Chapter Seventeen
‡
In the backseat of Gawain’s car, Darcy sat with her knees against her chest, staring out the window, and trying to understand her life.
Earlier, she’d walked out with the males to where they’d hidden their clothing. Gawain had dashed ahead and fetched spare clothing from his car for her to wear.
Donal and Tynan had left.
Dressed in Gawain’s clothes, she was riding back to Cold Creek with him and Owen. Although Owen had offered her the front seat, Darcy had climbed into the back, because she wasn’t supposed to be in a car or really, in human form outside of Cold Creek. Was this how a criminal would feel?
She sighed. Life was sure strange. And uncomfortable.
Every time she looked toward the front, Gawain’s eyes in the rearview mirror caught hers. Even in a mirror, his intense gaze was piercing, and she remembered the way his hands had felt on her body, the thickness of his shaft, how the muskiness of his scent had increased with his lust.
Her face turned hot with her flush, and she turned her head to stare out the side window again.
Four males. She’d mated with four males last night.
Donal had been gentle and kind, Tynan more…bossy. She was fond of them both, but if there hadn’t been a full moon drowning her in overwhelming need, she wouldn’t have mated with them.
Gawain, though. Oh, she cared for him too much, under the full moon or not. When he talked with her, looked at her, touched her—it was the same as being plugged into an electrical socket, full of sizzle and heat.
He was fun. Caring. Gentle, yet he had an unsettling core of strength. He matched his cahir blades—beautiful, smooth, balanced perfectly—and deadly sharp. She loved how he’d laughed, eyes dancing with enjoyment of life, even as he mated her so very…thoroughly.
In the passenger seat, Owen turned to look at her, and his dark green gaze ran over her like a firm caress.
He was vastly different from his brother.
Had she ever met anyone so difficult to understand? Still, he’d been open with her. Honest and blunt and…kind.
He was also extremely dominant. If he were a wolf, he’d be the pack alpha. Last night, he’d told her what would happen, what he’d do…what she’d do. And he’d followed through. He hadn’t been cruel—on the contrary—but firm with an edgy roughness, and very demanding.
Why did she have to like him so much?
Be honest, timid tinker. She more than liked him and Gawain, even though they were nothing resembling the males she’d daydreamed about as a child. Her fantasy lifemates had been sweet, gentle, funny. Tall and slender. Not huge and muscular.
Certainly not blunt or deadly or…she smiled slightly…grumpy.
As a cub, she sure hadn’t thought about the fact lifemates would…mate. Let alone might make love to their female at the same time.
At the thought of Owen’s rough hands and Gawain’s slow, very thorough touch, warmth rolled up into her cheeks and pooled in her body. Oh no, what was she thinking? She could smell how her own body was reacting, which meant the males could scent her arousal as well. She closed her eyes in humiliation.
Owen already thought females were manipulative, greedy creatures, and he’d been kind to her—last night anyway. They both had. But it had also been obvious a full moon mating didn’t mean anything more…serious. After all, she’d been with Donal and Tynan, too.
As her spirits sank, the heat zinging through her veins cooled. Gawain liked her well enough, and Owen had said he liked her, but that didn’t mean either one would want more than friendship from her. They’d performed their…service…to her last night. Now, they’d return to being her mentors, nothing more. Lusting after them would be inappropriate, possibly even offensive.
She cared for them…too much…and she mustn’t. Besides, she’d be leaving town the minute she could. Her mere presence endangered the Daonain.
Looking out the window, she was relieved to see Cold Creek’s outskirts, then the small downtown. Gawain slowed and parked in front of Angie’s Diner.
“Did we need to pick something up here?” she asked.
“A text came through,” Owen said. “Calum said he’d be at the diner now.”
“I’d hate to interrupt his breakfast.”
Gawain snorted. “Nice excuse, but it won’t work. We are summoned, sweetling.”
Oh my Gods. She’d washed as best she could in the cold creek water, but it sure hadn’t erased the fragrance of sex. Sex with four males. Humans would call her a slut.
