Chapter Twenty-Five
‡
Someone’s voice had wakened her. Darcy blinked, trying to remember where she was and why she was wrapped in a blanket and lying on the floor. Other females were sitting or lying nearby. Her villagers.
The room held brown and green upholstered couch and armchairs, long drapes, and a television. This was what Wells called a “safe house”.
Now, she remembered. Owen and Gawain had tucked her into a black van packed with hostages. All the vans, loaded with females and the wounded, had driven to the front gate. Far down the street on both sides, emergency vehicles were flashing lights. The downed utility poles and power lines had blocked traffic.
One female asked, “Then how will we get out?”
“Watch.” Grinning, Shay’d stomped on the gas, driven straight across the street, over the curb, across a front lawn, scraped between two houses and into a backyard. The van convoy had torn through residential properties, flattening fences and landscaping, to finally emerge onto a quiet street blocks away.
Such a getaway.
“There she is.” Owen’s voice.
Relief poured through her, and she struggled to sit up.
“Lie still, catling.” With his littermate beside him, Gawain knelt and pressed her back onto the blanket.
She breathed in their scents, feeling the hard knot in her belly unwind. “Are you all right?” Darcy touched the blood-drenched rag around Gawain’s arm.
“Nothing serious.” Gawain checked the rough bandage he’d put around her leg.
Owen tilted her chin up to look at the one on her neck. He scowled. “You got the worst of it.” The snarls beneath his words showed how he felt about her getting hurt.
She tapped his nose as she would a puppy. “I’ll be fine.”
“Donal was supposed to heal everything.” Owen glared around as if he’d drag the healer over himself.
“He was—”
“He’s tapped out.” Tynan walked over, set down a box, and crouched beside her. “In a city, this far from the Mother, he’s weak. He knew he would be, but insisted on coming anyway. Even exhausted, he was able to locate and remove the females’ trackers.”
Gawain grunted. “I’d forgotten the hostages here had trackers. I’m glad someone remembered.”
“He couldn’t heal the females—and that pissed him off. I sent him back to Cold Creek with the worst of the injured. Once he recovers some energy, he’ll be able to heal them—at least enough to keep them alive.”
Darcy shook her head. “Poor Donal. I bet he hated not being able to fix everyone.”
“The idiot ran himself so dry he passed out,” Tynan said.
“Fuck.” Owen blinked. “Healers have died doing that.”
“Aye.” Scowling, Tynan pushed the box toward Gawain. “He left us the supplies he brought. Clean your group’s wounds, wrap them up, and hand off the bag to the next person.”
“What’s the plan for the Dogwood villagers?” Gawain opened the box.
“After the shifter-soldiers arrive and get a bit of time with sisters, the females will go to Rainier Territory for a couple of weeks. The Cosantirs in Washington and Oregon are working out who goes where. Some of the people have family elsewhere, some don’t; some will have preferences.” After smiling at Darcy, Tynan headed into the crowd.
“If the soldiers are here, have you seen my broth—” Burning pain jolted her, and she hissed at Gawain who’d pulled the gauze off her arm. “Ouch. Donal was nicer.”
His lips twitched. “No, he wasn’t. He dug a bullet out of you, remember?”
Well, okay, but still…
Gawain kissed her lightly. “I am sorry I hurt you.” His blue eyes showed his worry.
Guilt washed through her. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
Owen snorted. “I kind of enjoy seeing you in a temper…but I can gag her if you prefer, brawd.”
“What?” She glared…and then she saw the strain in the cahir’s face.
Seeing her in pain was upsetting him. Jaw locked, he moved his grip from her hand to her forearm, keeping her arm immobile.
“You’re such a mean cahir,” she said to try get a smile.
It didn’t work, but he rubbed his knuckles lightly over her cheek.
Trying not to show how much Gawain’s efforts hurt, she gritted her teeth and suffered. As her newly dressed arm throbbed and burned, she wanted to whimper when he started on her thigh. She gave him a beseeching look. “We could just skip my leg.”
