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?
Darn it, when she was immersed in lessons, being naked around her mentors didn’t bother her. They were simply her teachers. However, outside of lessons, she couldn’t ignore that they were incredibly masculine, potent, desirable males.
With a scowl, she crossed to kneel beside Bree.
Gawain bounded out into the clearing, spotted them, and padded across the sparse grass. Halfway across, he trawsfurred smoothly to human.
Wow. Just…wow. Every time she saw him undressed, her mouth went dry.
As the muted light from the sun glowed on his mist-dampened skin, it shadowed the hard-packed muscles of his wide chest. His wide shoulders tapered to a narrow, taut waist. His legs were solid, lightly dusted with hair. And his male shaft was…well, she’d guess proportional. Maybe more than proportional, but what did she know? It curved downward, long and thick, over large, round testicles.
Bree cleared her throat.
Staring. Darcy was staring at his cock. She jerked her gaze up to meet Gawain’s amused—heated—eyes.
“Ladies,” he said smoothly. The male was rarely at a loss for words. “I stopped at the lodge to ask Zeb for some help with a fan, but Zeb said he doesn’t fu…mess with mechanical tools. He said to ask you, Darcy, since you have a talent with the human-made devices.”
A compliment from terse Zeb; that was lovely. Darcy pulled in a breath of delight, and saw Gawain’s gaze drop to her chest. To her breasts. Embarrassed heat ran from her all-too-exposed breasts right into her face. “Right. I’d be happy to take a look.” She glanced at Bree. “Was there more we needed to cover?”
Bree didn’t even try to conceal her grin. “Nope. We got to the end of my list of what to teach.”
“Fantastic.” Gawain smiled. Damp from the wet foliage, his hair and beard had darkened to a rich brown, making his eyes even bluer. Each breath brought her his masculine musk, shifter-wild, mixed with the tang of iron and smoke.
He turned his attention to Darcy. “Are your clothes at the lodge?” His shaft grew, thickened…
What would that feel like in her hand?
“Answer the question, Darcy.” Bree nudged her.
Darcy felt the blush sear her cheeks. Again. What was wrong with her? Her words came out in a stutter. “Clothes. R-right. Yes, at the lodge. Meet you there.”
Too embarrassed to continue, she shifted. As her front paws dropped onto the grass, love flowed upward from Mother Earth. With a lash of her tail, she bounded down the trail. By the time she arrived, she would have herself back under control.
Why did he have to be so…so masculine?
The pretty panther female was moving so fast she’d disappeared into the forest before Gawain could speak. Wasn’t she cute?
He took a slow breath. The fragrance of her beginning arousal still hung in the clearing, and the appreciation in her gaze had been better than anything he’d felt before.
When he’d reacted accordingly, she’d been unable to keep from staring at him.
Didn’t that make a male feel proud? Even better, he’d seen no signs of fear in her, just interest.
He smiled at Breanne. “Sorry to interrupt your hunt day.”
“Not a problem. Shay planned to visit the lake, so I’ll join him for a while.” All round, soft female, she smiled at him, belying the sternness in her voice. “From what Darcy has told me, aside from her littermates, she’s only met males who were human, which means she might never have felt desire before. I know from experience how excitement can feel wonderful and terrifying—and confusing. Please be careful with her.”
Gawain could only stare. Never knowing desire? By the Goddess, he’d never considered what living entirely surrounded by humans could mean. He bowed solemnly. “You have my word, Breanne.”
*
Darcy glanced at Gawain. Strolling beside her, he wore one of his old-fashioned white shirts, long sleeves rolled up, shirttails tucked into his jeans. Such a flat stomach and tight butt and…
Stop it, turkey-brained tinker. She’d already made a fool of herself once. Behaving worse than a cat in heat, she’d stared at his…male parts and, when caught, had fled like a cub from a hungry wolverine. But he didn’t seem to be upset with her.
After joining her at the lodge, they’d walked down the highway, past the Wild Hunt tavern, and turned off at the small gravel lane leading to his and Owen’s house.
The lane circled past the large log cabin and red-sided barn. She noticed the chinking between the logs had been restored. The porch repaired. The huge garbage bins were gone. “You’ve done a lot of work in the last few days.”
“Still needs a lot more. Whoever lived here last was a…” He bit back a nasty word. “To neglect your own den, especially one so beautiful, is a crime.” His anger was intimidating, yet appealing. He was a male who would carefully tend anything given to his care—a home, his work, a family.
“At least the lazy slugs didn’t mess up the barn.” With a warm hand on her low back, he guided her to the barn she hadn’t seen yet. “Owen and I are still setting everything up; it’s going to be a great place to work.” He flipped on the lights.
“Wow.” Amazed, she wandered across the massive space. To the left, the long workbenches held a mixture of power and hand tools. In the right far corner, a wealth of carving knives and tools hung on a long pegboard. Blocks of various woods were arranged to one side. The floor and wall shelves displayed finished carvings.
