Leap of the Lion

by Cherise Sinclair

  But now what? Darcy frowned. Owen, if on his own, would retreat to his room and read. Gawain, however, would probably wander into town and find someone to talk with.

  The tavern wasn’t very far.

  A few minutes later, having taken the tiny footpath from the lodge, she pulled open the heavy tavern door and stepped inside. Midweek, the place was only two-thirds full.

  Breathing in the fragrance of roasted peanuts, popcorn, and beer, she listened to the babble of conversations and clink of glassware. Thumping noises came from the pool tables in an alcove to the right.

  She wiped her clammy hands on her jeans and told her nerves to settle down. Who would have thought her first night out—all by herself—would be so daunting?

  Move the feet, tinker. She shouldn’t stand frozen in the doorway as if planning to flee.

  Stupid feet didn’t move.

  A feeling of being lost swept over her. In prìosan, her world had been bound in time and space. She’d had her place, fixing things and helping people. Here, she was the one needing help.

  In prìosan, she’d known everyone and everything. She glanced around the barroom, not recognizing anyone.

  And each day here was different, as if she’d walked into an entirely different world. One where she wasn’t in control of anything.

  But she’d manage—she would—because that was what she did.

  “Hey, Darcy!” In a cozy chair by the huge fireplace, Vicki, Calum’s pregnant mate, waved her hand and tried to rise.

  In relief and delight, Darcy motioned for her to stay seated and crossed the room.

  The stubborn female was still trying to stand up.

  “I’m here. Stop trying to get out of that chair.” Darcy stopped in front of her.

  “Have I mentioned that I fucking hate being pregnant?” Vicki’s voice was a low growl.

  “No…really?” asked a blonde, brown-eyed female sitting on the couch to the right. Amusement danced in her eyes. “Who would have thought?”

  Vicki’s growl deepened and then, with a yielding laugh, she collapsed back into the chair, hands on her belly. “I give up. When I need to stand, I expect you all to yank me out of this bottomless pit of a chair.”

  “Not a problem.” The third female in the conversational area was big-boned, tall, and lushly curved. Her tawny coloring was that of the last golden days of summer. A guitar rested on the couch next to her. She turned her attention to Darcy. “Hi, I’m Emma.”

  “Sorry,” Vicki said. “I had to bitch before making introductions. Darcy, meet our bard and bear, Emma. Her mate Ben is a cahir and patrols with Owen. Ryder, her other mate, has an adorable cub.”

  Emma’s smile was beautiful and kind. “Welcome to Cold Creek, Darcy.”

  A bard. Wow. “I’ve never met a bard before. It’s nice to meet you.”

  The other female lifted her drink. “Welcome, Darcy.”

  Vicki nodded to the short, brown-eyed blonde. “That wolf there is Bonnie, who is the sheriff’s dispatcher, and she has two cublings full of more mischief than a den of foxes, and…oh, she’s sister to Owen and Gawain.”

  Darcy had to laugh. “You have a talent for introductions.”

  “My boss taught me to be succinct and informative.” Vicki patted the chair beside her. “Join us, so the cats will outnumber the others.”

  “Hey!” Bonnie said indignantly. “Wolves are supposed to have the majority. It’s a rule.”

  “Rules were made to be broken.” Vicki smirked. “What are you drinking, Darcy?”

  “Um.” At the lodge, she’d sampled the various beers. “I’m not exactly familiar with alcohol, although I’ve discovered I don’t like beer.”

  “What…didn’t the Scythe assholes share their alcohol with their prisoners? Rude bastards.” Vicki grinned. “No worries, we’ll find something you can enjoy.” She twisted to look at the back of the room.

  Darcy followed her gaze and saw Calum behind the bar…watching. He nodded at Darcy before lifting an eyebrow at Vicki.

  His mate’s circling gesture encompassed the drinks on the coffee table, then she pointed to Bonnie’s drink and held up two fingers.

  As Calum tilted his head in acknowledgment, the warmth in his smile could have kept a female nice and cozy all through a long, long winter.

  Darcy sighed. He still scared her, but she had to envy Vicki just a bit.

  “So, Darcy.” Emma leaned forward. “Bree told me you fixed all the appliances at the lodge—and her washing machine doesn’t make a thump-thump-thump sound anymore.”