Owen was the one to kiss her this time. “Puppy-dog eyes. Very nice. Nevertheless, we’re still going to clean it up.”
He waited a second—and kissed the pout off her lips as well.
If she’d had the heart, she’d have smacked him on the nose. Yet the merciless jerk hugged her when—as she’d thought—the dressing really, really did hurt.
As Gawain finished the wrapping job, Owen pulled her against him and said in a rough voice, “It didn’t look too bad.”
She rubbed her cheek on his shoulder. “Honestly, I think it hurt you worse than it did me.” And now that her eyes weren’t blinded by tears, she noticed Gawain’s face was just as grim.
“You shouldn’t have been there,” Gawain said. “We know how you felt about that place, and you went in without us.”
“Then you got hurt with me right there.” Owen’s voice was like a badly tuned motor—rough and ragged. “Should have been me.”
Such guilt. Her heart warmed with love. After stroking Owen’s cheek, she pulled Gawain down for another kiss. “If you hadn’t been there, I’d be dead. Instead, we’re all alive. I’m happy.”
Some of the bitterness in Owen’s eyes lightened.
“Rescue of both the forest camp and the females accomplished. Guards dead, houses burned. Got a lot of wounded, but no one died. I’d call it a success.” Gawain ran his finger down her cheek and smiled.
As Gawain passed the first aid box to the females nearby, the front door opened. Males in black vests and cargo pants, carrying firearms entered.
The soldiers looked around expectantly, and happy shouts echoed through the room as they spotted their sisters.
“Darcy!” Two males—her littermates—charged across the room. As Owen and Gawain moved out of the way, her brothers dropped to their knees beside her.
Patrin with his olive skin and long black hair. Fell with his blue eyes and short sandy hair.
“Oh, Mother of All, you’re here. You’re free and alive.” Joy welled up in her so strong she was drowning in it.
“You’re safe,” Patrin whispered, as if to reassure himself. His smile didn’t show in his eyes—and hadn’t for the last five years. Ever so gently, he pulled her into his arms.
When he released her, Fell was there. A burbling brook frozen into silence, her brother rarely spoke. He studied the dressings on her arm and leg, nodded approval, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. Then he frowned at her. “You didn’t belong there.”
“What?”
“In danger.”
Seriously? They were actually together again, finally—and he was using some of his hoarded words to criticize her? The urge to cry warred with the urge to smack him.
She settled on the second option and smacked the side of his head.
Not even a flinch. He growled. At one time, he’d have yelped and laughed.
Breathing past the ache in her heart, she growled back. “I did belong there.”
“She’s the one who discovered the captives had two trackers.” Gawain’s tone was very even.
Owen’s tone wasn’t polite at all. “She escaped, helped us find your prisons, and saved every benighted one of you. Show some fucking gratitude.” The pride in his voice made her eyes sting.
Both of her brothers scowled, shook the insult off, and she got two more hugs.
“Thanks, chwaer,” Patrin murmured.
Fell simply gave her a squeeze…and she mourned for his lost words.
“Cahir, mage, a moment,” Alec called from the center of the room.
As Owen and Gawain joined him, Patrin’s eyes narrowed. “I saw the cahir. What’s a mage?”
“A blademage.” Darcy looked after him and didn’t…quite…sigh. Gawain had earned all those muscles the hard way.
As if he felt her gaze, he met her eyes and winked.
The flush of heat ran from her head to her toes. After a second, she turned to Patrin. “He’s a metalsmith with extra magic so he can make cahir blades and sheaths and the lifemating bracelets.”
When Alec said something, both Gawain and Owen glanced at her, turned back to Alec with scowls, and whatever he’d suggested was turned down cold.
The sheriff laughed, agreed, and wrote something on his clipboard.
Owen gave him a narrow-eyed look, one that promised retribution, and stalked back to Darcy.
Such a cat. Deadly and snarly and ever so softhearted. She almost sighed again.
He stood over her, his arms crossed over his chest. “We’re heading for Cold Creek. With you.”
“Good.” She frowned. “What about Patrin and Fell?”
