Chapter Thirteen
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Owen said it was easy. Gawain said it was easy. As Darcy eyed the tree limb, her tail lashed back and forth. Carefully, she calculated her trajectory. The branch wasn’t that high. She’d grab it with her claws, lean forward, and her back claws would catch the bark.
I can do it. It’s easy—they said so.
She sprang.
No, too high! Frantically, she clawed at the bark—and kept going. Twisting in midair, she managed to land on the ground in one piece.
For the Mother’s sake, what was wrong with her? She’d been more competent as a kid—in human form. Cats weren’t supposed to have problems with jumping.
But she sure did.
Staring up at the tree, she felt her spirits sag. Her legs were sore and aching, her paws scraped, and she’d almost pulled a claw out. She was done.
Wearily, she padded down the forest trail toward the lodge.
Owen and Gawain were working on their house this morning and had told her to enjoy a run all by herself. To see how she did.
Well, she’d done just fine until she’d decided to practice her leaps.
Near the lodge, she stopped at the creek to lap up a drink. The undines playing near the lodge spotted her, darted through the water, and did a few leaps to demonstrate their own skills. And splash her.
Fishy show-offs. Although, the water felt good on her sun-warmed fur.
When she didn’t dive into the creek to chase them, the undines swarmed back through the water to their favored spot near the footbridge.
As her fur dried, Darcy watched them resume their games…and her gaze caught on the huge trees—a spruce and an oak—which shaded the patio and small playground. The oak tree had a lovely low branch, didn’t it?
Hmm.
No, you tomfool tinker.
She couldn’t use that tree for practice. Human fishermen often rented cabins at the lodge.
But no one was out on the patio today, and the oak branch was lower and thicker than any she’d found in the evergreen forest. Surely, no one would notice if she practiced.
Owen would have been proud of how well she crept through the trees to the oak.
She sprang.
Failed.
The sprite in the spruce tree chittered its laughter.
Stupid pixie.
She sprang.
Failed.
In open mockery, the sprite threw a couple of tiny twigs down on Darcy’s head.
She sprang.
Success!
Securely perched on the branch, Darcy flirted her tail in triumph and clawed the rough bark to leave her scent. Darcy was here.
Level with the sprite, Darcy wrinkled her nose—and watched the pixie pop back into its hole. Poor loser.
Warm sunlight streamed through the leafy canopy and, unwilling to leave her—her—branch behind, Darcy stretched out to nap. Eventually she’d go in. When she was ready, she had a mystery to read as well as a history book from Owen’s bookshelves. The cahir did enjoy his history. Gawain preferred fiction, especially thrillers, but he owned a ton of ethics and philosophy books. Darcy loved mysteries, but the prìosan library had been so small, she’d ended up reading every book there, no matter the subject.
What with their varied personalities and interests, she and her mentors had enjoyed some crazy discussions. Owen was a cynical pessimist with an overprotective attitude. Gawain, an optimist who delighted in people. She considered herself a realist…although Owen accused her of being a closet romantic.
Add in alcohol… Well, after the movie Casablanca ended, they’d spent hours debating how it should have ended.
Darcy still thought Ilsa should have joined the fight—with both Rick and Louie. She rubbed her chin against her forelegs and settled down for another few minutes, imagining the three of them, taking on the entire German army.
Sometime later, the sound of the back door roused her. To her dismay, Owen, Shay, and a huge male walked out onto the patio. The stranger apparently wanted to check out Zeb’s new fire pit and bench.
Oh, bloody scat.
If she moved, they’d spot her right away. But if she stayed still…since she could smell them, probably the wind wasn’t sending them her scent.
Please leave so I can get away. I won’t do this again. Promise.
“How’s the new cougar doing?” the big stranger asked. “Emma says she’s something special. Says she’s a tinker—a fixer.”
Aw. Pleased, Darcy rested her muzzle on her forelegs.
“A tinker, huh? That makes sense.” Owen rubbed his chin. “You know how no shifter messes with mechanical shit? She does. She’s as talented with machines as Gawain is with metals.”
Owen thought she was talented? A purr started in her throat.
“Yeah. Last week, while I was at a job site, she visited Emma and fixed our lawn mower.” The big stranger had a slow Texas drawl. “Gotta wonder though—are those humans going to come here looking for her? I’m fine with taking them on—it’d purely be a pleasure. But what’s the risk to Emma and Minette?”