  “Well, yes.” Darcy bit her lip. “I wish I could do more to help.”

  “Oh, girl, she’s enjoying having another female around.” Bonnie shook her head. “Her best friend-roomie died before she got here, and she gets lonely for females. I wish we could get together more often, but I have the cubs. Emma teaches cublings during the day. And Vicki is a bit…ah…less mobile than she used to be.”

  Vicki shot her a deadly look.

  “Bree says she loves having you there.” Emma smiled. “But, actually, I was wondering if I could hire you to repair something at our place?”

  “Of course. Fixing things is the most fun in the world.” Relaxing, Darcy leaned back. “Mum said she knew my sire’s identity just from the way I was always messing with machines. Then again, my coloring might have been a clue.” Black haired, black-eyed Daonain were rare.

  Bonnie tilted her head. “Native American like Zeb?”

  “Roma. Mom said my sire hated the word gypsy.” She grinned. “He didn’t like the word tinker, either, but that’s what Mum called me.” “My tinker cub.”

  “Ah.” Emma smiled. “You inherited the skills of a tinceard—a tinsmith. In ancient days, villages begged the tinkers to visit. It’s a shame the word has fallen out of favor.”

  Tinceard. As Darcy turned her tongue around the word, Calum appeared with a tray of drinks.

  “Quite correct, bard. The Daonain have always prized those who can build or repair.” Calum gave Emma and Bonnie fresh drinks and set a glass of wine in front of Darcy. “You are very welcome in my territory, tinker.” His English accent gave the word an exotic flavor.

  The warmth of his welcome was an unexpected, lovely gift.

  “Water for you, cariad.” He handed his mate a glass with lemon floating in it, then panther-quick, headed back to the bar before she could respond.

  From his mate’s grimace at the water, she might have had a few choice words to share. “Gah. I hate water.”

  “Poor Vicki,” Emma said with a grin.

  Darcy could understand Vicki’s irritability over the inconveniences of pregnancy, and yet… “You know, the three females who were pregnant when we were captured lost their cubs before birth. No one knew if it was being underground or the cages or the horrible experiments they tried. But those females would have given anything to have been able…” Her voice trailed away as she saw the looks of horror.

  Darcy shook her head. What had she been thinking? “Oh my Gods, I’m sorry, Vicki. I don’t know what—”

  “Don’t apologize for being honest,” Vicki said quietly. “Or for smacking me upside the head for whining.”

  Darcy wanted to crawl under her chair. How could she inflict her ugly memories on other people? What was wrong with her?

  “It happens, Darcy. To me, too.” Emma gave her a sympathetic look. “Bad memories have a habit of pouncing at inopportune moments.”

  “What a horrid time you had,” Bonnie said. After she took a sip of her drink, her lips curved and she started chortling.

  “What?” Emma asked.

  Bonnie pointed a finger at Darcy. “My oh-so-blunt brother is mentoring her.” She grinned at Darcy. “Thank the Goddess, I think he’s met his match.”

  “Hey, Owen’s been…” Well, nice wasn’t the word she’d use. Although he had hugged her once. “He’s been…” Wonderfully kind sometimes. “He hasn’t…” Giving up, she took a big drink of her wine.

/>   Emma made a snorting sound. “Owen has been a good friend to my mates—and me—but no one in the territory would call him polite. Or sweet. Especially to females.”

  Bree had mentioned his dislike for females. “Why? Females are mostly likable, aren’t we?” Darcy took another drink. Wine surely was different from the beer that tasted worse than musty, liquefied bread. This wasn’t sweet, but crisp with a lingering fruity smoothness.

  “We are likable,” Vicki said firmly.

  “Bad experiences, maybe? My Ryder didn’t trust females because of one especially vile one.” Emma frowned. “After meeting her, I understood why he was wary.”

  “Huh. I’ve never seen Owen hanging out with a woman.” Vicki frowned. “It seems as if he only talks with unattached females at Gatherings. When would he have had a bad experience?”

  “As a cub. Our mother was…is…a ghastly person. And abusive to Owen. Actually, I’m not sure she’s even sane.” Bonnie huddled down on the couch.