Gawain glanced at her brothers. “It seems the spymaster has asked the Dogwood males to help him with a project for a while.”
Patrin nodded. “We agreed.”
“When done,” Gawain said, “your brothers will be assigned to Cold Creek.”
“Assigned?” Patrin asked slowly.
“For safety and to help you all reintegrate with Daonain life, the Dogwood villagers are being scattered throughout the towns in Oregon and Washington,” Gawain said. “Once things quiet down, you can move where you want.”
Her brothers exchanged glances. “Makes sense,” Patrin said. “We’ll be with Darcy, though?”
“Aye.” Owen’s tone was inflexible. “She lives in Cold Creek.”
Grumpy cat. But she loved what he’d said. “She lives in Cold Creek.” Not “assigned”, but she belonged there.
*
Nursing baby Toren, Vic burrowed deeper into the blankets on the couch. Thank you, Zeb. He’d carried her in from the van, set her on the couch, and told her to stay where he put her. Two-thirds of Cold Creek were terrified of the deadly cahir—never realizing he had a soft side. The wonder in his face when he’d seen the babies had almost reduced her to tears. He’d scrounged up tiny boxes for baby beds, ripped up a blanket for bedding, and lined the beds up on the coffee table. After moving the table right next to the couch, he’d sent someone off for diapers.
She’d wondered for—oh, all of a moment—why he and Shay hadn’t stayed behind to fight. But, of course, they’d been ordered to get the captives out. Any Cosantir—and any Daonain male—would put the females’ safety first.
Calum. Worry hummed inside her like a swarm of bees. Zeb had said Calum had planned to hand himself over to the Scythe. No wonder they’d left her alone. The so-called Director had wanted to ensure he’d nabbed Calum before damaging her.
“Please be safe, you stubborn cat,” she whispered, aching to be with him. The overprotective cat must have been going crazy, not being able to come after her. How he must be resenting the duties of the God—even as he fulfilled them. Her lips curved. She wouldn’t have loved him so much if he didn’t have that bone-deep sense of responsibility.
The sucking at her breast stopped, and she looked down. Toren had a tiny fuzz of dark hair covering his head and blue-gray eyes. Donal had warned her that babies’ eyes often darkened, but oh, this boy totally had Calum’s genes. “Look who I’m bringing you, Calum.”
Much more smoothly than with the first fumbling efforts, Vic eased her nipple from the baby’s mouth and checked the other two. She still wasn’t sure if she was horrified or proud. Three fucking babies.
Good thing she, Alec, and Calum had chosen a couple of extra names—just in case. For two, they’d used the Daonain tradition of honoring an older friend by selecting a name that was similar, yet unique.
During the long hours in the concrete cell, it had been a comfort to be able to call her babies by name.
Reaching over to the coffee table, Vic touched Sorcha’s tiny hand and ruffled the fluff of golden hair on her head. The baby’s eyes opened—blue eyes that already held a hint of green. “Yes, Alec had a hand in making you, didn’t he?”
Smacking her lips, the girl fell back asleep.
Next to her in his box-bed, Artair kicked his tiny feet. His face wrinkled in frustration. Brown hair. Eyes already brown. He not only looked like her, but also demanded prompt action when he raised his voice.
Smiling, she scooped him up.
At the door, another set of soldiers came in, followed by Wells—and damned if Joe Thorson wasn’t beside him.
Joe had a bloody bandage on his forearm, but the old cat looked fine and fierce. Both of them looked around and—when they spotted her, the relief in their eyes almost made her start crying.
Again. Fucking hormones.
They made a beeline for her, and then Wells was close enough to see over the back of the couch. He stopped dead, eyes on the bundle in her arms.
Thorson bumped into him. “Stupid human. Can’t you even walk without—” His gaze followed Wells’s.
“Sergeant,” Wells said. “You had the baby?”
Blinking back more tears, Vic laughed. “Babies, sir. Plural.” She reached out to pat Sorcha and Toren.
