Leap of the Lion by Cherise Sinclair (27)

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A Sunday in the second week in December was the day of their official house and business warming. As anticipation burbled inside him, Gawain trotted down the stairs and into the living room.

A flash from the huge brick fireplace caught his attention. In the blazing fire, two golden and red salamanders were twining and spiraling in a wave of sparks. “Be welcome to our home,” he murmured.

They blinked beady eyes and continued their dance.

Slowly, Gawain turned, reveling in the happiness and contentment that filled the aged house. Earlier, he’d noticed a small nose poking out of a kitchen baseboard hole. Apparently, the OtherFolk had decided their family was stable and happy, and some housekeeping brownies had moved in. He’d have to remember to set out cream and cake for them tonight.

Gawain smiled. He couldn’t wait to tell his mates.

From the kitchen came the cheerful sounds of females talking and laughing. A whirr from outside said Owen was sliding open the big barn door. In a few minutes, the house and barn would start to fill with their guests.

Were they ready? He studied the rooms and nodded in satisfaction. Their house had become a home.

Gawain had owned more than enough furniture to fill the rooms and stock the kitchen. But despite the furnishings, the house hadn’t been a home…until Darcy moved in. Now, her bright red coat hung in the foyer. She’d bought a large round, hand-crocheted rug from her friend Rebecca, and the dark red and brown colors warmed the living room. A table with a chess set stood in one corner. Books sat on end tables, and a knotted piece of crochet work spilled out of a basket.

She’d taken one of Gawain’s early metal artworks and hung it above the fireplace. Beneath it on the mantel were candles and one of Owen’s carvings. From Emma’s house had come lush foliage plants. He hadn’t realized how such small embellishments could change an entire house. Curtains, rugs, pillows, artwork, throws, plants, even bowls of fruit left out so a person could grab something in passing.

He and Owen had stood back and let their mate transform the house into a den that rivaled those created by werebears. All in less than two weeks.

Tilting his head, he smiled, because, in addition to the furniture, each room now held memories. Like Darcy’s giggles when she’d discovered he was ticklish. How Owen’s eyes lit when he realized they’d saved breakfast for him. Their new ritual of arguing over the dinner menu, then cooking it together. The sound of Owen’s laughter when Darcy pounced on him in bed and demanded a morning kiss. The fun they’d had wallpapering the dining room…and Darcy’s adorable hisses when they’d tried to get the glue out of her hair in the shower.

How many memories could they create in a lifetime?

Lifting his nose, he sniffed and smiled at the scents from the kitchen. He’d done his part, whipping up the only two appetizers he knew how to make. Owen had added another. The rest they’d hired Bree and Angie to provide. Now, Darcy and her female crew were setting up trays and drinks.

With a cub in a backpack, Vicki walked into the living room and put a platter of mixed hors d’oeuvres on the coffee table. “Hey, Gawain.” She grinned. “Holding an open house is a great idea to get your businesses started. I think everyone in town—human and Daonain—plans to come by.”

“Good to hear.” Gawain appropriated the cub, checking the hair color. Black, so this was Toren. “I’m surprised Thorson let you hold his cubling.”

“I made her beg.” Joe Thorson stalked into the room. Even as he touched the cub’s round cheek, he frowned at Gawain. “I want a rematch.”

“How can you be upset about losing one game of chess?” Vicki snorted. “You’re always complaining no one can give you a decent game.”

Thorson barked a laugh. “You and Calum can. You’re just too busy.” He nodded toward Gawain. “This one loves the game.”

True enough. And Thorson hadn’t been easy to beat. Gawain anticipated many quiet, winter evenings with this canny cat. “I do love the game. Rematch tomorrow night? At the tavern?”

Thorson nodded, his lips twitching up in almost a smile.

As Calum came out to join his mate, Gawain seized the moment. “I’ve wanted to thank you, both of you.”

Calum raised an eyebrow.

“Sheltering Darcy, making us both feel welcome in town, offering us this house, rescuing her villagers, helping them find new homes. If there’s anything I—”

“No need.” Vicki shook her head. “There’s no—”

“Aye. A debt is owed,” Thorson interrupted. “Cosantirs don’t take payment, but for balance, you could make the Cosantir’s mate one of your fancy cahir knives. She lost hers in that Scythe demon hole.”

Balance—the age-old Daonain Law of Reciprocity. It’d been a while since Gawain had heard it invoked.

Vicki shook her head. “That’s not necessary.”