  Darcy recognized the defensive posture. The cubling captives would curl up like that after a beating. “She hit you?”

  “Oh my Gods, yes. There were four of us in the litter. She adored Edwyn. Usually tolerated me and Gawain well enough. And she hated Owen from the minute he was born.”

  “But why?” Emma asked.

  “The gossip was that Owen’s sire got annoyed at the way she chased him and humiliated her so badly she left town. My aunt says Owen looks like him.”

  “She took her anger out on a cubling?” Darcy scowled. “That’s just wrong.”

  “It is,” Bonnie said. “Owen never had any mother’s love—only abuse.”

  Darcy tried to imagine the big cahir as a child. His skin was almost the same shade as her olive tones. As a cub, he’d have had bright green eyes and tangled brown hair, would have been skinny and…and adorable. Who could hit him—or any cub? “I’ve hated the humans so much for hurting the cublings from our village. To find a Daonain abused her own children makes me feel as if the ground is a marshland.”

  “I love my cubs so much,” Bonnie said. “And I don’t understand my mother at all. Owen—he’s a good person.”

  Emma nodded. “He and Ben and Alec have saved more lives than anyone can count.”

  “I worry about him, my grumpy, domineering brother.” Bonnie waved her glass. “Sometimes he barks out orders as if he’s decades older than me instead of maybe two minutes.”

  Darcy grinned. What a perfect description.

  “But even when he was waist-high, he was bossy and over-protective.” Bonnie shook her head. “When our littermate Edwyn died, I was living here in Cold Creek with Aunt Sandy. Since she and her mates were out of town, I just took off without telling anyone and traveled as a wolf back to Pine Knoll.”

  “That’s a fucking long way,” Vicki commented.

  “Stupid teenager, right?” Bonnie’s grin faded. “Showing up there was a mistake. Mother acted as if I owed her for moving away. She wanted me to fix her hair and give her money and clean the house—as if she was the child instead of me, and she got hysterical if I left her for even a minute. I didn’t know what to do.”

  “Did your Aunt Sandy come and get you?” Emma asked.

  “She was still gone. Owen rescued me. Mother and I were in a restaurant where she was weeping about Edwyn dying. Owen came in, and Holy Herne, she had this violent meltdown and started throwing dishes at him.”

  Emma’s eyes widened. “In a restaurant?”

  “Mm-hmm. Thank the Gods, Gawain arrived. Even as a teen, that boy could calm an earthquake if needed. As she was crying all over him, I ran after Owen and begged him to help me.”

  Darcy knew the answer before Emma asked, “Did he?”

  Bonnie laughed, although her eyes were damp. “This is Owen. Of course he did. He was all of sixteen and still, just took charge. He escorted me all the way back here…bossing me around and coaching me on my hunting skills. At Sandy’s, he told me to finish growing up and disappeared.”

  Vicki frowned. “Disappeared?”

  “I didn’t see him again for…maybe fifteen years?” Bonnie smiled. “He left Pine Knoll, apprenticed somewhere else, and later wandered from territory to territory. I think he checked on me a few times, but when he showed up a decade ago, Calum spotted him. Owen was a cahir by then, and the Cosantir snatched him up for the North Cascades Territory.”

  Vicki smirked. “My mate is quick that way.”

  “He really is.” Bonnie grinned back. “Anyway, once Owen was here, we became closer. It’s so fun to watch my cubs turn him into a gooey-sweet mess.”

  Darcy snorted at the thought—and was dying to see Owen with his nephews.

  Bonnie swirled her wine and frowned. “It worries me that he never talks about our childhood. Ever.”

  “Maybe he will someday. When more time has passed,” Emma said.

  Eyes narrowed, Darcy counted years on her fingers. “He’s—you’re—in your forties?”

  “Mmmhmm. Low forties.”

  Well, no wonder he and Gawain often treated her as if she were a cub. Darcy let out a small sigh. She didn’t feel much like a cub when she looked at Gawain…or Owen. Although she wasn’t sure what her body was saying, it felt an awful lot like wanting to do male-female things.

  And…she was hoping she’d found some friends here. She glowered at the others. “Am I the youngest, then? Are you all decades older?”

