Chapter Ten
‡
Emma had reached the great room all by herself. Success. Unfortunately, she hurt so badly now she might throw up. Pain and nausea certainly shattered a sense of victory into splinters. What a way to enjoy a Sunday.
As she sat unmoving on the couch, the throbbing in her leg started to subside. Finally.
After the males spent the day setting up Ryder’s equipment in a shop out back, Ben had taken Minette to the town park, and Ryder’d left to visit the tavern.
How could she resist the opportunity to see how mobile she could be? It was time. She’d been in Ben’s house a week now, doing nothing productive and taking up his time, although he’d never indicated he resented her presence.
Ryder, however… Although he was polite, she sure didn’t get the impression he liked her. Or trusted her.
She couldn’t stay helpless.
As the aching in her leg decreased, she started to settle into the peace of the house.
The werebear had created a wonder of a “cave” for himself. The great room’s oak flooring was covered with a mahogany rug. A painting of a mountain sunset hung over the creamy marble fireplace. Tall umbrella plants in hip-high, bronze planters stood next to filled, built-in bookshelves.
Bracketed by two armchairs, a dark leather, L-shaped sectional with a leather ottoman dominated the room’s center. On each side of the room, small forests of plants basked in the sunlight from tall, leaded glass windows.
Truly, he had made himself a wilderness den.
Rattling at the front door made her jump—and hiss with renewed pain. Ben’s rumbling laugh announced his arrival. A minute later, he entered, bending over to hold hands with Minette. Looked like he’d finally succeeded in winning her trust.
Emma smiled. Watching the two big males courting the cub was heartwarming.
Ben started across the room, saw Emma, and his brows drew together.
She stiffened, feeling a chill run through her veins. Maybe she shouldn’t have come downstairs. What if he didn’t want her in his living space when he wasn’t home?
“The healer told you to stay off your leg,” he growled.
Her leg? He was upset because…he cared enough to worry about her? As the realization melted something hard inside her, she smiled at him.
His frown disappeared. As his eyes warmed, she couldn’t help seeing him as…male. So very, very male.
“I-I’m fine,” she said hastily. “I used the railing on the stairs.” Nevertheless, each hop to a lower step had jarred painfully. She nodded at the nearby wooden chair. “Down here, I used the chair as a crutch. I didn’t put any weight on my leg.”
His thickly muscled arms folded over his brawny chest. “Hopping on one leg isn’t exactly safe, li’l bear.”
Oh, he was a stubborn bear. “Maybe. But, I—” She broke off when Minette approached the sectional. “Hi, sweetheart.”
The cubling sucked her thumb and watched Emma with her big, wary eyes.
Emma dared to reach out and touch her cheek. Children. Their joy and laughter, and even squabbles, were a delight to the heart.
Minette edged forward far enough to touch Emma’s braid, stroking it with her little fingers. After a minute, she rubbed it against her cheek and leaned against Emma’s uninjured leg, still sucking her thumb.
Emma’s lips twitched. As a cub, she’d hidden her security blankie in her bed so her mother wouldn’t destroy it. How wonderful that Minette considered anything of Emma’s to be comforting.
Looking up, Emma saw Ben’s tanned face had softened with a smile.
After taking a minute to savor the simple pleasure of companions, Emma asked, “What’s in your bag, Minette?”
The child crossed the room to get her green bag from the bookcase.
“She trusted you faster than she did me,” Ben grumbled before grinning. “Good job.”
“Children like me.” Her teacher had said a bard usually possessed a charisma that drew people in. Emma rather thought her “charisma” only worked on children. The master had said he’d never met a shy bard before, either. Then again, perhaps no bards had ever had mothers as cruel as Emma’s.
Returning, Minette opened her bag to show off the brightly colored Legos and small plastic animals.
As the cubling leaned against her again, Emma pulled in a contented breath. Daonain weren’t meant to live alone, and she had been so very lonely. “Can you make something for me?”
