Chapter Twenty
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The mid-November afternoon was cool, but dry…just the way Owen enjoyed. He swiveled his ears toward Gawain and Darcy who trotted behind him. When traveling a distance in a group, panthers tended to space themselves a good distance apart, unlike idiot wolves who would run nose to tail. He couldn’t see the other two, but he kept track of their quiet sounds of passage.
They’d had a late start yesterday, because a male had shown up looking for the blademage. He’d traveled from the other side of the territory, and they delayed so Gawain could make him lifemating bracelets.
Since Darcy didn’t yet have perfect control, they’d driven partway to the Twin Sister range and parked Gawain’s car on a deserted logging road rather than a human parking lot. They’d spent the rest of the day as cougars, traveling fast. Last night, Darcy’d been so exhausted, she’d fallen asleep halfway through eating the rabbit Gawain had caught.
Owen lifted his muzzle to sniff the air. He wanted to find the well-hidden mountain meadow that Tynan and Donal had used as a base when they’d scouted the southeast quadrant.
Catching an acrid urine stench, Owen veered toward it. In wolf fashion, Tynan had marked the tree next to where an almost invisible deer trail began. Without slowing, Owen continued down the trail.
As dusk approached, the air was cooling, and they should get set up. They’d been animal long enough—and he missed talking with the other two.
Stepping out into a grassy meadow, he shifted.
Darcy padded up behind him.
Gawain followed and trawsfurred to human. “Nice place to camp.”
“Can you catch Tynan’s scent?” Owen asked. His brother’s sense of smell was more akin to a big-nosed bear than a cougar, which Owen had made sure to tease him about when they were cubs.
“Let’s see.” Gawain walked around, casting for the scent. He stopped at a tree at the south end and pointed up. “There, brawd.”
Owen climbed the tree, found a dark green, waterproof bag, and lowered it to Gawain.
“How did you know that was there?” Darcy asked.
“Owen called Tynan after Breanne’s dinner party, and the cop suggested we use this spot as a base,” Gawain said. “Tynan already had a cache here, but since yesterday was his day off, he dropped off extra camping gear and clothing so we won’t freeze if we’re in human form. In the evenings, it’s nice to be able to talk, but this high up, we’d freeze without clothes.”
“Oh. Awesome.” Her smile could entice the sun to shine on a rainy day. “I missed chatting with you two last night.”
Owen snorted. “Little cat, you fell asleep last night in mid-bite.”
She laughed, not insulted in the least.
Yeah, he’d grown fond of talking to her, too. “Tonight, we’ll discuss what you want to practice while we search for the shifter-soldiers.” Owen glanced at Gawain. They’d already come up with a few ideas, in fact.
“Okay.” She knelt and started pulling things out of the duffel bag. Sleeping bags—the kind that zipped together into one bed. Clothes for them all.
Gawain divided them into the proper sizes. The longer jeans for Owen. Over-sized shirts and jacket for the blacksmith. Smaller everything for Darcy.
“No boots?” Darcy held up the moccasins and thick socks.
“We’ll search in animal form. Clothes are only for our comfort at night.”
She eyed the heavy duffel. “It was nice of Tynan to haul it up here.”
“Aye, although some of it was already here.” Owen pulled on jeans, thermal shirt, flannel shirt, and a down vest. “He keeps some caches in the forests around Seattle for when Donal can join him.”
“How long has he been a cop?” Darcy’s jeans were snug enough that she had to wiggle her curvy ass to get them up.
That ass. Owen remembered all too well how perfectly her hips could be gripped, how… With a grunt, he looked away and tried to recall her question. Bad cahir.
All too observant, Gawain grinned and prompted, “How long?”
Tynan. They were talking about Tynan. “I think he’s been in Seattle ten to fifteen years. It must be agony for a wolf to be without a pack.”
Her dark eyes held sympathy.
“Poor bastard,” Gawain muttered. “Why in the God’s forest is he there?”
“Donal told me the God sent his brother there, and he’d know when he could leave.”
Gawain dumped the firewood he’d collected near a circle of boulders that would serve as a heat reflector. The high canopy of leaves would disperse the smoke. “He’s got more guts than I do.”
“Or he’s crazier than a ram in breeding season.” Owen shook his head. “He can’t stay much longer. He told Donal he’s not aging as fast as the other officers who are supposedly his age, and it’s beginning to be noticeable.”
“Oh. I bet.” Darcy frowned. “Isn’t that a problem in shifter-human towns, too?”
“I’m not sure why, exactly, but in a territory, the humans don’t seem to notice the fifty or so years difference in our lifespans. The Mother and Hunter might exert a blurring influence or something.”
An hour later, they settled in front of the blazing fire. Tynan, may the Mother bless his name, had included a skin of scotch.
As they passed the skin between them, Darcy drank, although she wrinkled her nose with each sip. Fuck, she was cute. Even better, her defenses were down, which was what he’d been waiting for.
When he nodded at Gawain, his brother drew her into a discussion about good colors for a living room.
Silently, Owen slipped into the forest, stripped, and shifted. You’re not a nice cat, Treharn. But this was part of being a shifter—and what with being hunted, she didn’t have a year to master control.
Gawain noticed the second he sneaked out of the tree line. In a most painful fashion, their mentor had taught them what happened to unobservant shifters. Despite the years, they’d never lost the edgy awareness.
Darcy was as heedless of danger as a sprite focused on a new flower. Tonight, she’d learn attentiveness as well as control.
Owen vibrated his throat in a low growl. Panthers couldn’t roar, but this had the same effect.