  “You worry too much, cubling.” Emma sounded as if she was at least fifty.

  Darcy slumped back in her chair.

  Laughing, Emma tossed a napkin at her. “I’m at least…oh, a couple of years older.”

  “You—you are evil,” Darcy sputtered.

  “Bards. They can play a person easier than they do their harps,” Bonnie said.

  Grinning, Vicki drank some of her water before offering, “I have a few years on you—not many—and Alec and Calum are older than Owen.”

  “Older?”

  Vicki wrinkled her nose. “Imagine my shock, especially since I was raised human. Where are their pot-bellies and bald pates?”

  Emma and Bonnie were snickering—because Alec and Calum were lean and muscular and drop-dead gorgeous.

  “You know, I forgot that healthy Daonain look about the same from late twenties to about a hundred. But still,” Darcy grumbled, “my mentors have twenty years more experience than me. They’ll never take me seriously.”

  Thank the Mother, she had never hinted she might want them to be more than mentors. If she did. She didn’t. Really, did she?

  Right. Just keep lying to yourself, you turkey-brained tinker. Every time Gawain or Owen spoke to her, her insides whirled and curled like a salamander in a roaring fire.

  “Ah-hah, so you want my brothers to take you seriously.” Bonnie had a slight smile on her face.

  Oh my Goddess, she was lusting after Bonnie’s littermates. Her entire face turned hot with her flush.

  “I totally approve,” Bonnie said firmly.

  Darcy’s mouth dropped open. “You what?”

  All three females grinned at Darcy.

  Giving up, she slumped into her chair, took a big sip of wine—and grinned back.

  Had she ever felt so at home with anyone? They’d accepted her, advised her, and they liked her; she could tell.

  And she liked them. At the lodge, Bree’d mentioned Emma’s trials as a cub and adult. Vicki had been a soldier and spy—not easy professions for anyone. Bonnie’d come from a background of abuse. None had waltzed through life to arrive here, yet all three were strong and balanced. And they could still laugh.

  If the Scythe ever tried to capture Cold Creek as they had Dogwood, she had a feeling the humans would regret it.

  Darcy wiggled in the chair, getting comfortable, and drank more wine as the conversation moved to planning the Samhain festivities at the end of the month.

  Would she even be here then?

  As soon as her villagers were found, she’d have to lea
ve. And she’d never dare to return and endanger these wonderful people.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‡

  The misty forest clearing was quiet except for the slight rustle under a serviceberry bush. Ignoring her pushy animal instincts, Darcy ran through a mental checklist.

  There was the rat. Check.

  She tensed her muscles, wiggled her butt, and lashed her tail.

  Body is ready. Check.

  As everything came together, she pounced. Her front paws landed on the woodrat. Gotcha. Her jaws closed around its body. A high squeak made her cringe even as she felt the satisfying crack of bones. Fresh, hot blood filled her mouth.

  Paw on the body, she ripped off strips of flesh and swallowed. Chewing? Nah. Within a minute, the woodrat had disappeared into her belly.

  As she cleaned her muzzle, delight was a bubbly froth in her veins. Catching her own lunch still simply amazed her…aside from the ewww factor.

  Recalling her surroundings, she shifted to human form and looked around for Bree.

  The wolf sat on her haunches across the clearing.

  “I can’t believe I just ate a rat,” Darcy said to her.

  Breanne opened her jaws in a doggy laugh, shifted, and found a seat on a flat stone. “Although you took a rather long time before you pounced, you did great. Better than me, since I didn’t get good at hunting for ages. And even then, I refused to eat my kill. Zeb had to finish off what I caught. It was embarrassing.”

  “I can understand why a chef might not want to indulge in rodent tartare.” In fact… Darcy swiped a hand around her mouth to make sure she cleaned away every icky drop of blood. “Now what are—”

  Holding up a hand, Bree sniffed the air. “There’s a cougar around.”

  Darcy inhaled and smiled. “It’s strange how a person’s animal form smells almost the same as his human form. That’s Gawain.” He must be following their trail, so he probably wanted to talk to her, which meant she shouldn’t shift back to furry.

  Only, she didn’t want to talk to him without any clothes on. Where was a convenient bush to step behind when she wanted one?