Minette plopped down on the thick rug and dumped the contents of the bag.
“She’s an amazing builder.” Ben sat down right beside Emma. To her consternation, his weight sagged the cushions and tilted her against his rock-hard chest. Rather than moving away, he extended his arm along the back of the sectional.
She frowned up at him.
He only smiled. “I take it you got tired of being in bed?”
Every breath brought her the scents of masculine sweat and musk, faint traces of sap from the wood he’d been cutting, the clean smell of laundry soap…and a whiff of his interest.
Under his appreciative gaze, she felt small and feminine. Deep inside her, the female stirrings flickered to life.
No. No, no, no. She’d given herself a lecture after the last time this happened. No interest. The Gathering had proven she couldn’t be trusted. Disaster had followed in the wake of her vanity. Never, never again.
She shoved herself up off the sectional. Too fast, she realized, as her weight came down on her injured leg. A burning pain knifed through her leg, and she whimpered.
“Dammit, female.”
Mother’s blessing, but it hurt. Like someone was stabbing the mended bones over and over with a long sword. Tears filling her eyes, she sank down, steadied by strong hands. “How stupid.” Her voice came out humiliatingly shaky.
“Shhh.” He pulled her against his big chest and held her quietly as the searing agony lessened.
With a low sigh, she sagged against him.
“It’s all right, Minette,” he said quietly. “Emma hurt her leg. When she moves fast, it hurts.”
Oh, no. She’d scared the cub. She blinked away the tears and saw the cubling studying her, little brow furrowed. When Emma managed a smile, Minette moved her toys closer and settled on the rug next to the couch.
“There, now, you worried us both.” Cupping her cheek with one hand, Ben used his thumb to stroke the wetness from her skin. “You don’t need to run from me, Emma. Am I that unlikable? Frightening?”
She’d hurt his feelings. Oh, my Goddess, she’d never meant to make him feel bad. “No. No. But I’m not… I don’t do male-female stuff. Ever.” If the Daonain had nuns, she’d enter a convent. But shifters didn’t practice celibacy—quite the reverse. Female shifters went into heat once a month, and with every full moon, the Daonain gathered and mated, and ensured their survival.
“A tad difficult to avoid male-female stuff, isn’t it?” The amusement had returned to his captivating voice. He not only had the rough, deep bass common to male werebears, but the bright descant of laughter in it was like moonlight on a dark lake.
“Well…” What could she say?
Not waiting for her answer, he stroked his knuckles along her cheek, and this time, his touch wasn’t for comfort.
The long, slow caress set desire simmering in her veins and shook her with the long-forgotten feel of a male’s hands on her body. But more than this would not—could not—be. Her mouth firmed. “Avoidance is difficult, but not impossible. Hibernation helps.”
“Hibernation?” His intent eyes deepened to the intense hue of a mountain bluebird. “You’re not pulling my tail? You don’t attend Gatherings? How long were you in the forest alone?”
She took his questions one-by-one. “Yes. I’m not. I don’t. And it’s none of your business.” He was right, though. All too soon, she’d have to think about what she’d do for the next full moon.
“But”—he obviously forced himself to stop—“all right.” After a second, he shook his head. “You’re safe with me, li’l bear. I have no interest in mating or in looking for a lifemate.” As a mountain wind would reveal the granite beneath the snow, she watched his jaw harden. “I enjoy touching, but I mate only because it’s required.”
Why did disappointment mingle with her relief? “I thought all males wanted to mate. Why don’t you?”
“I reckon my reasons are none of your business, darlin’.” An easy smile took the sting from the words.
“I suppose that’s fair.”
“It is.” He curled his warm fingers over her shoulder.
Why did he keep touching her? Stroking her skin? The sensuous pleasure sent captivating tingles up her center.
“Minette and I swung by to pick you up,” he said. “We’re going to the Wild Hunt Tavern to join Ryder. Are you ready to get out of the house?”
“Really?” She bounced in delight—and winced as the movement jarred her leg. “Ouch.”