She wasn’t, was she? No. Having sex with multiple males was a Daonain tradition—and it shouldn’t matter if all the males knew she’d been a virgin.
So why did the whole thing feel purely embarrassing?
And now, meeting the Cosantir after everything that’d happened last night? It was too much. Just too much.
Owen opened the rear door and held his hand out for her to take, as if she were a granny incapable of standing on her own. Or a criminal he had to secure to ensure her compliance. Honestly.
She scowled. “I won’t run.”
A smile tipped the corners of his mouth. “I doubt you’d run from anything…except maybe being embarrassed.” Even as she stared at him, he hauled her out of the vehicle and headed for the diner. With an iron-hard arm around her waist.
Gawain walked on her other side.
Uh-huh. Criminal. Even if she wanted to run, she’d undoubtedly trip over the rolled-up legs of Gawain’s jeans. He’d had to string a rope around the waist to hold them up.
With a sigh, she straightened her shoulders and marched inside.
Sparsely filled, the diner had a wooden floor, blue-checked vinyl tablecloths, and a long glass-fronted counter filled with goodies.
In a back corner, Calum sat with his mate, Vicki. When he saw Darcy, his expression went cold.
He was angry. At her. Her stomach felt as if she’d eaten a mass of wriggling grubs. “Oh, he’s going to kill me,” she said under her breath.
With his arm still around her, Owen looked down. “You weren’t seen by any human, so probably not.”
Oh, Goddess. Calum’s killing her was a possibility? Her feet stopped dead in the center of the diner. Someone had said Cosantirs had the right of high, middle, and low justice, so Calum could execute shifters.
But, but, but…
Beside Calum, Vicki gave her a tiny smile and made a slight motion with her fingers. Come.
Darcy pulled in a breath and tried to locate her spine. If he killed her, at least he’d do it quickly and neatly—not torture her as the Scythe would. As often as she’d thought she’d be dead, shouldn’t she be getting used to it by now? Jaded?
Why did she have such a cold feeling in her belly?
Owen dropped his arm from around her waist, maybe so she could walk to her death without looking as if she was being coerced. “Come, little cat. Time to fess up.”
Gawain squeezed her shoulder with his big blacksmith’s hand. “We won’t leave you.”
We? Both him and Owen?
Owen nodded agreement.
Wow, it was almost like having protective brothers only…not. Because…
Gawain’s gaze softened as he touched her cheek with his fingers. As if he, too, remembered all the incredibly intimate things he’d done to her last night.
She flushed and forced her feet forward to the table.
Calum rose politely. “Cahir. Mage.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “Darcy.” A quiet gesture was an order for them to take seats.
She took the chair Gawain held out, relieved when he sat beside her.
Owen pulled a chair from another table, so he could sit on her other side.
“Good morning, Cosantir. Vicki,” Gawain said blandly, as if Darcy wasn’t about to be executed for defying a Cosantir’s orders.
Owen nodded to Vicki. He leaned back in his chair, stretching out his legs. “Calum, you look like someone stole your breakfast bunny.”
The Cosantir straightened. “Quite observant of you, cahir.”
Darcy elbowed the stupid cahir in the ribs and whispered, “Stop it. You’re going to get me killed.” Belatedly, she remembered everyone at the table was a shifter with very good hearing.
Owen shook his head. “Nah. As an honorable adult, Calum wouldn’t cut down a tree to move a branch out of his path.”
The Cosantir’s eyes narrowed. “Owen, you’re—”
“Do you remember how Breanne ran off to Seattle to rescue her human neighbors?” Owen took a coffee cup from the stack on the table and poured himself a cup. “At least Darcy was trying to save other Daonain.”
Vicki’s hand was over her mouth, and her eyes were laughing.
The Cosantir wasn’t amused. When his…black…gaze focused on her, the bottom of her stomach dropped out. “How badly were the Daonain exposed?” Calum’s quiet voice reminded her of how soft a cougar’s paws could be…until the claws appeared.
“I was careful and stayed in cat form the entire time. I avoided humans, roads, and camping areas. No one saw me.”