She put a hand to her chest; her heart ached at the beauty.
A two-foot wolf sat with muzzle raised, so realistic she could almost hear its grief-stricken howl.
A waist-high grizzly was turning over a log to look for grubs.
Two teenaged panthers were playing king of the rock.
Eventually, she pulled herself away to join Gawain on the other side of the barn. “You do magnificent work.”
“I do, yes, but Owen is the carver. He likes wood. I work with metal.”
“Owen did those?” The rough, rude, deadly cahir had created such beauty? She turned to look at the sculptures. Some seemed a celebration of play and…connection. Others held such loneliness she wanted to cry. “I…”
Gawain’s mouth curved into a wry smile. “You’re not the first to be surprised. He rarely shows the side of himself that comes out in his art.
She’d thought she was getting to know him.
Like a mountain range, reticent people would willingly display their stony cliff faces and verdant forests. But their hidden canyons, mossy glens, and trickling streams were revealed only to those with the heart to look deeper.
Turning back to Gawain, she asked, “What did you want me to work on?”
Gawain motioned toward the far wall. “This exhaust system. When smithing, I need the air moving to avoid a build-up of carbon monoxide.”
“Sure. Let me take a look.” She walked over. The front panel had to come off. “Do you have a Phillips screwdriver?”
He lifted his eyebrows. “No tool kit?”
“I had one at the prìosan.” She grinned. “I must have forgotten to grab it when I leaped the wall.”
“Careless of you.” He tsked at her. “I’ll ask Angie at the diner to check around. People always have spare tools. Meantime, use this. It’s perfect for traveling.” He picked something up from the workbench and set it in her hand.
“A knife?”
“A multi-tool.” He opened it…and opened it…and opened it, showing the needle-nose pliers, the two screwdrivers, the punch, the—
“This is amazing.”
“Yeah. It fits in a pocket, so you’re never without the essentials.” He smiled at the device with the delight of a true handyman. “I have another. You can keep this one.”
She pulled out the screwdriver, then the knife. Wouldn’t this gadget have been useful in the institution? Occasionally, she’d climbed the ivy with a big screwdriver tucked under her bra. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure, catling.”
Well, the best way to pay him back would be to fix the broken fan. “Let me get started. With luck, I’ll have it running quickly.”
“That would be great.” Smiling down at her, Gawain tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, leaving tingles behind.
How could just a touch make her breathless? “Are you working on a smithing project now?”
“Aye. Zeb and Shay teach a hellhound fighting class, and some of their students need cahir blades.”
She frowned. “Why don’t cahirs buy knives from a store?”
“A human-made knife has a few limitations.” Gawain picked up a blade and held it to the light. A lighter metal made a fancy filigree within the dark steel. “A blade custom-made for a cahir has runes of silver forged into the steel, so they can wear the metal without irritation. The silver also makes it more effective against hellhounds.”
“Oh.”
“The sheaths are leather, but the straps are of the same silver we use for lifemating bands and are magicked to adjust when a cahir trawsfurs, since most cahirs want to wear their blades even in animal form.”
Come to think of it, Owen wore one—usually strapped to his arm, sometimes his leg. When he shifted, it was almost invisible on his foreleg. “I bet you make sure the sheath matches the male’s fur, don’t you?”
“You’re an observant lass.” He grinned. “The knife is also balanced for throwing.” He took the knife by the blade and threw it across the barn. With a thunk, it lodged in the target tacked to the wall. Right in the bulls-eye.
Startled at how swiftly and silently the knife had flown, she stared at Gawain. Had he even aimed?
“Is anyone here?” The shout came from outside.
“In the barn,” Gawain called.
A young male poked his head in. “Are you the blademage?”
“That’s me.”
The male trotted over and looked up at Gawain.
Quite a ways up.
Darcy blinked. Next to Gawain, the male looked awfully short, but was actually average in height. She’d usually seen the blademage around Zeb, Shay, and Owen, all cahirs with extra God-given height and strength. Gawain was only a couple of inches shorter than the huge cahirs—and easily as muscular.
“I’m Gawain.” The two males clasped forearms. “What can I do for you?”
“Grady.” Bouncing on his toes, Grady had a huge grin on his face. “Calum said we had our own blademage now, and you make lifemating bracelets. Can you make some?” His face was so full of hope that Darcy held her breath as well.
“I can. There’s nothing I enjoy more.” Gawain turned and ran his hand down Darcy’s arm. “Will you excuse me for a bit?”
“Sure. I’ll get started on the fan if it won’t disturb you.”
“That would be most appreciated.”
As Darcy took off the front of the exhaust fan, she positioned herself so she could watch what was going on.
Gawain loved this part of being a blademage.