She forgave him his roaring laugh since at least he hadn’t called her an idiot. And, if he’d spoken truth about not wanting to mate—and she’d heard no lie in his voice—she could stay for a while longer.
He’d take her to the Wild Hunt. From what Ben had said, the tavern was the life-spring of this territory.
Only…there would be people there. Anxiety sent cold fingers up her spine. After not speaking to anyone for three years, the thought of a whole bar filled with people was intimidating.
She lifted her chin. She could manage. She would.
She was no longer banished. They didn’t know her history. And it was time to stop hiding in a cave. “Let’s go.”
*
In the Wild Hunt Tavern, the warmth from the crackling fire slowly loosened Ryder’s tight muscles. The leather couch was comfortable, especially with his boots up on the battered coffee table. Foam tickled his lips as he enjoyed a malty Guinness. His back and shoulders ached from unloading his belongings earlier this week and setting up the shop behind the house today.
It had felt damned good to unpack. Fuck, he’d missed feeling settled. Missed having a real home. Missed Ben. And now, the parts of his life, scattered years ago, were slotting back into place like well-crafted tongue-and-groove flooring.
He’d never missed Genevieve or Farway, either. Because of her glee in goading males—including him—to fight, he’d never felt at home in the shifter community there.
If his obsession with Genevieve hadn’t damaged the littermate bond, he and Ben would have been well settled into the stable life they’d both craved. Neither of them had grown up feeling secure. Ryder grimaced. His father had moved from territory to territory, female to female. Ben’s father had been mentally unsound—paranoid. As young males, he and Ben had shared the dream of a permanent home, but Ben had gone after it.
He took another drink of his beer. By the God, he’d been a stupid young male, and his lesson had been a hard one. Now he knew that living with the wrong female was far more ruinous than having none at all. Staring into the fire, he lifted his drink and spoke softly, “To you, Genevieve, for the worst year of my life and the greatest gift a male can receive.”
“Sounds like a contradiction, don’t you think, Zeb?” The green-eyed man who settled down on the opposing couch was about six-five with collar-length, light brown hair. Thin scars, apparently from werecat fights, covered his hands and arms. As with Ben, a blue, blade-shaped scar over one cheekbone marked him as a cahir.
The other male grunted an affirmative and took the adjacent leather chair. Also a cahir, Zeb had hair and eyes as black as Ryder’s, but his complexion held the reddish tint of mixed Native American ancestry. The warrior was not only scarred to hell and gone, but somehow gave the impression he’d rather kill than converse.
“Cahirs.” Ryder felt dumb as a gnome. Accustomed to living with humans, he’d forgotten how keen shifters’ ears were.
“Welcome to Cold Creek.” The first male leaned forward and held out a hand. “Alec McGregor.” The firelight glinted off the small badge on his shoulder.
“Police officer?” Both a cahir and cop? He shook the man’s hand, feeling the strength and the calluses of a fighter.
“Sheriff,” Alec corrected easily. He grinned. “The male there is Zeb Damron. He and his brother run the Wildwood Lodge. Be warned—Zeb chatters worse than a blue jay. He’ll talk your tail right off.”
Zeb’s glare should have sliced the cop in two.
Ryder smothered a laugh at the familiar werecat humor. Ben’d predicted he’d like the local cahirs. “Ryder Llwyd. Ben’s brother.”
“He mentioned you’d moved in.” Alec glanced over his shoulder, caught the attention of the female waitress, and held up two fingers.
Not interrupting her conversation with a battered older shifter, the barmaid nodded. Short and pleasantly full-breasted with rich, walnut colored hair, she was almost as pretty as Ben’s lushly curved female.
Emma’s eyes were stunning though—the exact color of golden oak. He frowned. Fuck it all, he would not become attracted to her. One of them needed to keep his head. Forcing her from his thoughts, he asked the cahirs, “Ben said hellhounds have increased in this territory and pretty much everywhere. How come?”