“Cosantir.” Owen’s voice was rough. “She’s scraped, bruised, starving, and footsore from staying shifted. It’s not her fault she didn’t learn the Law or about possible problems. That’s on me for not teaching her better.”
“I do realize that,” Calum said. “However—”
“There should be consequences, aye.” Gawain ran his hand down her arm in a comforting move. “However, I might note she’s already suffered for her less-than-wise choice. Her first Gathering…as a virgin…was not in a comfortable, warm room with soft cushions and a fireplace, but isolated on a freezing mountain with four males she barely knows.”
Virgin. Oh, he just had to put that in, didn’t he? Darcy glared at him.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Vicki muttered. “And I thought I had problems on my first.” She turned to her mate. “I know this isn’t a democracy, oh guardian of the territory, but I’m all for mercy in this case.”
Calum’s lips twitched, and the darkness in his gaze lightened. “You would be.”
When his attention returned to Darcy, she fought not to shrink down in the chair. In the prìosan, Director had ruled with promises of pain. Calum needed no words, no actions. The power was simply his.
“Do you realize how lucky you are in your advocates?” he asked. “It appears you’ve made friends here—even with the cahir who avoids females. You’re finding your place within the Daonain, Darcy, and I’m pleased to see it.”
Darcy blinked. Friends? “I…” She had friends?
Yes. Yes, she did.
She looked up at Gawain who smiled, at Owen who didn’t, and Vicki who gave her a laughing look. “Thank you all.”
“Do you realize the dangers of leaving Cold Creek?” Calum asked. “And will you stay until your control is adequate?”
“Yes, sir.” The answer was automatic.
Vicki grinned. “Give me a few months, and I could make a Marine out of her.”
The sound Calum made was exasperated, but his arm went around his mate, pulling her closer. “Thank you, no. One of you in this territory is enough for the Gods to handle.”
Gawain chuckled, and then his smile fell away. “Darcy found a trace of a scent on a trail near the Twin Sisters, so we’ll concentrate around there. Has there been any news of the Scythe?”
“Tynan said someone requisitioned the traffic cameras records from around Seward Park. It’s good you two were careful when you entered the park.” Calum shook his head. “With no luck in Seattle, they are searching farther afield. They’re working their way through the forest towns.”
“I’ll die first.” Darcy heard the quiver in her voice. “I’ll make them kill me before I let them take me back.”
Owen closed his hand over hers. “They’d have to go through me first.” His voice was steady, calm.
“And me.” With an arm over her shoulders, Gawain leaned her against his muscular frame. “Relax, catling. You’re safe here.”
“This isn’t a tiny village like Dogwood. Our town has some serious resources,” Vicki said. “Speaking of which, my old boss is in Alec’s office,” Vicki said. “The minute we told Wells about the Scythe, he went into investigation mode. He wants to talk if you’re up to it.”
“Of course.” Wells was the big shot human spy. That was fighting fire with fire. “I’ll tell him everything I know.”
“Very good.” Calum tapped his fingers on his coffee mug. “While the search continues for your Dogwood people, please continue to work with your mentors. Learn to survive in animal form and how to live as a Daonain. As soon as we find out anything about the Scythe or your villagers, I’ll let you know.”
It wasn’t enough—and yet it had to be.
Darcy sighed. If it hadn’t been for the need to find her brothers and save her friends, this would have been the most wonderful time of her life. She glanced up at Gawain and met his concerned gaze.
Owen’s expression was worried, along with a stubborn expression she was beginning to know. He’d make sure she obeyed the Cosantir. His hand was still over hers—as if he had the right to touch her. Because last night, he had. He’d…known…her. Been inside her, bit her, tasted her.
Her shoulders straightened, and she pulled her hand away, moved away from Gawain. She mustn’t let herself fall for these males. If the Scythe came for her, they’d be killed—because they’d try to protect her.
She sighed, knowing there was no choice but to let others search for the prìosan and shifter-soldier camp. Experienced shifters could look for the Dogwood captives far more unobtrusively than she could.