Actually, he rather thought it was. And from the way Vicki’s eyes had lit, he’d have made her a knife anyway. But it would be good to achieve balance as well. He bowed his head in formal acknowledgement. “The balance is fair. Accepted.”

In the kitchen, Darcy surveyed the wealth of appetizers and felt inadequate. “Gawain made food. So did Owen. I didn’t…because I don’t know how,” she grumbled. “I only remember a few things from when I’d help Mum.”

“I know the feeling.” Emma patted her shoulder. “But I found it’s not difficult to learn to cook the basics and, if you mess up, there’s Angie’s Diner.”

Angie chuckled. “True. But I’d also be happy to teach you. Anytime you’re at leisure, drop in. I love having minions to boss around.”

Bree popped a tiny quiche in her mouth. “Let Angie instruct you on the real food, and I’ll teach you how to make the sweet stuff. I miss having you around the lodge.”

Friends. Warmed, Darcy smiled.

Bonnie slid an arm around her and murmured, “I know a lot of Owen’s favorites. I’ll teach you those.”

Unable to resist, Darcy gave her a hug. “You’re all on.”

Owen had slid the barn door wide open, and he nodded in satisfaction. The three “shops” were ready for viewing. To the left were Gawain’s forges and metalwork—with all magical items tucked away. One of the forges was stoked up enough to warm the barn despite the snow outside. In the back right, Owen’s carvings filled the shelves and crowded the floor. Darcy’s front corner of the shop showed all the equipment and small appliances she was currently repairing.

“You got this?” he asked, looking at Hector.

“I got it,” Hector said confidently. Two days ago, the young shifter had appeared at the barn with Calum’s daughter Jamie and had asked Owen for carving lessons. Owen wasn’t calling him an apprentice…yet…but the kid had a talent.

And, since the cub was broke, they’d hired him to show off the barn during the open house.

“If Jamie’s at the house, I’ll send her over with some food and drink,” Owen said, getting a wide grin. Ah, young love.

At the house, Owen spotted Gawain in the living room, talking with a group of people. Bree was talking with Vicki, so Calum was probably around somewhere, too.

With a screech high enough to break glass, Tyler charged across the room followed by two more mini-monsters—Luke, and Ben’s cubling, Minette. All three were fucking cute.

A second later, they were climbing him like a tree. Smothering his laugh, he looked down at the three. “Who can show me where the Cosantir is?”

They dropped off with small thuds.

“I can.” Tiny chest puffed up with importance, Tyler took his hand and dragged him into the dining room.

Calum was there, talking with Wells and Tynan.

“Excellent job, young male.” Owen lifted his nephew, tossed him in the air, and got a screech of delight.

After a quick hug, the whirlwind dashed back to his friends. “Unc Wen threw me in the air and catched me!”

Turning, Owen gave a slight bow to the Cosantir and nodded to the other two.

Wells had baby Artair in one arm and was letting the cub suck on his finger. “Treharn.”

Owen looked at Calum. “Since we visited my cabin, then got buried in open house details, I haven’t heard what’s going on with the Scythe. Is Darcy going to be safe, or should we consider moving to Canada?”

Calum glanced at Wells. “I believe this question is yours.”

The spymaster looked up from his namesake, and his pale blue eyes turned cold. “Although there are no guarantees in a war like this, Treharn, we plan to locate all the members of the Scythe. And they will be weeded out by the appropriate people.” His gaze turned to the front door where Darcy’s brothers had just entered.

“I see.” The shifter-soldiers would eliminate the humans who had trained them to be killers. There was irony. “In that case, we’ll stay put and be cautious.”

And help thin that Scythe herd until it reached a stable population of zero.

Owen bowed slightly to the Cosantir and headed off to tell Gawain. He’d best keep an eye on Darcy in case those brothers of hers gave her trouble. Although…she’d done pretty good all by herself.

He smiled. He and Gawain had a fucking amazing mate.

In a corner of the increasingly crowded living room, Darcy set down another platter of food, turned, and bumped into Patrin. Fell stood right behind him.

She stiffened, feeling awkward. By the time she’d looked for them the day after the Gathering, they’d already returned to Rainier Territory. “Uh. Hey.”

“Darcy. Listen…we…I…” In frustration, Patrin ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Darcy. We were out of line.”

Fell put his hand on her shoulder. His scarred face held misery. “Sorry, chwaer.”

Looking up at him, she wondered if he ever laughed anymore? At one time, he’d had the best laugh.

“After you left that night, we talked and had to admit we wouldn’t like seeing you with any male.” Patrin gave her a rueful smile. “The old werecat told us about your guys…uh, your mates…and I guess they’re pretty close to being good enough for you. Can you forgive us?”