“The demon-dogs have always hidden in cities and preyed on the humans.” Alec scowled. “But now “developments” are springing up in our mountains. Trouble is, once a hellhound catches the scent of a shifter, they’re never satisfied with human prey again.”
A splinter of ice formed in Ryder’s belly. When he’d been in Rainier Territory, a hellhound had broken into a shifter’s home and slaughtered everyone inside so savagely the bodies were unrecognizable.
How could he risk Minette getting hurt? And yet… “Seems no place is safe any longer.”
“No. Hellhounds are in every territory now.” Zeb had a voice like a badly maintained gravel truck.
“Ben said you’re teaching cahirs how to fight the demon-dogs?” Ryder asked.
“Aye. Zeb and Shay have three students.” Alec’s jaw turned hard. “A hellhound was scented in the area, so chances are good they’ll get hands-on experience with the coming dark of the moon.”
Ryder eyed the scars on Zeb’s neck and face. “When Ben was chosen by the God to become a cahir, he got extra height and muscles. Females flocked to him—and I envied him.”
“Past tense?” Alec asked.
“I’ve seen the cost.” The pain, the scarring, the deaths. Yet he knew Ben and these males didn’t begrudge the price. By the God, his brother made him proud.
Zeb’s gaze sharpened on something behind Ryder, and amusement lit his dark eyes. “That your cub?”
Ryder turned. His shy daughter was edging around the clusters of people, heading straight for him. He couldn’t suppress his grin. “Oh, yeah.”
“Aren’t you just a cutie!” A gray-haired female at the next table held her hand out.
Eyes wide, Minette scurried away from the female, then launched herself at Ryder like a tiny missile, thumping against his knees.
“My Minette.” Heart full, he picked her up and nuzzled her cheek. “You’re safe, kitten.” Frightened, she’d come to him. Trusted him to protect her. Had he ever received a greater compliment? When her arms wrapped around his neck, he discovered that love was more than a feeling—it could swell inside a male’s chest until he couldn’t speak.
Settling her on his lap, he looked around for his brother.
Approaching more slowly, Ben carried Emma in his arms. The sight sent a pang of worry through Ryder.
Why did the female have to be so pretty? Everything about her—from the silky hair to the smooth skin, to the soft curves—enticed a male. He wasn’t even sure he liked her, and he wanted to touch. Ben didn’t stand a chance.
“Ben. Good to see you.” Alec rose, emptying the couch. “Put her here.”
“Thanks.” Ben set Emma down so she leaned against the couch arm. He propped her right leg up on cushions.
“I don’t need the entire couch.” She struggled to swing her leg down. “I can sit like a normal person.”
He set a hand on her good leg, easily pinning her in place. “No, darlin’. You just stay put right there.”
“But—”
Grinning, Ben ruffled her hair as if she were a cub.
Her glare made her appear Minette’s age, and Ryder chuckled. But when she turned her big amber eyes on him—those damned appealing eyes—his amusement faded. He nodded. “Emma.”
“Hello, Ryder,” she said with a careful politeness. The cautiousness in her voice reminded him of when he’d hurt his back and how carefully he moved to avoid a painful muscle spasm.
The thought of a female being wary around him was…distressing.
Yet when she surveyed the room, her tense posture didn’t ease. Her scent held a trace of fear, like that of a cub venturing from its den for the first time.
Ryder’s protective instincts roused. What was here to alarm her? The people?
Kneeling up in his lap, Minette put her hands on his cheeks and turned his head. A glowing lizard twisted within the flames in the fireplace. There hadn’t been a fireplace in Genevieve’s house, had there? And Ben hadn’t lit a fire in the great room. “That’s a salamander, Minette. A young one.”
As his cub bounced on his knees, he noticed Emma was watching Minette’s delight with a sweet expression the kitten’s own mother had never shown. In the tangle of worries in his chest, one strand unknotted. Unlike his father’s females, this one apparently had a soft spot for cubs.