After the locations were found, then… A chill crept through her. Then it got scary.
Although Calum had been wonderful about letting his people search, she doubted he’d be willing to lose his people while rescuing shifters who weren’t his own. The Dogwood males would have to do the rescue of the females, and they needed to know that the females were dying. The risks had changed.
Somehow, she’d have to convince the Cosantir to let her be the one to sneak in and make contact with the shifter-soldiers. She rather doubted the males would believe a stranger.
But, even beyond that, sneaking into the forest camp would be…dangerous. Too dangerous to risk anyone but her. If the Scythe caught a Cold Creek shifter, they’d have a new hostage and—far worse—would know there were more shifters in the area.
However, if she made the contact and the Scythe caught her, they wouldn’t realize she’d had help.
If they caught her… Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried not to shiver. She’d not let them catch her alive.
To keep Cold Creek and the Daonain safe, this task was hers and hers alone.
*
Gawain scowled as he watched Darcy follow Calum out the diner’s back door. Since the Cosantir was returning to the tavern, he’d drop her and Vicki at the sheriff’s office to meet with Wells.
Gawain and Owen needed to go to the hardware store to order plumbing supplies for the master baths, but still…
“We could have driven Darcy to the lodge,” Owen growled, opening the diner’s front door.
“My thoughts exactly.” Gawain followed onto Main Street. “She’s pulling away from us.”
“Aye.”
Gawain fell into step as they strolled down the street. “Can’t blame her. She’s new to everything. And last night…” The intensity had left him stunned. Her sweetness and honesty had taken him by storm. It had felt as if everything they were had touched: body-to-body, mind-to-mind.
“Last night was”—Owen cleared his throat and studied the street as if it held the answers he needed—“different.”
“Brawd, I’ve never felt this way before. I know you avoid females, but she’s special. She’s…she’s got a grip on my soul.”
To his surprise, Owen nodded. “Mine, too. And…I don’t…mind.”
That was an admission Gawain had never expected. “What are you saying?”
Owen rubbed his neck in the self-grooming a cat did when uneasy. “Not sure, mage. I want her, aye, and I’d prefer to say the attraction is merely physical, but it isn’t. I enjoy being with her. Want to share her with you—for mating and for…more.”
As a cub, Gawain had learned to stay silent as a rock if he wanted Owen to talk.
“Females annoy…used to annoy me, but I’m learning they’re not all the same. I like some of them. She’s one. No, she’s more than that.” Owen scowled. “Pisses me off some.”
Aaand, there was his grouchy littermate. Gawain stifled a grin. “Time to go on the hunt, then. She doesn’t get to pull away—unless she really doesn’t want us.” They’d know from her scent if nothing else. “We’ll run the trail and see where it leads.”
“Yeah.” Owen shook his head. “Probably straight into an abyss.”
“There’s that optimistic spirit we all know and love.”
“Clay-brained cougar.” Owen shoved him off the sidewalk.
Stumbling, Gawain caught himself on a parked vehicle. “You puny, pox-ridden, pumpkin-headed panther.” As he shoved upright, he froze. Dark van. Tinted windows. Empty. It fit the description of the Scythe vehicles Owen had mentioned. Slowly, he backed away from the SUV.
Had Owen noticed?
No, Owen was already heading into the hardware store. An elderly woman stopped him in the doorway.
After brushing off his shirt, Gawain joined the two.
“Sounds good. I’ll bring it over,” Owen said to the woman. As she walked away, he grinned at Gawain. “She bought the carving of the stag.”
“Great.”
Owen’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”
“Turn casually and check out the van behind you.”
Owen held open the hardware store door for Gawain and used the movement to glance at the van. “Good eye, brawd. Spitting image of the Scythe vans in Seattle. Got that same remote button on the visor.”
“I figured.” Gawain walked in. The store was empty except for young Warren behind the counter.
Already on his cell phone, Owen said, “Alec, we got a black van by the hardware store. No one’s in it, but I’d guess our tinker’s friends are visiting.”
