Leap of the Lion

by Cherise Sinclair

  Her head lifted. Her haunted dark eyes narrowed as she caught the bitter knowledge in his words. “You’ve had nightmares?”

  “Aye. More than a few.” Edwyn’s car wreck. A feral he’d been forced to kill before the male could slaughter two young wolves. A Gathering fight where two males had torn each other apart over a female.

  One of his lovers had been a healer. She’d coaxed him to tell her, and with the talking, the nightmares had eased. “Sharing helps, Darcy.”

  Sharing? No. Darcy couldn’t talk about the blood, the screams, the guilt. She shook her head. “I c-can’t.”

  Surprising her, Owen kissed her palm, and the scratchiness of his stubbled chin drew her back further into reality. “The night is not the time. You’ll tell us tomorrow.”

  Bossy cat. Why did his order and his light kiss make her want to cry? “I will if… Would you just hold me for a while?”

  Owen rose, and oh, the rejection hurt. She pulled in a shuddering breath and—he picked her up. “Strip down, brawd.” He nodded at the sleeping bags.

  After Gawain shed his clothes and climbed into the bag, Owen set her next to him.

  “Closer, catling.” Lying on his back, Gawain drew her against his side. He gave off heat like a bonfire and smelled of mountain meadows and sunshine.

  She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder before lifting her head to look for Owen.

  Gawain chuckled. “He’ll douse the fire and join us.”

  With a sigh of relief, she snuggled closer with her front against his side. She put a leg over the top of his hard thighs, and somehow, it didn’t even matter that they were both naked.

  A minute later, also naked, Owen slid into the bag on her other side, spooning her with his chest against her back, and his legs behind hers.

  Despite the frigid night air, warmth surrounded her. Gawain’s heart beat slowly beneath her cheek.

  Against her back, Owen’s chest moved in and out with his even breathing, and his heavy arm lay over her and Gawain, securing them all together. His voice was deep. “You’re safe, Darcy. Go back to sleep now.”

  “Bossy cat,” she muttered…and fell asleep to the sound of their laughter.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

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  The next day, on the way to the car, Owen had told the little cat to find him. If he watched closely, maybe he could figure out why she was such an inept feline.

  Lying on a comfortable branch, Owen licked a wayward patch of fur on his foreleg. Having the pretty panther searching for him gave him an odd sense of satisfaction.

  There she was.

  He had to suppress his purr. Although she was still tiny—not much bigger than a teenaged shifter—the time in Cold Creek had been good for her. Her fur had a sheen, and her flanks were no longer hollowed. Smooth padding covered her ribs, although she had a few more pounds to go. In all reality, she was far more than the “pretty panther” Gawain called her—she was beautiful.

  She went past the place where he’d left the trail, halted, and retraced her steps. Finding his trail, she headed into the underbrush. Her paw almost landed on a shrew. Its angry squeak and skittering retreat made her freeze, consternation in every line of her body.

  Owen had to smother his huff of amusement.

  But—good girl—she hadn’t jumped a couple of feet into the air as she had the first few times. Instead, she sniffed and relaxed.

  She continued on. Slowly. Really, far too slowly. When he and Gawain had played these games as cublings, they’d loped along, sniffing the air, ears swiveled to catch any sound. They hadn’t gone into stalk mode unless they found an active scent.

  At this rate, she’d be searching for him for hours.

  His tail impatiently flicked up and down as he realized her every step was planned out, as was each pause to sniff.

  Planned? For fuck’s sake, she was in animal form. Animals didn’t plan. Admittedly, a shifter needed some control. The human side never disappeared—unless feral. Part of being an animal was letting instincts rule, allowing the magic to have its sway, and taking joy in the sheer physical nature of a beast.

  Darcy, however, was all human and merely clothed in the body of a panther.

  He saw the moment she caught his scent and again overruled her instincts. She didn’t crouch. She used her eyes instead of her other senses. Following his scent, she should have launched herself into the tree and jumped him. Or chased after him if he’d leaped away first.

  But no, she pushed away those urges because she wanted to use her eyes. To see him before acting.