Taking his time, he quizzed Grady about his littermates, Griffin and Grant, and their intended mate. As the male gushed with praise for his beloved, Gawain dug through the pile of moving boxes to find the dozen silver bracelets he’d made last month. He always kept some on hand since, once males found their lifemate, they grew extremely impatient—and making the bracelets wasn’t something Gawain would ever rush.
He selected three heavy bracelets for the female to give to her new mates and three delicate ones for the males to give to their female.
At this point, the bands were merely silver discs and silver wire—although he could always feel something of himself in his creations.
Most Daonain hated metal, especially iron, but a few loved the song of the metals. Iron—so stubborn—crying its harsh melody, as fire and pressure and carbon transformed it into steel. Silver sang with the high, sweet sound of the cold, swift winds off Mount Rainier. There was nothing like working metal.
With talent and skill, he created beauty. When he added his power, he could make magicked objects—cahir blades and the trawsfur-flexible metal bands. However, to transform a bracelet of silver discs into a true lifemating band?
That called for a goddess.
“Come with me, please.” Gawain guided Grady outside to the consecrated ritual area. Although not complete, the small space held the essentials.
The boundary had been demarcated by knee-high river stones. He’d diverted a segment of the creek so a tiny stream of water flowed through the stone circle. Earth and water.
After cleansing the sacred space with a pine branch broom, he lit a fire in the brazier and tossed on a mixture of cedar, lavender, and yarrow. Fire and air.
As the coals smoldered, a translucent sylph appeared over the brazier, its sinuous dance swirling the thin smoke into mesmerizing spirals.
Holding the lifemating bands in the fragrant smoke, Gawain opened his heart and mind and soul to the Mother of All. When a wave of love heralded her presence, he presented to her the names and images of the young mates. Unable to resist, he also shared how the young male was simply glowing with his love for his littermates and their chosen female.
The Mother’s pleased acknowledgment and warmth skimmed his palms as the discs were imbued with the Mother’s love. No matter how many years would pass, a lifemating band always carried a hint of the Goddess.
For a second, he lingered, unwilling to move. Although he’d been a blademage for decades, he’d never lost the sense of wonder that She would come to his call, that She took such joy in each new bond between males and their female.
When he opened his eyes, tears were running down Grady’s face. “I never knew… I felt Her, even more than when I trawsfur. It was as if She was here.”
“She was.” Gawain smiled. “And She approves of your mating.” He set the lifemating bands into the male’s hand. “Blessings upon you and yours.”
Grady beamed, his joy a soft hum in the air, and took his leave.
Unable to stop grinning, Gawain headed back to the barn.
In the doorway, Darcy stood, her dark eyes wide. She pressed her hands to her chest. “I felt…it was like my mother had come back and tucked me into bed and—”
Unable to help himself, he put his arm around her shoulders. “Love is a gift of the Goddess, especially a mother’s love for her cubs. When the Goddess is near, that sense of being cherished is what you feel.”
“Yes.” Her eyes filled, not with joy, but with loss. “I haven’t felt that since…since my mum died. I miss her.”
This one had the capacity to break his heart. He pulled her into his arms. “Of course you do, catling. But life goes on. You will find others to love and who will love you in return.”
Bending, he touched her lips with his, tasting the salt of her tears.
When she made a tiny sound and her lips parted, he deepened the kiss, teasing his tongue against hers, enjoying the softness of her lips and the way she melted against him.
More. Purring, he molded her soft body against his—and took more.
“What happened?” The low growl of his littermate broke into the stillness of the barn.
Darcy tried to jerk back…and Gawain didn’t let her. “Brawd.”
“What happened?” Owen repeated. Undoubtedly scenting Darcy’s distress, Owen had a hand on his knife and—typical cahir—was hunting an enemy to attack.
“You’re chasing the wrong prey.” Looking down, Gawain used his fingertips to wipe the wetness from Darcy’s cheeks. “I charged lifemating bracelets, and our catling is missing her mother.”
“She’s… Oh, right.” Owen’s hand fell from the dagger on his forearm. His gaze ran over Darcy, undoubtedly noting her pale face. “Forgive me if I scared you, little female, and I’m sorry for your loss.”
She pulled in a shaky breath. “Thank you.”
A corner of Owen’s mouth curled up cynically. “At least you had a mother worthy of mourning.” Spinning on his heel, he stalked out of the barn.
Darcy stared after him. “Is…is he all right?”
“Mostly. Around him, saying “mother” is akin to poking a grizzly with a sharp stick. Our mother mistreated him.” Be honest, mage. “More than that. She was cruel to him.” Guilt slid a sharp blade into his gut. He hadn’t suffered the same way.
In fact…
The Mother’s love flooded him with every lifemating bracelet he made. In contrast, as a cahir, Owen knew only blood and death. Although he’d feel the Goddess’s touch when shifting, his littermate had never known how much love a real mother could give a cub.
No wonder Owen had little tolerance for females.