Darcy felt her breathing stop. Had the Scythe been seen? Was she putting her friends—the town—in danger? Oh, no no no.
“Can’t say. The Cosantir is…” Owen straightened, sniffed, and turned. His gaze ran over the oak tree—and met hers.
Oh my Gods.
Mouth in a straight line, he stalked over to stare up at her. “Got a good explanation for being in this form at the lodge?”
How could she answer in panther form? With a huff of despair, she hung her head.
“Yeah, you should be ashamed.” He jerked his chin toward the side of the lodge. “Go shift, get dressed, and I want you on the patio in five minutes.” It was his displeased mentor voice—bossy, growly, rough.
The trouble was she fully deserved the scolding she’d get.
Turning, she jumped down and crept through the underbrush without disturbing the foliage. Normally, she’d be pleased with her improving skill. Right now, all she wanted to do was sneak off and hide.
Once dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she took another minute to work her courage up before she could walk out onto the patio. She’d broken the rules.
The males were watching the undines play tag with a couple of young trout. Hearing her, Shay turned.
“I’m sorry, Shay.” She pulled in a breath. “The high branches defeated me, so I wanted to practice jumping to a low one, but I shouldn’t have done it anywhere close to the lodge.”
“Aye, you screwed up.” His normally friendly face was unreadable.
Owen’s arms were folded over his chest.
The strange male was…huge, taller than Shay and Owen by inches, and had even more muscles than Gawain. “That was pretty risky behavior, girl, especially with that bunch watchin’ for hints of you?” His voice was as low a rumble as Gawain’s, but with a Texas accent. He raised his hand.
Bracing for the blow, she turned her head and closed her eyes.
No blow came.
“By the God of the Hunt.” His appalled voice was as soft as the wind from the south. “Li’l cat, I’ve never hit a female in all my born days.”
She opened her eyes, feeling creaky, as if someone had forgotten to oil her joints. Her voice sounded creaky, too. “I’m sorry. Just…reflex.”
His massive hand was still in the air, and he slowly lowered it to her shoulder—what he’d obviously planned to do all along. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before he dropped his hand and stepped back. “Darlin’, I just wanted to ask you to be more careful. We’ll”—he motioned to himself and the others—“defend you, but—”
“But it would be far better if it weren’t necessary,” Shay finished for him.
No, it would be far better if she weren’t here at all. Her throat closed. “I’ll be careful. I’m very sorry.” Her delight at gaining the branch seemed awfully far in the past. Her victory had turned to bitter dirt in her mouth. She’d risked the safety of all these people just to make things easier for herself.
The huge male was right—the Scythe were already looking for her. How could she have been so thoughtless? So selfish?
As she turned to leave, she glanced at Owen.
He frowned. “Darcy.” He took a step forward, reaching for her.
No, she didn’t want to hear the disappointment in his rough voice. Fleeing like the cowardly person she was, she hurried into the lodge and up to her room.
She wouldn’t come down until she’d thought through everything and knew she could do better.
Until she wouldn’t disappoint anyone again.
As Darcy—the little tinker—fled into the lodge, Owen shook his head and dropped his hand. He’d been reaching for her, wanting to take her hand, to pull her closer. From her shattered expression, he’d known she was judging herself far harsher than any of them were.
He glanced at the others. “I need to give her Calum’s news.”
Shay nodded, his eyes worried. “I hope we didn’t make her cry.”
Owen froze. Cry? She’d wept before, and the pain of hearing her tears had almost fractured his chest. “She…wouldn’t be crying.”
Ben’s gaze held sympathy. “Good luck, cat. You’ll need it.”
He would, dammit. She was already upset. What he had to say would make it worse. By the God, this was like going into battle without claws or teeth.
When he knocked on her door, there was a sharp inhalation, then silence.
“Open the door, little cat. I have information I need to share.”
The door opened, and he looked down at her. Such a tiny female. Her head barely reached his shoulder. No tear streaks showed, thank the God.
The way she wouldn’t look at him was less heartening.
He put his hand under her chin and lifted her head. “Darcy. No one is angry with you.”
“Of course you are. I put the entire town at risk—first with my escape, then with sheltering here, and now with being stupid and lazy and careless.”