  With an annoyed hiss, he sprang. In two bounds, he hit her and wrapped his forelegs around her shoulders so he could bite her ear in a reprimand. Then and only then, he trawsfurred.

  After a moment, she did the same. As she lay, flattened by his weight, she glared at him.

  She pleased his eyes.

  Her hair was the blackest of blacks and made a lush waterfall over her high, pert breasts. Muscles flowed in her shoulders and arms. Whatever she’d done in that prison, it hadn’t been sitting around on her ass.

  Grumbling under her breath, she squirmed out from under him, which he enjoyed more than he should have. Herne’s hooves, this wasn’t the time to give in to his attraction. It sure wasn’t appropriate to remember the last Gathering—taking her, mating with her, how she’d felt around him.

  How she cried out as she gave in to her passion.

  That thought reminded him of why he was angry. He rose to his feet, folded his arms over his chest, and scowled at her. “I’ve seen better hunting from thirteen-year-olds with only a day of being a shifter. You caught my scent. Why didn’t you attack?”

  She jumped to her feet and scowled back “I had to find you first.”

  “No. Your nose told you where I was, and your body wanted to spring. I saw your muscles tense. But you didn’t.”

  “I… I wanted to see you. To make sure.” She looked confused. Adorably confused.

  He sighed and motioned her toward a log. “By Herne’s holy antlers, Gawain should explain this. I’m not used to having to…”

  “Talk rather than kill?” Anger gone, she grinned at him.

  “Impertinent cub.”

  “I’m no cub.”

  His hand reached out of its own accord, and he traced his fingertips over her shoulder, heading toward the valley between her breasts. Her skin was warm and soft with a mesmerizing silkiness. Her scent was a light musk, holding a whiff of pine from the trees.

  As he breathed in, he caught the first hint of her arousal. She enjoyed his hand on her.

  “No, he said huskily, “you’re no cub.” With an effort, he took a step back and dropped his arm.

  Lesson. This was a lesson. Think, Treharn. Having lived with intellect-driven humans, she wouldn’t easily relax into being an animal. Daonain cubs grew up around shifters—Darcy hadn’t. “You need to let your animal instincts handle your body.”

  “But, I thought… Don’t you kill Daonain who go feral and let the animal control them?”

  He heard Gawain cross the meadow, but kept his eyes on Darcy. “With ferals, the human half is gone and only rage remains.”

  When she paled, he knew she’d seen a feral in her past. “In animal form, if really needed, the human side can take charge. It’s…” He scowled, searching for an example. “When I learned to drive, an instructor sat beside me. I steered—did the driving—but if I screwed up, he could tell me to pull over, and he’d drive.”

  “Oh.” Her brows puckered. “You’re saying I should let the animal drive and keep veto power.”

  “Exactly.” Gawain sat down beside her. “You need to sink into the wildness and trust it. This is part of who you are now.”

  She bit her lip. “I…don’t want to let go. I need to be in control.”

  Owen snorted. “Sounds like our mother.” He regretted the words even before she glared at him.

  “I am not your mother. I’m me, not any other female—any more t
han you are Gawain. I can tell each male is unique. Why can’t you see that females aren’t identical?”

  He blinked. By the God, she’d delivered a verbal disembowelment—which was exactly what he’d asked her to do if he made an idiot of himself. “You’re right; thank you for reminding me.”

  He couldn’t keep from smiling. “You’re definitely not like anyone I’ve met before.”

  Her glare faded. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  “I enjoyed it,” Gawain said. “But, sweetling, can you tell us why you won’t let go?”

  Her color grayed, and fear scented the air. “No.”

  Owen frowned. The same scent of fear had clung to her last night after the nightmare. She didn’t frighten easily, this little female. Had something happened in the past when she lost control? Something that, even now, gave her nightmares? How could he help if he didn’t know what was wrong?

  By the God, he couldn’t stand it when she was frightened. Needing to protect her—even from her own past—he moved closer and put an arm around her.

  She gave him a surprised look, then leaned against him and put her head on his chest. Letting him give her comfort. Finest feeling in the world.