After a murmur from the phone, Owen nodded. “Will do.” Pocketing his phone, he told Gawain, “Alec’ll warn Calum. We’re to visit BOOKS, give Joe Thorson an ears-up, and he’ll inform the rest of downtown.”
“Sounds good.” Thorson. Right. He’d been the tough old shifter who had helped fight the hellhound two weeks ago.
Lifting a hand to Warren, Owen headed out the door.
Across the street at the small bookstore, the bell over the door tinkled as they entered.
Owen walked to the counter. “Thorson.”
The owner looked up from his paperwork. “Aye?” The old shifter had a myriad of thin claw scars on his face, hands and arms—evidence of a lifetime of fighting.
As Owen leaned over the counter to talk quietly, Gawain glanced around the store…and spotted a coffee machine. Just what he needed after the long night. He nodded toward the machine, caught Owen’s unspoken request for his own cup, and moved away.
As he walked between bookshelves toward the rear, the scent of a human reached him…along with the stink of gun oil. Was one of the Scythe weasels in the store?
Gawain rolled his shoulders, stopped to peruse a shelf of mysteries, and pulled one out. He raised his voice. “Hey, bro, would you believe I found the mystery you wanted?”
He could hear the stunned silence before Owen called back. “Is the sequel there, too?”
Gawain could only scent one male and see only one shadow at the end of the shelving, unmoving. Undoubtedly, Thorson would confirm. “Nope. Want this one?”
“Nah, I hate cliffhangers. I’ll wait for the next and buy them both.”
What was the all-purpose word the humans used? “Whatever.” After replacing the book, Gawain continued toward the coffee. If he needed to fight, he wanted caffeine first. Then again, having an enemy so close had certainly accelerated his heart—because the human was after Darcy. My Darcy.
At the coffee machine, he glanced back. Owen still stood at the counter, and the fury in his gaze was more than a cahir’s protective anger.
The catling was rapidly becoming our Darcy.
As Gawain set a cup under the spout, the human approached. About five-eleven and bulky with muscle. His brown hair was cut short. His posture was that of an aggressive young wolf, eagerness to fight in every movement. His smile didn’t reach his cold brown eyes. “How’s the coffee?”
Gawain tasted the dark roast. He’d seen a coffee advertisement last week. What was the name? Star Stags? No. “It’s not Starbucks, but it’s good.”
“Great.” The human picked up a cup. “I’m lookin’ for work. You know anyone hiring around here?”
Clever, wasn’t he? Job-hunting would permit him to ask plenty of questions. “Bad timing, I’m afraid. Tourist season is winding down, and most positions here are seasonal.”
“Huh. I hadn’t thought about winter coming.” The man picked up his drink and eyed Gawain. “You don’t look like a shopkeeper. You a logger or something?”
Gawain smiled easily. “Blacksmith, actually. I sell ironworks to the tourist shops.”
“Wouldn’t you sell more if you were closer to Seattle?”
“Some stores there carry my work, but”—how nice he had a logical reason—“there are fewer regulations way out here and less expensive licensing fees for running a forge.”
The man’s interest in him visibly died. “Yeah, no one wants to pay for licenses.”
As Gawain returned to the front, he noted Thorson had disappeared and Owen stood behind the counter. Why the switch? Gawain raised his eyebrows.
Silently, Owen turned his hands over, showing the almost unscarred backs.
Of course. The owner had distinctive werecat scarring. He’d probably grown up somewhere with no healer. The Scythe might have noted similar scars on their captives.
Owen raised his voice slightly. “The old fool’s feeling sick and asked me to watch the counter.”
“Fool?” Gawain picked up the obvious hint.
“The idiot had supper at Angie’s Diner last night. I’ve warned him before about eating there.”
Gawain choked. “If she hears you say that, she’ll be pissed.” Yeah, she’d rip out Owen’s throat out with her bare teeth.
His brother’s eyes lit. Damn cahir was addicted to risk, wasn’t he?
“Now what?” Gawain asked under his breath. Keep the weasel here? Let him leave? Kill him? Gawain had never killed a human, but he was open to new and intriguing experiences.