Yes, this young female would always judge herself more harshly than anyone else. Way to go, Treharn. He should have sent Gawain to talk to her. His brother was far nicer, far better with the words females considered so important.
Hugging her had worked before, when she’d been suffering the aftermath of a fight. Maybe she needed him to hold her. Carefully, he put his arms around her and pulled her against him.
He feared she’d pull away, but after a shuddering breath, she leaned into him. Her trust was a heady gift.
Rubbing his chin on top of her head, he tried to think of the right words to ease her guilt. “Risk is made up of many parts. Aye, the Scythe are undoubtedly searching for you because you escaped.”
The sound she made held despair.
“Yet, because you escaped, we know what happened to Dogwood. We know the Scythe exist and are targeting shifters. It’s extremely dangerous for us to be unaware of an enemy, aye?”
“Oh.” She relaxed infinitesimally.
“With your information, we’ve learned how the weasels work and have an idea of where to search for the captives. You’ve told us what dangers we’ll run into in getting them free.”
Now her weight was fully against him, all warm skin and soft curves. He ran his hand down her back and—
Don’t get distracted.
“Being in animal form close to the lodge—yeah, you fucked up.”
She flinched.
“Everyone fucks up, kitten.” He huffed a laugh. “Since ancient times when the Fae’s Wild Hunt shifters first bred with humans, every Daonain cub has fucked up and been scolded for being reckless. Me, included.”
He knew he was getting through when she looked up. Her damp dark eyes could break his heart. “Are you sure? Shay was so angry. And you were—”
“We wanted you to see that. Like any cub who indulges in risky behavior, you got nipped. Because it is dangerous.”
Her head moved against him in a nod. “I can’t believe I was so stupid.”
“I can.” He stroked her hair—thick and soft as a cub’s pelt. “New shifters are prone to being careless. The animal mind is all about visible danger, not future threats. Eventually, the animal/human thinking finds a balance, but it takes a while.”
Her arms crept around his waist, and she…snuggled…against him, and it was nice. Very nice.
Sometimes females hugged him during the full moon, but this was different. Not sexual. He pulled her closer, oddly pleased to know she found comfort in his arms.
Unfortunately, with his news, she was going to be upset all over again.
“By the way, I stopped at the tavern to ask Calum for an update on your villagers.” He realized he was holding her snugly against his body. “Since you said females died in the prison, Tynan searched the police records of unclaimed bodies.”
Her breath hissed out. As she stepped back to look at him, she wrapped her arms around her own waist. “Wh-what did he find?”
“It appears the Scythe are tossing the females into Puget Sound. Some bodies have washed up, ones that aren’t on any missing persons lists. One female was pulled out of the water recently. Blond. Blue eyes. About your age. She had a woven leather band around her right ankle.”
“Barbara. She was my only real friend in Dogwood.” Darcy’s voice was only a whisper. “She died the day I escaped.” Grief turned her eyes a molten darkness.
“I’m sorry, Darcy.” Why didn’t she yell? Shout in anger? Even cry? Had he ever met anyone more restrained? It was as if she was the very opposite of his mother. “I’ll have Calum tell Tynan you identified her.”
“Yes. Thank you.”
By the God, he hated to see this muting of her spirit. “Gawain was going to the tavern for a beer and wanted me to bring you along.”
“I’m not going to be good company right now.”
He snorted. “I’m never good company. Doesn’t matter, little female.”
“I’m short, Owen. Not little.”
“There’s a difference?”
Her huff of annoyance made him grin.
Pleased, he gave her shoulder a light shake. “Do you want to brush your hair or do some female thing before we leave?”
She stared at him. “Some female thing? Don’t you brush your hair?”
“Of course I do, but…” He eyed her. “A lot of males complain their females require hours to prepare to leave the house. I was being…thoughtful.”
Her lips curved up. “Oh. Got it.” She swiped her hands over her damp cheeks. “I’m ready—I guess that means I’m not very female.”
“You,” he breathed, “are very female.”
When her eyes widened, he gave her hair a light tug and opened the door.
As she preceded him down the hall, he smiled. He’d come awfully close to stepping in his own scat there, but he’d done well enough. She was coming with him—and smiling.
Males might be wrong about female preparation time, but they were certainly on scent when they said no male could understand one.