“Of course.” She felt their relief in the strong hugs she received. “So are you here to stay now?”

Fell shook his head.

“We’re off again.” Patrin’s dark eyes turned cold. “When we’re done, there won’t be any more”—he stopped—“I mean, eventually things will be settled, and we’ll have time to get to know each other again.”

She studied them. Their eyes were still haunted, but much of the sick despair was gone. “That’ll be good. I need you back here so I can start picking out nice females for you.”

Fell’s black stare made her grin.

“We’re so not talking about that.” Deliberately looking around, Patrin said, “You have a nice house—and we saw the barn. That was a hell of a nice job of turning it into workspaces.”

“Nice sign, too,” Fell said.

“Yeah, tinker’s a good name for you.”

She frowned. “What sign?”

“By the barn,” Patrin said.

“There’s no sign there.”

“Yeah, there is.” He opened the front door and pointed across the snowy expanse of yard.

The glossy dark wood sign was chest high, even bigger than the one on the highway. Owen and Gawain’s businesses were spelled out in elaborate lettering: “Carvings by Treharn” and “Full Moon Metalwork.”

But this new sign had another name boldly displayed above the other two businesses: “The Tinker’s Repair Shop,”

The Tinker’s Repair Shop. Even before Darcy had moved in, her mates had built her a workbench and shelving in the corner across from Owen’s. Added a worktable and chairs. Every day, more tools appeared.

Now she was official and on the sign. Her heart felt as if it was swelling in her chest.

“They didn’t tell you? Huh.” Patrin started to grin. “I could get to like them.”

A corner of Fell’s mouth actually tilted up.

“You’re both dumbasses.” She shoved Fell into Patrin and went to find her lifemates.

Owen and Gawain were standing together in the living room.

Her speed increased.

Seeing her leap, Owen braced. His powerful hands closed around her waist, and she was lifted and spun around. When he stopped and lowered her, she grabbed his shirt and wrapped an arm around Gawain’s muscular neck. And she kissed them and kissed them.

“It’s been all of fifteen minutes.” Gawain was laughing. “Did you miss us that much?”

“Don’t care,” Owen muttered. He nuzzled her temple. “I’ll take it.”

As her heart turned into jelly, she ran her hand over his cheek. For all of her days, she would delight in giving him the love he so desired. Then she gave Gawain another kiss and answered his question. “I always miss you, even after a minute. But this was because I just saw the sign. It’s beautiful.”

“Calum told me he was pleased you’ll be here to keep the town running.” Gawain tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “We’re so fucking proud of you.”

Each beat of her heart reverberated with her happiness.

“So, during the day, we’ll work in the barn.” Owen gathered her closer. “And when work is done, we’ll be together.”

Together. Darcy’s eyes filled with tears. Her trail had been long and filled with pain and fear and grief, but somehow she’d climbed out of the shadows and into the sun.

Now, in a house filled with friends and family, she stood sandwiched between her two beloved lifemates, breathing in the scents of belonging and love.

Sometimes dreams really did come true.

~ The End ~

The Daonain use a conglomeration of handed-down languages from the British Isles. Some of the older villages still speak the Gaelic (Scots) or Irish Gaelic. Many of the more common (and mangled) shifter terms have descended from Welsh.

Errors and simplification of spelling and pronunciation can be attributed to being passed down through generations…or the author messing up. Below are a few of the more common words and terms used by the shifters.

a bhràthair: brother

A brathair-faoirm: brother in arms

a chuisle mo chridhe: pulse of my heart

a leannán: sweetheart, darling

a mhac: son

brawd: brother

cahir: warrior

caomhnor: protector/guardian of children

cariad: lover, darling, sweetheart

chwaer: sister

cosantir: guardian or protector

dùin do bhuel: shut up

mo bhràthair: my brother

mo charaid: my friend

mo chridhe: my heart

mo leannán: my darling / my lover

prìosan: prison

tha gaol agam ort: I love you

trawsfur: transform or shift

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Club Shadowlands

Masters of the Shadowlands: 1

Available everywhere

Cherise Sinclair unlocks your deepest desires with stunning results in this tale that is brimming over with sensuality as well as a depth of emotions that will take the readers breath away! Club Shadowland is a superbly crafted story that will dazzle any BDSM fan and have them adding it to their must read list! 5 Hearts

~ The Romance Studio

Her car disabled during a tropical storm, Jessica Randall discovers the isolated house where she’s sheltering is a private bondage club. At first shocked, she soon becomes aroused watching the interactions between the Doms and their subs. But she’s a professional woman—an accountant—and surely isn’t a submissive …is she?