“Patience, brawd.” Owen pretended to fiddle with papers on the counter.
Patience it was. Leaning on the counter, Gawain rambled about the weather, the football season, the increase in gas taxes. When painting the walls last week, he’d protected the floors with newspapers—and read the headlines.
After a few minutes, the weasel approached the counter with a book in his hand. “I’ll take this one.” He handed Owen a twenty.
Owen took the money and scowled, obviously realizing he had to get change from a cash register.
Technology and Owen…not a good combination. Gawain ducked under the counter, opened the old-fashioned register, and smirked at his littermate. “You should have taken a part-time job when you were younger like I did.”
Owen sneered. “Thank you, no.”
“You must be brothers. Which of you is older?” the human asked.
Gawain stiffened. Saying they were the same age would be a clue they were Daonain, wouldn’t it?
“I am,” Owen said easily. “By a couple of years.”
The bell rang as the bookstore door opened. Vicki strolled in, one hand on her bulging middle in the protective way pregnant women had. She had a shopping bag in her other hand. “Hey, guys.”
Truly, Calum and his littermate had hit gold with their mate—her smile brightened the room almost as well as Darcy’s did. She turned that lethal weapon on the weasel, and Gawain almost laughed when the human smiled back.
“Hi there,” Vicki said. “I haven’t seen you before. Are you touristing or a new resident?”
“Ah, neither, exactly.” The weasel shifted his weight under the burden of her sweet regard. “I might move here though. I’m job-hunting.”
“Ugh, I don’t think anyone enjoys looking for work. What’s your occupation? No, wait, let me guess.” She tilted her head. “Hmm. Maybe a teacher?”
Terrifying thought.
“Ah, no. I’m—”
“Phooey. Let me see your hands.” Laughing merrily, she took one hand and looked at the back, then turned it over to study the palm. “My sister and I pretended to read fortunes at Halloween. Let’s see… Your Mount of Venus is on the flatter side, so you’re less influenced by emotions.
The human grinned. “Probably right.”
“So, maybe business?” Vicki frowned. “Or, no—the Mounts of Mars, inner and outer, show you’re brave and into adventurous stuff. Maybe a ski instructor? White-water rafting? Or there are soldiers who have strong Mounts of Mars.”
The twitch of his lower lip was like a shout, before the human grinned. “Sorry, ma’am. Nothing so interesting. I’m just a minimum-wage guy. I can run a cash register, stock shelves, do bartending, and wait tables. Basic shit.” All places where people congregated.
“Speaking of cash registers”—the weasel turned to Owen—“any chance the old guy here is hiring?”
“Sorry, it’s a one man operation.” Owen shook his head. “I don’t know anyone who’s looking for workers right now.”
Vicki tapped a finger on her lips. “Let me think. Maybe over at the B&B? No, I think they’re good. Or the grocery. No, he prefers to hire high school kids. The tavern only has barmaids, which does seem rather sexist, don’t you think?”
Gawain stared. Had she just accused the Cosantir of being sexist?
“I’m not gonna point any fingers,” Owen said with a grin. “I think the tavern owner keeps a shotgun behind the bar.”
Vicki’s eyes widened. “Oh, I’m sure that’s just a rumor.”
Gawain watched in awe. When Vicki’d mentioned her past as a spy, he hadn’t taken her seriously. He should have.
As she babbled away, acting as if she had fewer brains than a tree sprite, the Scythe agent relaxed and leaned against the counter, obviously hoping for tidbits.
“The gas station…well, they use their own kids…and, although teens always insist they’re overworked, I don’t think some practical experience hurts a child. Have you noticed how whiny the next generation is about doing a bit of work?”
“No shit.” The human nodded, totally pulled into the conversation.
“My kid isn’t going to be lazy,” Vicki said with a decided pat on her big belly.
“Good to hear.” The weasel smiled. “Are you going to have a boy or a girl?”
