Leap of the Lion

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Oh, girl, you’re welcome to come and cub-watch anytime your heart desires,” Bonnie said. She shook her head as one of her cubs jumped up onto a boulder—an amazing leap for someone so tiny—and pounced on his brother.

  Bonnie grinned at Bree. “Shay taught him that leap.”

  “Shay loves to teach,” Bree said. “And it’s nice that they’re learning some of those skills early.”

  Darcy scowled at the ground, remembering how she was still messing up her own jumps. She had to do better. When the shifter-soldier forest camp was located, she’d have to sneak past the guards to contact the males. And, if she had to take to the trees, she’d probably fall off a branch and get caught.

  Or if the shifter-soldiers caught her scent, who knew how they’d react? She’d need to disguise her presence until she was close enough to speak with them.

  Picking up a twig, she twirled it between her fingers. When the time came, she had to be ready to act—skillfully. It was time to work her tail off and master the skills she needed.

  She looked up to see Nia nibbling on a cookie and studying her. The redhead said, “You must not be a wolf or you’d have joined us on the last pack run. So are you a bear? Or a mountain lion or panther or whatever term you felines are using these days?”

  Emma laughed. “It’s not fair, is it? A wolf is a wolf is a wolf, whereas cats are mountain lions or panthers or cougars or puma or…really, you guys have a dozen different names that all mean panther.”

  “Exactly!” Huffing, Nia pointed her finger at Emma and scowled. “I was trying to say that I don’t want to know all those names. Bards, sheesh.” She looked at Darcy. “So, what name of cat do you prefer?”

  Such an indignant expression.

  Darcy grinned. “I love how mountain lion sounds. Only when I’m in a hurry, two words are one too many, so I use cougar mostly, only the humans use that now to mean an older woman hooking up with a younger man, so I use panther now, too.”

  Nia’s vexed look deepened. “Oh my Gods, you’re as bad as the bard.”

  When the laughter broke out, all the cubs turned to see what was going on—making everyone laugh harder.

  As the females settled onto the blankets, Bree said to Darcy, “I saw your mentors head off together toward town. Did you escape a lesson today?”

  “Gawain has a blade to forge, and Owen’s doing something for the Cosantir. No lesson today.” Darcy took a bite of cookie. Sugar and chocolate chips and walnuts. Mmmm.

  “I bet it’s a relief to escape,” Nia muttered, gaze on the cublings.

  Darcy blinked, caught Bree’s slight shake of the head, and moved on. “I was going to go explore a new set of trails, but, this is so much nicer.”

  “Are Owen and Gawain teaching you anything besides hunting?” Bonnie asked before grinning at Bree. “I remember how ignorant our Bree was when first arrived. She didn’t know anything about the Daonain or wolf packs. Or anything about Gatherings.”

  Darcy rolled her eyes. “I’m in the same sad shape.”

  “I can’t even imagine how scary that must be. I’m new, but if you need someone to hang with at a Gathering, just yell.” Nia frowned. “Did you attend the last Gathering in Cold Creek? I didn’t see you.”

  Darcy felt her cheeks heat. “I wasn’t there. I’d gone to the Twin Sisters to search for my people.”

  “On a Gathering night?” Nia’s tone was scandalized.

  “No one had told me about full moons or Gatherings. I guess I was lucky. My mentors as well as Donal and Tynan caught up to me before the moon rose.” Remembering how gently the males had treated her…and how intimate it had gotten, her insides melted. Gawain and his laughing eyes and powerful body. Owen, such a mixture of rough and gentle.

  Being with them, mating with them, had changed her.

  Some forest pinecones wouldn’t sprout until burned by fire. She’d been burned—and now love was sprouting in her heart. Oh no. Don’t be a turkey-brained tinker. She mustn’t—couldn’t—be in love with them.

  She was.

  Oh my Gods.

  She cleared her throat. “The males were all very kind to me, especially for my first full moon heat.”

  “Right. I’m glad for you. But, don’t expect… Um.” Nia’s smile was bittersweet. “I found out the nasty way that what a male does under the full moon means nothing once the moon sets.”

  “What do you mean?” Darcy asked.