Master Z hasn’t been so attracted to a woman in years. But the little sub who has wandered into his club intrigues him. She’s intelligent. Reserved. Conservative. After he discovers her interest in BDSM, he can’t resist tying her up and unleashing the passion she hides within.

Club Shadowlands

An eternity later, Jessica spotted a glimmer of light. Relief rushed through her when she reached a driveway studded with hanging lights. Surely whoever lived here would let her wait out the storm. She walked through the ornate iron gates, up the palm-lined drive past landscaped lawns, until finally she reached a three-story stone mansion. Black wrought iron lanterns illumined the entry.

“Nice place,” she muttered. And a little intimidating. She glanced down at herself to check the damage. Mud and rain streaked her tailored slacks and white button-down shirt, hardly a suitable image for a conservative accountant. She looked more like something even a cat would refuse to drag in.

Shivering hard, she brushed at the dirt and grimaced as it only streaked worse. She stared up at the huge oak doors guarding the entrance. A small doorbell in the shape of a dragon glowed on the side panel, and she pushed it.

Seconds later, the doors opened. A man, oversized and ugly as a battle-scarred Rottweiler, looked down at her. “I’m sorry, miss, you’re too late. The doors are locked.”

What the heck did that mean?

“P-please,” she said, stuttering with the cold. “My car’s in a ditch, and I’m soaked, and I need a place to dry out and call for help.” But did she really want to go inside with this scary-looking guy? Then she shivered so hard her teeth clattered together, and her mind was made up. “Can I come in? Please?”

He scowled at her, his big-boned face brutish in the yellow entry light. “I’ll have to ask Master Z. Wait here.” And the bastard shut the door, leaving her in the cold and dark.

Jessica wrapped her arms around herself, standing miserably, and finally the door opened again. Again the brute. “Okay, come on in.”

Relief brought tears to her eyes. “Thank you, oh, thank you.” Stepping around him before he could change his mind, she barreled into a small entry room and slammed into a solid body. “Oomph,” she huffed.

Firm hands gripped her shoulders. She shook her wet hair out of her eyes and looked up. And up. The guy was big, a good six feet, his shoulders wide enough to block the room beyond.

He chuckled, his hands gentling their grasp on her arms. “She’s freezing, Ben. Molly left some clothing in the blue room; send one of the subs.”

“Okay, boss.” The brute—Ben—disappeared.

“What is your name?” Her new host’s voice was deep, dark as the night outside.

“Jessica.” She stepped back from his grip to get a better look at her savior. Smooth black hair, silvering at the temples, just touching his collar. Dark gray eyes with laugh lines at the corners. A lean, hard face with the shadow of a beard adding a hint of roughness. He wore tailored black slacks and a black silk shirt that outlined hard muscles underneath. If Ben was a Rottweiler, this guy was a jaguar, sleek and deadly.

“I’m sorry to have bothered—” she started.

Ben reappeared with a handful of golden clothing that he thrust at her. “Here you go.”

She took the garments, holding them out to keep from getting the fabric wet. “Thank you.”

A faint smile creased the manager’s cheek. “Your gratitude is premature, I fear. This is a private club.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Now what was she going to do?

“You have two choices. You may sit out here in the entryway with Ben until the storm passes. The forecast stated the winds and rain would die down around six or so in the morning, and you won’t get a tow truck out on these country roads until then. Or you may sign papers and join the party for the night.”

She looked around. The entry was a tiny room with a desk and one chair. Not heated. Ben gave her a dour look.

Sign something? She frowned. Then again, in this lawsuit-happy world, every place made a person sign releases, even to visit a fitness center. So she could sit here all night. Or…be with happy people and be warm. No-brainer. “I’d love to join the party.”

“So impetuous,” the manager murmured. “Ben, give her the paperwork. Once she signs—or not—she may use the dressing room to dry off and change.”

“Yes, sir.” Ben rummaged in a file box on the desk, pulled out some papers.

The manager tilted his head at Jessica. “I will see you later then.”

Ben shoved three pages of papers at her and a pen. “Read the rules. Sign at the bottom.” He scowled at her. “I’ll get you a towel and clothes.”

She started reading. Rules of the Shadowlands.

“Shadowlands. That’s an unusual na—” she said, looking up. Both men had disappeared. Huh. She returned to reading, trying to focus her eyes. Such tiny print. Still, she never signed anything without reading it.