“Oh, my husband doesn’t want to know. He wants to be surprised.” Vicki pouted. “I think he’s awfully unfair. How am I supposed to know whether to decorate the nursery in blue or pink? Or what color of baby clothes to get?” The color of the baby’s room was obviously the most important concern in her life.
“Maybe you should go for green or beige,” Gawain suggested.
She gave him a shocked stare. “What’s the fun in that?”
“Wait till you get married, bro. You’ll learn how important women consider these things,” Owen told him knowledgeably—as if he’d ever spoken to a female outside of a Gathering.
Gawain managed not to laugh.
“Well, I’m blathering on. I just popped in to grab some decaf coffee, although I have to say, if there’s no caffeine in the coffee, it’s not nearly as satisfying. But my doctor is all full of telling me how caffeine is bad for the baby and how a sip of wine will make her—or him—be born with no brains or something.”
No, she wasn’t merely good; she was brilliant.
As the human edged away from her, she leaned forward and patted his arm. “I’m afraid I can’t think of anyone looking to hire. But best of luck in finding a job.”
Having somehow acquired a disarming waddle, she walked toward the rear of the store.
The Scythe agent picked up his book. “Doesn’t look like I’m going to find a job here. I guess I’ll try the next town down the road.”
“Those are the breaks,” Gawain said. “Good jobs are tough to come by.”
Owen merely nodded.
As the door closed behind the human, Vicki wandered back with a cup in hand and nary a waddle. Sneaky female.
“Nice act,” Owen said.
Gawain watched the human cross the street, climb into his van, and drive away. “That’s it? We’re just going to let him go?”
“Actually, no,” Vicki said. “My job was to stall him long enough for Wells to place a tracker under his bumper. He’ll have people monitoring where the bastard goes.”
“Perfect.” Owen gave her an approving nod.
The bell rang as Thorson shoved the door open. The old werecat stopped and sniffed. “Damned stinking human. I’ll be smelling him all day.”
“Poor Joe.” Vicki patted his arm. “Wells is in town and said he’ll be by later. He wanted to be sure you still had his favorite French roast.”
“Another damn human? I’ll have to fumigate the place.”
“You’re just stewing that the spymaster beat your furry ass at chess last month.” Owen grinned at Gawain. “The two play every time Wells is in town.”
“At least he can play. You cubs lack the patience for a decent game,” Thorson said.
Chess? Mother and Hunter, but it’d been a while. Gawain smiled. “I have an adequate amount of patience.”
Thorson gave him a skeptical stare. “You any good?”
Gawain ignored Owen’s snort and said mildly, “Fair.”
The old werecat grunted. “You’re on. Anytime during store hours.” Thorson rested his scarred-up hand on Vicki’s shoulder. “You planning to ever have those cubs?”
“Cub, Thorson. I’m shooting for one. Just one. A single baby. Fuck this litter bullshit.”
Gawain smothered a smile. The Daonain didn’t often have singletons.
Thorson gave her a cynical half-smile.
“Don’t even say it.” She rolled her eyes. “And, for your question, according to Donal, babies come when the Mother decides and not before.”
“Ah, well.” Thorson snorted. “Difficult to argue with that kind of a statement.”
“Yeah, the healer’s fucking sneaky that way.”
Gawain grinned. Calum’s mate had the vocabulary of a drunken dwarf.
“C’mon, you two.” She motioned toward the door. “Calum and Wells will want a report.”
As Gawain turned to follow her and his brother, Thorson cleared his throat. “Come by for a game tomorrow, mage. We’ll see if you have more brains than a pixie.”
“You’re on.”
*
The street felt cleaner without the Scythe van on it, Owen thought, as they crossed the street toward the sheriff’s office. He walked on Vicki’s left, pleased Gawain automatically took her right. The van might have left, but neither of them was about to be careless with her safety.
“Joe’s delighted to find a new chess player.” Vicki raised her eyebrows at Owen. “Is your brother going to get slaughtered?”
With a straight face, Owen said lightly, “Who knows?” Owen had lost a game or two to the old werecat…barely. With Gawain, Thorson would be slaughtered. As cubs, no one gave Gawain enough of a challenge, and he’d taken to playing chess online with other fanatics. “How long since you had a game, brawd?”