  “Well, see, I mated Owen, and it was amazing. He was really nice.” She shook her head. “Only, I thought he liked me, but when I saw him the next day, he said he didn’t like me—or any female—and he hates that he has to fuck us once a month.”

  “He was awfully rude,” Darcy’s voice came out hesitant. Would even grumpy Owen have said something so mean?

  Nia glanced at Bree. “You heard him.”

  Bree nodded with a sad look at Darcy.

  “He did apologize, though.” Nia wrinkled her nose. “Probably the Cosantir told him to.”

  Bonnie was frowning. “I’m sorry, Nia. Owen is…”

  “Oh, it’s all right. He was nasty, but I was silly to see more in a mating than was really there.” Nia shrugged. “It was a lesson I needed to learn.”

  But such a harsh one.

  Apparently, Darcy had needed the lesson, as well.

  She knew he avoided females, although he did like her. He’d said so. However, like wasn’t the same as love, now was it?

  Nia wasn’t the only foolish one. Akin to the cublings, Darcy had been building castles out of mud and had somehow forgotten that matings under a full moon weren’t a prelude to a relationship.

  Had Gawain or Owen said they loved her? No, they hadn’t. The two were wonderful and protective…and her mentors. Nothing more. Control your emotions, tinker.

  This really was for the best, anyway, since she’d be leaving Cold Creek. Love wasn’t in her destiny.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‡

  Gawain had spent the day forging new blades for the cahirs’ incoming students, but halted early to clean up at the lodge. Breanne was hosting a dinner party for the cahirs and their families to give Darcy a chance to meet everyone. Apparently, a couple of days ago at a creekside picnic, Darcy had mentioned she didn’t know Ben and Ryder.

  Gawain pulled on clean clothes, a better shirt than his usual white smithing ones and jeans.

  No clothes on the floor meant Owen hadn’t yet returned from dragging Darcy out for a quick hunt. Undoubtedly, they’d be back soon.

  As Gawain headed down the stairs, amazing aromas were coming from the kitchen. His stomach rumbled.

  In the kitchen, Bree was pouring a liquid over a huge roast in the oven.

  Hoping to score some food, Gawain asked, “Can I help with anything?”

  She closed the oven door and smiled at him. “Not in here. I have everything timed and choreographed. But…”

  “What?”

  “Well, with the danger from the Scythe, Zeb ordered me to keep the door locked all the time. But I need to be in here. Could you possibly be the doorman?”

  “Sure. Not a problem. I’m an excellent butler.”

  Obviously knowing males, she handed him a handful of tiny muffins that smelled of sausage and cheese.

  “You’re a fine female, Breanne.” He popped one muffin in his mouth and heard himself start to purr. Two more disappeared. Then all.

  “Here. Go play butler.” Grinning, she handed him a beer and waved him out of her domain.

  Sipping his drink, Gawain settled into a chair near the front door. As he thought of his day and the evening to come with Owen, Darcy, and new friends, contentment was a warm glow in his belly. Cold Creek was a fine town, much more to his taste than Pine Knoll.

  Maybe because the ratio of shifters to humans was nicely balanced. The humans kept the shifters aware…at least somewhat…of the outside, modern world. In turn, the Daonain reminded humans there was more to life than money and power.

  In
another few days, he and Owen would move into their house. Gawain stroked his beard and smiled. Being around his littermate had brought him more satisfaction and…rightness…than he’d felt since they’d parted so long ago. Although the breaking of the bond when Edwyn died had hurt, Owen’s departure had been far more painful. Thank the Gods, they were together again.

  Then there was Darcy. Gawain wrinkled his brow. The little minx had been avoiding them. At a guess, she was worried about her villagers. She might feel her life was too unsettled to start a new relationship.

  Of course, being as she was female and he was male, his guesses as to her reasoning could be completely off the path. The catling needed to share her worries rather than him and Owen trying to guess.

  But…she concealed her fears from them. Maybe because the Scythe had isolated the captives, and she’d never learned to share? Or because she was an independent little tinker and a strong female?

  Owen wasn’t any better about sharing. Gawain grinned. People teased the cahir about being quiet, grumpy if annoyed, and blunt as any dwarf—yet he had a lot of good friends. As he should. He was strong, brave, honest, and—even if he tried to hide it—incredibly kind.