Doors will open at…

Water pooled around her feet, and her teeth chattered so hard she had to clench her jaw. There was a dress code. Something about cleaning the equipment after use. Halfway down the second page, her eyes blurred. Her brain felt like icy slush. Too cold—I can’t do this. This was just a club, after all; it wasn’t like she was signing mortgage papers.

Turning to the last page, she scrawled her name and wrapped her arms around herself. Can’t get warm.

Ben returned with some clothing and towels, then showed her into an opulent restroom off the entry. Glass-doored stalls along one side faced a mirrored wall with sinks and counters.

After dropping the borrowed clothing on the marble counter, she kicked her shoes off and tried to unbutton her shirt. Something moved on the wall. Startled, Jessica looked up and saw a short, pudgy woman with straggly blonde hair and a pale complexion blue with cold. After a second, she recognized herself. Ew. Surprising they’d even let her in the door.

In a horrible contrast with Jessica’s appearance, a tall, slender, absolutely gorgeous woman walked into the restroom and gave her a scowl. “I’m supposed to help you with a shower.”

Get naked in front of Miss Perfection? Not going to happen. “Thanks, b-b-b-but I’m all right.” She forced the words past her chattering teeth. “I don’t need help.”

“Well!” With an annoyed huff, the woman left.

I was rude. Shouldn’t have been rude. If only her brain would kick back into gear, she’d do better. She’d have to apologize. Later. If she ever got dried off and warm. She needed dry clothes. But, her hands were numb, shaking uncontrollably, and time after time, the buttons slipped from her stiff fingers. She couldn’t even get her slacks off, and she was shuddering so hard her bones hurt.

“Dammit,” she muttered and tried again.

The door opened. “Jessica, are you all right? Vanessa said—” The manager. “No, you are obviously not all right.” He stepped inside, a dark figure wavering in her blurry vision.

“Go away.”

“And find you dead on the floor in an hour? I think not.” Without waiting for her answer, he stripped her out of her clothes as one would a two-year-old, even peeling off her sodden bra and panties. His hands were hot, almost burning, against her chilled skin.

She was naked. As the thought percolated through her numb brain, she jerked away and grabbed at the dry clothing. His hand intercepted hers.

“No, pet.” He plucked something from her hair, opening his hand to show muddy leaves. “You need to warm up and clean up. Shower.”

He wrapped a hard arm around her waist and moved her into one of the glass-fronted stalls behind where she’d been standing. With his free hand, he turned on the water, and heavenly warm steam billowed up. He adjusted the temperature.

“In you go,” he ordered. A hand on her bottom, he nudged her into the shower.

The water felt scalding hot against her frigid skin, and she gasped, then shivered, over and over, until her bones hurt. Finally, the heat began to penetrate, and the relief was so intense, she almost cried.

Some time after the last shuddering spasm, she realized the door of the stall was open. Arms crossed, the man leaned against the door frame, watching her with a slight smile on his lean face.

“I’m fine,” she muttered, turning so her back was to him. “I can manage by myself.”

“No, you obviously cannot,” he said evenly. “Wash the mud out of your hair. The left dispenser has shampoo.”

Mud in her hair. She’d totally forgotten; maybe she did need a keeper. After using the vanilla-scented shampoo, she let the water sluice through her hair. Brown water and twigs swirled down the drain. The water finally ran clear.

“Very good.” The water shut off. Blocking the door, he rolled up his sleeves, displaying corded, muscular arms. She had the unhappy feeling he was going to keep helping her, and any protest would be ignored. He’d taken charge as easily as if she’d been one of the puppies at the shelter where she volunteered.

“Out with you now.” When her legs wobbled, he tucked a hand around her upper arm, holding her up with disconcerting ease. The cooler air hit her body, and her shivering started again.

After blotting her hair, he grasped her chin and tipped her face up to the light. She gazed up at his darkly tanned face, trying to summon up enough energy to pull her face away.

“No bruises. I think you were lucky.” Taking the towel, he dried off her arms and hands, rubbing briskly until he appeared satisfied with the pink color. Then he did her back and shoulders. When he reached her breasts, she pushed at his hand. “I can do that.” She stepped back so quickly that the room spun for a second.

“Jessica, be still.” Then he ignored her sputters like she would a buzzing fly, his attentions gentle but thorough, even to lifting each breast and drying underneath.

When he toweled off her butt, she wanted to hide. If there was any part of her that should be covered, it was her hips. Overweight. Jiggly. He didn’t seem to notice.

Then he knelt and ordered, “Spread your legs.”

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