Just like Zeb, the two merciless killers turned all gooey. Boy, if she could synthesize the baby-effect, she could end every war on the planet.
“You have babies.” Wells touched his finger to Artair’s tiny hand.
There would never be a better time.
“Arthur Wells,” she said in a formal voice—a command voice—and held up the baby. “Here is your namesake, Artair. Will you serve as his caomhnor?”
Damned if she’d ever seen Wells at a loss. After a second, he took the baby as competently as he did everything else. When he held tiny Artair against his chest, she lost the battle with tears.
“What’s a kuheev-rore,” he asked in a gruff voice.
Thorson had crossed his arms on his chest. Buddies with Wells or not, the werecat took infinite pleasure in taunting the human spymaster. He smirked. “It’s a—”
“Joe,” Vic said softly and picked up the black-haired baby. “Joe Thorson, here is your namesake, Toren. Will you serve as his caomhnor?”
As Joe tucked the baby into the crook of his arm, he stared at her—and she knew why. She was giving him family. More bonds to tie him to the earth. More people to love. He swallowed, and his voice came out as rough as she’d ever heard it. “Aye. I will serve as his guardian-protector, teaching him and loving him for as long as my heart beats and the blood flows in my veins.”
She felt the first tear spill down her cheek.
“Yes…” Wells cleared his throat, and his words came out clear and strong. “I will serve as Artair’s guardian-protector, teaching him and loving him for as long as my heart beats and the blood flows in my veins.”
*
In Alec’s car, Owen rode shotgun. Behind him were Darcy, Vicki and her cubs, and Gawain. Owen was amused to see how good his littermate was with the tiny cubs.
It was good to be headed home to Cold Creek—and sooner than he’d thought.
Alec hadn’t planned to leave until all the hostages and soldiers were gone.
Owen had watched the cahir call Calum to report in…and seen his growing concern as he spoke with the Cosantir. After ending the call, Alec had turned over everything to Shay, Zeb, and Ben.
He’d said Vicki and the babies needed to get back to Cold Creek. When Shay told him to take extra protection, Owen had volunteered, which meant Gawain and Darcy had come.
When Vicki had protested the need to hurry, Alec looked grim, saying Calum needed to see she was all right.
The thought of a Cosantir losing control was…not good. And by the God, Owen understood how frantic Calum must feel. When Darcy had been hit by bullets and gone down… He’d come very close to going on a killing rampage. He’d never felt such fear. Such rage.
Knowing a mate was safe wasn’t the same as feeling her, seeing her, hearing her, breathing her in.
Even now, Owen couldn’t stop checking on Darcy. For the hundredth time, he looked over his shoulder. She was snuggled to Gawain’s side, holding a baby on her lap, half-asleep. Just watching her breathe was more comforting than he would have ever imagined.
As the car approached Cold Creek, Owen spotted a vehicle parked on the shoulder, barely off the road, in fact. The van was black with darkly tinted windows. “Alec, that’s a Scythe vehicle.”
Alec braked.
“Looks empty.” Alec scowled. “I can’t stop, not with…” He glanced at the passengers in the back. The babies and females. Putting them in danger wasn’t acceptable.
“Drive past and let me out. I’ll run back and see what’s up.” If the Scythe were off in the woods, he’d wave Alec away and do some hunting.
Owen approached the vehicle from the rear, since the car was pointed toward Seattle. Moving up, he glanced in the back. Empty.
Looking in the driver’s side, he realized the car had occupants, after all. When he opened the front door, the escaping scent was so filled with fear that he jerked back a step.
But the two dead humans posed no threat. The driver and passenger were slumped over each other, with no signs of injury. No blood. Just stark terror in their faces.
After a second, Owen slammed the door shut…because the scent lingering in the back was that of a very angry Cosantir.
The Cosantir had turned himself over to the Scythe. Had probably been bound and shoved into the back seat. By these two humans.
“You poor bastards,” Owen muttered, remembering the look on Calum’s face when he’d said, “I will be in the heart of my territory.”