  Darcy had seen through all of Owen’s bluster to the good male beneath. She liked Gawain, too. Gawain nodded. Truly, she cared for them both.

  They needed to discuss those worries of hers. It was time to take the next step to starting a relationship, because, once the villagers were rescued, she was liable to up and leave. He was damned if he’d let that happen. She needed to see they wanted her. He’d have to make sure Owen was ready to run that trail at a fast pace.

  The three notes of the doorbell interrupted his planning. Time to be the lodge butler.

  Gawain crossed the reception area and opened the door.

  An older female stood there. She had the palest of blonde hair and brown eyes.

  Gawain’s gut muscles flinched as if he’d been stabbed. “Mother.”

  “I found you.” Shoving the door farther open, she stalked past him, every inch the annoyed cat. “Why are you here in this scatty town?”

  Automatically, Gawain checked the room for breakables that he might need to protect; the lodge was well cubling-proofed—or in this case, angry-Mother-proofed. He could tell from the shrill edge in her voice, she was gearing up for an ugly fight.

  The bottom of his stomach slid greasily downward. “I live here,” he said shortly.

  “No, you don’t. You live in Pine Knoll.”

  “Not any longer. I moved here.”

  “But…” Her pale white hands clasped together over her heavy breasts. Over the last decade or so, she’d begun to visibly age. Harsh lines of discontent were graven beside her mouth and eyes. Although she’d once been an attractive female, a mean spirit would eventually blight even the most beautiful surface.

  She took a step toward him. “But, Gawain, you’re my cub. I need you. I need your help.”

  “No, you don’t. You’re a healthy adult. Other adult shifters live on their own.” Only…she was getting older. He hesitated.

  She could spot her prey’s weaknesses faster than a pack of wolves, and she never hesitated to take advantage. “Oh, Gawain, I’m out of money, and I don’t know what to do.” Tears brimmed in her brown eyes. “Edwyn would have looked after me, but he’s gone. You’re all I have left.”

  Out of four cubs? Not hardly.

  But he certainly wouldn’t mention Bonnie, not after the eternity he’d spent in Pine Knoll to ensure his sister was free.

  And Mother still hated Owen.

  What would she do without Gawain at her beck and call? Whenever she was without one of the numerous males she picked up and discarded, she’d use him for chores, repairs, money, and even emotional support. And if he tried to set boundaries on her use of his time, she’d descend into hysterics in the most public places possible.

  The twenty-five years of being her “cub” had taken their toll. Now Bonnie was safe, and he needed to escape before his spirit turned bitter and sour. He probably should have traveled to the far end of the continent to get out of her reach, but the lure of his littermates had caught him.

  And now she’d found him.

  As she started sobbing louder, Gawain looked at her and felt…nothing. Not hatred, not warmth. Not even a sense of duty remained.

  Instead, his first thought was for his littermate. He needed to get her out of here before she saw Owen. Don’t return to the lodge yet, Owen. Stay away.

  Unfortunately, if she didn’t get what she wanted, she’d refuse to leave. She’d persist—clinging and crying, talking and talking. Her infantile behavior would escalate until she’d start throwing whatever she could get her hands on.

  He sighed. “How much money do you need?”

  With Darcy beside him, Owen finished dressing in the side room and headed down the hall.

  Still in an exhilarant mood, Darcy was dancing, although on feet now rather than paws.

  Smiling slightly, he slung an arm over her shoulders and pulled her close. “You did good, little cat.”

  Her snort held both delight at his compliment—and exasperation. Her pointy elbow jabbed into his ribs. “Don’t call me little.”

  “Ah, right. I forgot.” He grinned down into her dark eyes. Fuck, she was beautiful. Her cheeks had rounded out, and her skin glowed with health. Her lips were full, the lower one tempting a male to nibble on the plumpness.

  Undoubtedly catching his interested scent, she stumbled slightly, and to his delight, he caught a whiff of her own interest. To see what she’d do, he lifted her arm and blatantly sniffed her wrist. Oh, yeah. The scent there not only roused him, but the knowledge that she wanted him made his own feet want to dance.