Her muscles tensed even before her mind comprehended the danger behind her.
When she turned, he charged with a piercing hiss-spit.
She screamed, the scotch went flying, and suddenly they had a panicking panther encumbered by jeans, shirts, and vest.
Being swift of hand, Gawain had caught the skin of scotch in midair.
Owen chuffed a laugh and lay down in the grass.
He had to give Darcy credit; she stopped panicking faster than any youngster. After only a minute, she realized he wasn’t moving. She looked at Gawain who was drinking more scotch, and she gave her own growl.
A second later, she was human again, trying to set her clothes straight. And scowling. “You scared me on purpose.”
“Aye,” Gawain said. “So, pretty panther, did you trawsfur because that was the wisest choice?”
She sank down on the log. “No,” she said slowly. “I didn’t even think. I was scared and shifted.”
Lesson learned. Owen nodded at her and returned to the woods.
Before her clothes were even put to rights, he did it again.
And again.
When she finally stayed human despite his charging her, he gave her a break.
When Owen, back in human form, approached the fire, Gawain winked at him. In another hour, it would be his turn.
Shivering, Owen took a seat on the log beside Darcy and held his hands out to the flames.
Frowning, she turned. “You look almost frozen.”
“Yeah, my clothes were fucking cold when I put them on.” The temperature away from the fire was freezing.
Without a thought, she put her arms around him, generously sharing her body’s warmth…even though he’d done his best to scare her to death.
He kissed the top of her head, soaking up the feeling of being held as much as the warmth. “I thought you’d hate me by now.”
“The thought occurred.” She rubbed her hands up and down his back, chasing the chill away. “But after the first times, I realized you weren’t doing it for fun.” Her lips curved. “Although, I did see Gawain laugh at me a time or two.”
“At least that,” Gawain said agreeably. He leaned forward and handed Owen the scotch.
Owen took a sip. The liquid slid down his throat and spread warmth into his belly.
Scotch, a fire, and a clear night sky. An evening with his littermate. Darcy snuggling with him. As contentment seeped into him, he pulled her onto his lap.
When she tried to pull away, he kept an arm around her and lifted her chin. “Is that habit or do you really want to move away?”
Actually, she rarely jumped when they unexpectedly touched her now. The trust in that pleased him immensely.
Frowning at him, she opened her mouth. “I…” Then she buried her face against his shoulder. “I don’t think you’re so cold you need me on your lap.”
“Nope. I just want you here.” Sounded reasonable to him. Her ass was a soft weight on his thighs, her breasts pressed against his chest, and every breath was filled with her feminine fragrance. Want was a poor word for what he needed from her, but it would do.
When she finally looked up, he smiled at her…and took her lips. There was no full moon heat driving them tonight, and yet, when her lips yielded under his, when she softened and opened to his tongue, the flames were hot enough to sear.
Maybe he couldn’t say the words, but as he held her and kissed her, he tried to let his actions convey what he felt. That this was where she belonged. That he cared.
When he finally lifted his head, she was clinging to him.
“So, brawd.” Gawain stretched his legs out, amusement and approval in his gaze. “While we search, are we working on anything with Darcy tomorrow?”
Before Owen could answer, Darcy sat up straighter. “I need to learn how to work around the wind.” She patted Owen’s arm. “The same way you did with those humans in Seward Park. You hid your scent until the time you wanted the dogs to notice you.”
Interesting. Most new shifters wanted to practice running down prey. But working the wind was a valuable skill—and necessary for hunting, as well. “All right. Anything else?”
“Everything else?” Her smile disappeared. “Mostly, I want to be able to get up into trees and be able to leap from rock to rock without messing up. And I can’t. Cats are supposed to be all graceful, but I swear, I have four left paws.”
“Four…what?”
“Human saying, brawd.” Gawain handed him the skin of scotch. “Having two left feet is a way to say someone is clumsy.”
Owen eyed his moccasin-clad feet, trying to envision having two left ones. “Humans are weird sometimes.”
*
“Whatcha working on, O’Connolly?” The question came from an aging detective in the Seattle police station. “It’s quitting time, you know.”
Tynan looked up from the computer on his desk. “I know. Remember that woman’s body they pulled out of the Sound at Lincoln Park? I’m wondering if anything similar happened in the past few years in West Seattle.”
“Like murders and shit?” The pot-bellied human was getting close to retirement—and his indifferent expression said his mind was already there.
“Just curious.”
“Good luck with that.”
The bullpen was never silent, but at least, the nosy detective was gone. Tynan frowned at the map on the computer monitor. Darcy had identified the body pulled from the Sound as one of her fellow captives. Poor lass. She’d not only suffered years of captivity, but also the loss of friends. It was a wonder she was sane.
But she was a strong female.
Now, it was up to him to find her villagers.
When Darcy escaped, she’d run wildly, darting various directions, even doubling back a time or two. She hadn’t any notion of the distance she’d covered. However, she’d given him a few tidbits. Sometime during her escape, she crossed over a big river first and then a multilane freeway, which had to be I-5. Also, she knew her general direction had been east, and she’d ended up in Seward Park. West of Seward Park, the river had to be the Duwamish Waterway, which meant that bloody wall-enclosed prison had to be somewhere in West Seattle.
Now, if he were an asshole with a dead body to dump in the Sound, he’d pick a nearby location—a familiar area. Since the dead body had washed up around Lincoln Park, he’d search in the surrounding Gatewood and Delridge neighborhoods first.
He pushed away from his desk and grabbed his jacket.
By the God, he’d find that fecking Scythe prison and get the people—his people—out.