*
Finally home. Vic realized Alec had parked the car in front of the side gate. Oh, hell, it was a long walk around the side and up the stairs to their second-floor rooms. And she was so…fucking…exhausted. It was taking all her strength to sit upright.
Gawain jumped out and helped Darcy out.
Vic swung her legs around and found her way blocked.
“Soldier or not, you’re all in.” Darcy turned to Alec. “You carry her. The guys and I will bring in the babies.”
Alec raised his eyebrows and grinned at Owen. “You’re going to have your hands full with this one.” A minute later, Alec took Sorcha from Vic, handed the baby to Owen, and scooped up Vic.
She rested her head against his shoulder and sighed. “Normally, I’d belt you one for carrying me around.”
He rested his cheek against her head for a second. “Not today?”
“Not today. Thank you.”
“Vixen, you have no idea how much I need to hold you…for a long, long time. It’ll be a while before I can shed my fear, and Calum is even worse. He already—he didn’t sound good when I spoke to him.”
Oh, fuck. Calum’s first mate had been slaughtered by a human. Vic kidnapped by humans…no, he wouldn’t be a happy camper. “Let’s get in there.”
“Aye.” Alec led the others around the side of the house and up the stairs. The door was ajar, and he pushed it open and walked into the living room. The room was dark and silent.
Calum was on the couch, head in his hands, and power was so thick around him she could almost hear it rumble.
“Brawd.” Still holding her, Alec went down on one knee beside the couch.
Calum looked up, and his eyes were black and unseeing. “Did you lie? Is she—”
“Oh, Calum.” Vic reached out. When she put her hands on each side of his face, he gripped her wrists in an unbreakable hold.
“Victoria.”
“Here, brawd. Hang onto her for a bit.” Alec set her on Calum’s lap.
“You’re here. Alive.” The arms that came around her felt like finely forged steel as he wrapped her in his strength and power. When he bowed his head and rested his cheek on the top of her head, she felt the tremor go through him.
And the shimmering heat of the God slowly diminished.
After a minute, when he let her take a breath, she asked, “Have you been sitting here all this time?”
“Aye.” He lifted his head and slid over so Alec could join them on the couch. “After I…disposed…of the Scythe agents, I had nothing I could do—and too much anger to be trusted around anyone. I could only”—his words descended to a low deadly growl—“wait.”
She rubbed her cheek on his shoulder. “Yeah. Waiting is the worst. I’d rather be shot at any day.”
Alec snorted. “It really bothers me that I know you mean that.”
“Are you unhurt?” Calum asked, finally releasing her enough to look at her. His eyes were returning to the silvery-gray she loved.
“Just tired. Um…” She glanced at Alec, and he nodded. “How about a nice surprise for a change?”
Calum’s lips curved. “About the captives?”
Damn, he was off his game. His powers of observation rivaled Wells’s, and he hadn’t even noticed she was a hell of a lot lighter.
“Huh, I guess you could call them the most recent of the captives.” She looked over his shoulder and motioned to the three standing as far away as they could get without falling down the stairs.
Owen—brave cahir—came first and went down on one knee in front of Calum. “Congratulations, Cosantir,” he said gently. “The clan increases.” He held Sorcha in the curve of his arm.
Calum went deadly still. “You—”
Gawain went down on one knee next to Owen. “Congratulations, Cosantir. The clan increases.” Toren kicked his pint-sized feet and made a burbling sound.
Darcy joined the brothers. Her smile was brilliant as she turned Artair so he could look up at his sire. “Hey, Cosantir. You did good.”
Vic snickered. Yeah, she really did like this woman.
A second later, there were pounding footsteps on the stairs.
Jamie burst into the room. “You’re back! MomVee, are you okay?” The girl skidded to a stop beside Darcy, and her eyes widened.
“Fucking-A, Daddy, we’ve got a whole litter!”
The knot in Vic’s stomach unwound as Calum’s dark beautiful laugh rang out. “We do indeed, kitten.” He planted a hard kiss on Vic’s lips and whispered in her ear, “Thank you, cariad, for keeping yourself and our cubs safe.”