
Reaching a place well hidden within the brush, Owen shed his clothes.
Gawain did the same and then tied the car key around a branch and out of sight.
Owen raised an eyebrow. “Why not leave it in your pocket?”
“This way I have a car, even if someone steals our clothes.” He shook his head. “And, having learned the painful way, I keep extra jeans and a shirt in the car.”
Owen snorted. “Painful? Like when Edwyn got revenge for our going to the lake without him?”
“Exactly.” Edwyn had never dealt well with being left out. He’d followed, and they’d returned to find their hidden clothing ripped to confetti. It had been a hot sunny day—and the ancient vinyl car seats had scorched their bare skin. “I think I had blisters on my ass for weeks.”
“Fuck, I couldn’t sit down for a day afterward.”
“That little weasel.” When Gawain’s gaze met Owen’s, they both grinned. The thought of Edwyn no longer caused agonizing pain, and even more, Owen had spoken his name with a smile. Time healed.
After Owen trawsfurred, Gawain did the same and followed his littermate down a tiny animal trail. The fir needles were damp and soft under his paws. He slowed to snatch a few tart huckleberries from a bush before loping after his brother.
The breeze came from the north and west. He could scent several deer, fairly distant. Coyotes had used the trail recently. No humans were anywhere close.
No shifters, either. His ears flattened with worry. What would Darcy do if they couldn’t locate her brothers?
He couldn’t imagine how it would feel to have Bonnie held hostage. It was such a joy to spend time with her again. He’d missed her almost as much as he’d missed Owen. But…by staying in Pine Knoll, Gawain had given both his littermates time to heal from their mother’s abuse.
And he’d figured those dues were his to pay. After all, it had been his fault Edwyn had died.
Chapter Nine
‡
Time passed far too quickly, Darcy thought, as she strolled toward downtown. A week had passed while Owen and Gawain searched for the shifter-soldier camp
. In Seattle, Tynan was hunting for the female captives.
As for Darcy, her trawsfurring was improving, and she no longer shifted randomly. Unfortunately, her control still disintegrated if she was startled or hurt. Yesterday, while repairing the lodge’s refrigerator, a loose wire poked her arm. A second later, her clothes were trying to strangle her, and she dropped the screwdriver…right onto her furry hind paw.
Shay and Owen had come in, seen her, and laughed their fool heads off.
She grinned. Okay, it’d probably looked really funny. And it had been fun to hear Owen let loose. For such a grumpy cat, he had an awesome gravelly laugh. Just hearing him was worth a bit of embarrassment.
He still had her puzzled, despite all the time they spent together. He and Gawain took her out in the forest almost every morning. Of course, they didn’t spend much time conversing while in animal form. Afternoons, the guys drove off to search for the shifter-soldier camp. Evenings, they’d all go house hunting.
Darcy waved at a child playing in a big leaf pile and continued on to Main Street. As a chill wind whipped around her, she zipped up her sweatshirt. The mid-October weather had been more dry than wet, but that seemed about to change. After a rain shower earlier, a thick layer of gray clouds dimmed the sun. Just as well she had a day off from the morning hunting. Wet fur was icky.
Although…she missed her time with the guys. Who knew she’d grow so fond of them? Much like a wide mountain meadow in the sun with nothing hidden, Gawain was exactly who he seemed to be—an honest, caring, strong, brave male. He enjoyed people, was easy to be around, and was delighted with being in Cold Creek. In return, the townspeople were delighted to have gained a blademage.
Rather than a meadow, Owen was a mountain at night, full of moving shadows and hidden hollows to trip up the most careful of paws.
She smiled. Her mentors had taken her for a midnight run soon after she’d arrived. At the forest’s edge, she’d been stunned at the sight of moonlight on a still, black lake, cupped in the hollow of the mountains. The beauty, the peace… Owen had that in him, as well.
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