“A few months. I’ve missed it.” At a patch of cracked concrete, Gawain put his hand under Vicki’s arm to help her.
She scowled. “I’m pregnant, not fucking incapacitated.”
Owen grinned.
Her spine was straight, head was up, and she walked a step in front of them as if determined not to slow them down. Yeah, he liked the feisty little female. Honest, blunt, brave. Her mates—and Calum’s teenaged daughter—adored her because, despite trying to hide it, she had a tender heart.
He didn’t. So why did he wonder how many good people he’d ignored because they were female. He growled under his breath. Fucking self-evaluation was a pain in the tail.
Vicki led the way into the police station, past the reception desk, and motioned to a door on the right. “Alec’s out on Main Street, but Wells is in there with Darcy.
Owen stepped into the conference room.
Wells was seated at a long rectangular table across from Darcy. From her pale color, Owen figured the spymaster had quizzed her about the Scythe’s prìosan.
Calum was pacing up and down the room. When Vicki came in, he growled and pulled her into his arms…very gently. “You…”
“Relax, boss cat.” She kissed his chin. “Stalling a dimwitted foot-soldier for a few minutes is hardly dangerous.”
Belatedly, Owen realized why the Cosantir was so furious. “You didn’t ask her to come to the bookstore?”
“I did not.”
Vicki turned to look at Owen. “Wells and I were in here when you called, so we made a plan while Alec notified Calum.”
“Ah, right.” Owen retreated a step from Calum.
After detouring around the seething Cosantir, Gawain sat beside Darcy…and quietly appropriated her hand.
Good job, brawd. Owen positioned himself behind her and Gawain. Felt right, guarding these two that he… Guarding these two.
When Darcy turned to look at him, he tugged a lock of her black hair and stepped back. Folding his arms over his chest, he nodded at Wells. “Go ahead.”
Wells looked from him to Darcy, obviously caught the warning, and his head tilted an infinitesimal degree. The lean spymaster had icy blue eyes, gray hair the color of his tailored suit, and was the most calculating person Owen had ever met. A notepad sat in front of him. “Miss MacCormac was telling me about the Scythe plans.” He pointed his pen at Darcy, his eyes narrowed. “Why would competent operatives discuss secrets where you could hear?”
“They didn’t. I mean they didn’t know I was there.”
Owen moved to the side a step so he could see her face. Her color had returned to normal and she’d relaxed…maybe because she trusted him and Gawain to care for her. It was a satisfying thought.
“Explain,” Wells snapped.
When she flinched, Owen growled—as did Gawain.
The spymaster sat back carefully. “Forgive my impatience, Miss MacCormac. Discovering a covert organization is manipulating US politics, well, I fear it eroded my manners.”
“I understand,” Darcy said softly. “To answer your question, the prìosan staff didn’t converse in front of the hostages. However, whenever an outside visitor spent the night, I’d listen outside the window of the guest suite. Director enjoyed having drinks with them in the evenings, and it wasn’t long before they were boasting about what they’d done.”
“No patrols?”
“Yes, guards walk the grounds. But the floodlights only reach to the top of the first floor. The rooms for the staff and Scythe visitors are on the second floor.” She smiled slightly. “Ivy-covered brick walls aren’t difficult to climb.”
“I see. Nicely done.” Wells gave her a respectful nod.
Owen couldn’t help but visualize how fucking easy it would have been for the little cat to have been spotlighted like a fly on the wall—and filled with bullets. His jaw clamped down so violently his teeth might start cracking.
“Armed guards, a stone wall around the property, an automated steel gate with a guardhouse, concealed machine gun nests, floodlights.” Wells tapped his pen on the notepad.
Vicki scowled “Very third world, isn’t it?”
“Once the place is located, managing a rescue without casualties will be tricky.” Wells glanced at Calum. “I understand your concerns are only for the captive shifters. My job will include freeing the human hostages.”
Calum nodded. “I assumed you would feel that way. But first we have to find them.”