  As her muscles relaxed, he nuzzled the top of her head and figured some kisses would put her right. He hadn’t had a kiss for hours, after all. Tangling his fingers in her hair, he pulled her head back and kissed her, teasing her lips open, then delving deep.

  She tensed for all of a moment before melting against him. When he tipped her back into the soft grass and flattened her with his weight, she made no protest. Her arms came around him.

  At least she had no trouble losing control when mating. Perhaps because she had no bad memories to overcome.

  Owen lifted his head to glance at his brother.

  Despite the slight worried crinkle of his eyes, Gawain gave him an amused look. “My turn.”

  Obligingly, Owen rolled to Darcy’s right and propped his head up on his hand.

  On her left, Gawain stretched out and, before she could sit up, rolled on top of her. “Kiss me, sweetling,” he murmured.

  She frowned and looked at Owen.

  Ah. She’d been in human hands for too long. “Kiss him, Darcy. We both like your kisses.”

  Her look of delight was endearing. And then ever so sweetly, she wiggled her right arm under Owen to stroke his back and keep them connected.

  Curling her other arm around Gawain’s back, she gave him her lips.

  Owen smiled. So sweet.

  As Gawain kept her occupied, Owen deliberated. Acknowledging she had to give the animal control wouldn’t work if her past blocked her. She needed to face her fears to move past them.

  Talking was the first step. After all, they were her mentors, the ones she trusted, but apparently, not enough.

  Mating could break down barriers and increase trust.

  Then mating it would be.

  The detour for her lesson had brought them up a steep climb no human hikers could manage. This meadow was private. The grass was soft. The sun was high and warm against bare skin—and there were no shadows to frighten a little female.

  Aye, this was the time to deal with nightmares. Lying on his side, he caught his brother’s attention with the subliminal hum that meant I have an idea.

  Gawain lifted his head and waited for Owen to indicate what the plan was.

  Darcy was on her back. Owen slid closer until he pressed against Darcy from the side. A glance ensured that Gawain would do the same. Owen set his free hand on her breast, cupping it, kneading it, enjoying the softness that fit in his palm so nicely. It made an excellent way to keep her in place.

  Gawain’s eyebrows rose, then he simply followed suit.

  What were they doing? Flat on her back, Darcy looked up at the two males who were studying her carefully. Their warm, hard bodies pushed against her. Owen had a hand on her breast, holding her firmly, and obviously enjoying himself.

  Gawain’s hand was broader. As his callused thumb rubbed over her nipple, her whole body tensed. Anticipation simmered deep in her core.

  Two males. She could smell their interest, could feel their erect cocks pressing against her hips. But why were they watching her like that? “No more kisses?”

  “Aye. In a bit.” Owen’s voice was deeper than normal. Huskier. His gaze never left hers as he stroked her breast until her toes curled. “It’s daytime, kitten. Warm and quiet and far from anything frightening.”

  “Ah.” Gawain’s expression changed to one of comprehension. He leaned down to kiss her forehead. When she looked at him, his gaze was both stern and sympathetic. “Owen’s right. It’s time to tell us about your nightmare. What haunts your trail, sweetling?”

  “No.” Instinctively, she tried to sit up, but…the hands holding her breasts simply pressed down. She’d put her arms around them earlier, and now her elbows were pinned under their bodies.

  Owen had the nerve to caress her again. “We’ll continue kissing after we talk.”

  She glared. “I’m not in the mood, not anymore, and I’m not going to talk with you. Let me up.”

  “Sweetling,” Gawain said softly. His eyes were the same clear blue as the vast sky behind him. “Didn’t you agree to tell us about your nightmare today?”

  She had agreed. Her voice came out almost a whimper. “I don’t want to.”

  Gawain nodded. “I know. But fears are best faced in the light of day—and with someone beside you.”

  She had two concerned someones. The ice of fear was in her veins, but the sun was hot on her skin, and the males were unmoving guardians on each side. Talk, Darcy.

  She wet her lips. “My nightmares are memories. Mainly one.” She stuck there.

  “When did it happen?” Gawain asked. “In the last year?”

  The question helped. “Way back. The adults had all died, and they brought us up out of the basement and cages. They were afraid they’d lose us all.”