  He cleared his throat. Not the time, Treharn. “If you don’t like the word little, I could call you tiny. Tiny tinker?”

  Her dainty hiss reminded him of Mrs. Henderson’s Persian. Yep, little cat was the right term for her.

  He tugged a lock of her wavy hair in reprimand. “Did you just hiss at your mentor?” He’d never teased a female before this one. Odd how much fun it was.

  “Oh, no.” She widened eyes as filled with mischief as a passel of pixies. “I would never. Truly. I know better than to disrespect someone of your venerable age.”

  His jaw dropped. The kitten had just called him old? Old? “You are in so much—”

  Giggling, she darted down the hallway, around the back of the stairs, and into the main room of the lodge.

  At a more leisurely pace, he followed. If Zeb was around, he’d hand her back. Shay or Gawain would enjoy teasing her—or him—but eventually, Owen would have his hands on her again. What could he do to make her eat that insult?

  As he rounded the corner, a scent froze his feet to the ground. Loathing filled him.

  His mother stood in front of Gawain, accepting a fistful of bills.

  Laughter gone, Darcy was within a few feet of them and backing toward the stairs.

  Owen couldn’t move. He hadn’t seen Mother since the day in the Pine Knoll restaurant when she’d been loudly sobbing about her cub being dead. An exasperated customer reminded her she had three remaining cubs—and unfortunately, pointed at Owen who’d just entered the restaurant. By the God, he’d never seen such hysterics in his life.

  For twenty-five years, he’d not thought of her. And he’d believed Gawain loved her. His littermate had stayed in Pine Knoll, after all.

  Owen might have been wrong.

  His littermate’s emotions were as easy to read as a fresh-cut trail. Gawain was angry. Frustrated. And almost despairing. Despite his need to protect Gawain, Owen knew any intervention would only lead to a foulmouthed scene, punctuated by screams and wails. Ear-splitting hysterics were Mother’s specialty.

  He and Gawain were guests in this lodge; fouling the wolves’ den with their mother’s howling would be wrong.

  Owen started to retreat the way he’d come.

  The movement c
aught Gawain’s attention.

  Mother noted his gaze, spotted Owen, and hatred filled her face. “You. You’re still alive.” She pointed at Owen as if she’d gladly stab him through the heart with her finger. “You’re the reason my baby, my Edwyn, is dead. You’re more evil than any hellhound.”

  He was an adult now, full-grown, and still…something in him wanted to curl into a miserable ball like a cubling. Even knowing she wouldn’t listen, he still protested. “I had nothing to do with Edwyn’s death. I didn’t see him that night.”

  “You lie! I know you yelled at him. Called him names. You’re why Phoebe rejected him. Why he drove his new car too fast and crashed it.” Her voice shook. “You killed him as surely as if you’d bit his throat out.”

  No reasoning with her. Owen shook his head, barely managing to mutter the words. “I don’t lie. Wasn’t there.”

  “You were. Murderer.” She launched herself across the room, striking Owen with fists and slaps.

  He turned his head and backed away, and she followed…as she always had. He’d never hit her back—she was female.

  “This is bullshit. Stop right now.” Darcy grabbed his mother’s arm—and hair—and slung her into a chair.

  “You dare! You—”

  With a wolverine’s ferocity, Darcy hissed and raised her fist. “Owen might not hit a female, but I certainly will.” Darcy’s voice was a low growl. The little female was under complete control, despite her anger.

  His mother burst into pitiful weeping. “You don’t understand. He killed my son.”

  “I very much doubt it. Owen doesn’t lie.” The certainty in Darcy’s voice was a balm over burning welts.

  Still—he needed to leave, or Mother would continue ratcheting up the hysterics. He glanced at Gawain.

  Snowfall pale, his littermate hadn’t moved.

  Owen took a step forward. “Brawd?”

  Gawain’s haunted eyes met his. “She blames you. I didn’t know she still did. Owen, I swear, I would have dealt with it.”

  What the fuck? He shrugged. “She’s always blamed me for everything. No matter.”

  “It does matter.” Gawain straightened his shoulders. “Mother, listen to me.”