  The deadly growl from Owen shook her bones…and was the most heartening thing she’d ever heard.

  “We did the yard work, cleaning, gardening, but weren’t allowed to talk to each other—to anyone, really—and couldn’t touch or be together.” Do the work. Be silent.

  “By the God.” Owen looked at Gawain. “Can you imagine what that kind of isolation would do to wolves?”

  Gawain’s jaw clenched. “Did you talk?”

  “Not me… Margery did. She was whispering to Barbara and got caught. The guard—they all carry canes—he started hitting her.”

  The whacking sound against flesh, Margery’s cry of pain. Her begging. I’m sorry. Dropping to her knees.

  As Darcy went silent, sliding down into the nightmare, Owen cupped her cheek and turned her head. His eyes were a stern, compelling green.

  “Talk to us,” Owen said. “Get it out, little cat.”

  She pulled herself back to reality. “Another guard came and joined him. Having fun, hitting her over and over. She was sobbing, curled up in a ball, and they wouldn’t stop.” Darcy spoke around the knot in her throat, blinking her burning eyes. “I…I couldn’t take it. I knew better, and I still tried to get them to stop.”

  “Stop it, just stop!” Knocking one guard away. Standing between them and Margery. So angry. Hardly feeling the blows of the canes. “Leave her alone!”

  “Of course, you tried to stop them.” Gawain wiped tears from her cheeks. “What did they do?”

  Sickness curled in her belly, and she shook her head.

  When she didn’t continue, Gawain’s voice held as much steely determination as Owen’s. “Give us the rest, Darcy.”

  Her voice came out a whisper. “They beat me. Broke my arm. My ribs.” A crack. Horrendous pain. Blow after blow. “Then they kicked me to the ground and went back to Margery. With their fists. Their boots. One held my head up, made me watch. Said she was paying for my interference.”

  “By the God,” Owen muttered.

  Darcy swallowed. “The
y beat her until…until her arms and legs were broken, her ribs, her face. She stopped screaming, and they kept hitting her. I was begging and crying and…”

  Snarling, Owen yanked her into his arms, and behind her, Gawain pressed closer, growling low and deep.

  The sound of his anger shattered her barricades, and she started to cry. The ugly sobs surged from her depths, spilling out in painful sounds.

  Eventually, she realized Owen’s embrace was crushing her ribs—and was the most wonderful feeling in the world. Gawain was stroking her hair in long slow strokes.

  With a shuddering sigh, she laid her cheek on Owen’s wet chest. “I didn’t mean to…weep all over you.”

  “Sounds like you had some stored up,” Gawain said. “Anything else in there?”

  She pulled in a breath. “A couple of times after that, I acted before thinking, but at least I was the only one to get hurt. Eventually, I learned to restrain my reactions.”

  “Control. I get it.” Owen kissed the top of her head. “Holding back won’t serve you well as a shifter. You’ll have to find a balance, cariad.”

  Cariad. Gawain had called her that. And it was what Calum called Vicki. What did it mean?

  “Time to wash your face and get a drink.” Gawain rose and pulled her to her feet. “I hear a stream over there.”

  Wiping her face, she took a step. Her legs shook. All of her shook.

  “Come.” Owen put an arm around her waist and held her steady as they followed Gawain to the trickling creek. The water was crystal clear with a bottom of rounded river stones.

  Gawain stepped in and splashed his face and chest.

  Holding onto Owen’s arm, Darcy put a toe in. The icy water bit her skin, and she yanked her foot back. “Are you crazy? It’s freezing.”

  “Glacier water.” Owen grinned. “Go on. Be a brave kitten.”

  She stiffened. “I’m not brave.”

  “Yes, you are.” He studied her. “I’ve seen you fight”

  The hellhound. “That was different.”

  Gawain turned. “Different how?”

  “There was only one of him and in Cold Creek. The Scythe…they terrify me.” She looked down, regretting her honesty, yet they needed to know how much of a coward she was. “When the Cosantir said the cahirs would rescue the females in Seattle—and that I didn’t have to go back—I…I almost cried with relief.”