With a werecat’s silent gait, the brunette barmaid arrived with the drinks. “Zeb, here you go.” She handed him a beer and gave the other to the sheriff. “One for you, although I doubt you deserve it. I still can’t believe you told Jamie she could stay overnight with her friend.”
“She’ll be fine. And the house will be empty so Calum and I can do evil things to you tonight.” With his free arm, Alec pulled her against him for a no-holds-barred kiss more typical of full moon lust.
Spotting the matching silvery bracelets, Ryder realized the two were lifemated. He exchanged an amused glance with Ben.
“Bad cat.” With a skillful twist and a powerful punch, the barmaid freed herself.
“Assault and battery,” Alec mock-wheezed, holding his gut. “I just happen to have an empty jail cell for such a violent offender.”
“Isn’t it a shame you gave me a key to the cells when you made me a deputy?”
“Well, damn.”
Grinning, she stepped out of his reach and smiled at Emma. “Ignore the barbarian. I’m Vicki. I’ve wanted to meet you—but first, what can I get you to drink?”
“Emma.” Her return smile was tentative. “Didn’t you just say you’re a deputy?”
“I am. But when off duty, I play barmaid if the Wild Hunt needs extra help.”
“How wonderful to stay so busy,” Emma said. “As soon as my leg heals up, I’ll be job hunting. I hope I can find something.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out,” Vicki said with calm assurance.
Leaning on the couch, Ben said under his breath to Ryder, “Vicki used to be a Marine sergeant.”
That explained the confidence and military bearing.
Ryder studied Emma’s hopeful expression. Apparently, the female didn’t object to working for a living and didn’t plan to impose on Ben forever. Another knot of worry unwound.
Vicki turned toward the men. “Calum wanted to talk with you all in the portal room.” She smiled at Ryder. “The room is one of our entries to the forest for when you want to run in animal form. He’ll give you an orientation.”
“Good plan.” Ben gave Ryder a hand up.
“I’m afraid the cub will have to stay here,” Alec said.
Ryder shook his head, “I can’t leave her. Maybe—”
“I’d be happy to watch her,” Emma said hesitantly.
Entrust her with his cub? He’d rather chew off his left paw. But…did he have a reason to distrust this female who’d already befriended his daughter? “All right.” He set his daughter down by the couch.
Without any hesitation, Minette crawled onto Emma’s lap and snuggled close with her head pillowed on the soft breasts. After wrapping her fingers around the female’s honey-colored braid, she tucked her thumb in her mouth and fell asleep within a breath.
Ryder doubted the cub trusted her own mother that completely. “Thank you, Emma.”
“Be at ease, father of Minette,” she said softly. “I will guard your cub with my life.”
Seeing Ryder’s surprise, Emma regretted her impulsive statement, but she’d meant every word. His unreasonable aversion to her didn’t matter. No one would harm this little one while she was here.
After a second, he nodded.
Ben bent and ran his hand down her hair in an unspoken leave-taking. As he straightened, a sense of warmth lingered along with his masculine scent.
“Let’s go.” Vicki led the cahirs and Ryder away.
As the minutes passed, Emma cuddled Minette close, brushed her lips over the cub’s silky hair, and inhaled the scent of little girl sweetness. Like well-banked coals, contentment was a steady warmth. She had a child in her arms, the pleasure of being useful, laughter and conversation around her—everything she’d lost three years ago. She’d be happy to sit here forever.
“You nailed it!” The yell came from an alcove holding two pool tables.
At the loud cheers and clapping, Minette roused. Her tiny face pulled in a worried scrunch as she pushed up and looked around for her father.
Ben and Ryder never spoke about their mate, but if they were caring for this cub, the mother must be dead. How horrible for Minette.
“Your father will be back soon, sweetheart,” Emma told her. But now what? The child was too anxious to sleep again, and a tavern wouldn’t have toys available.
Lacking blocks and dolls, Emma knew only one way to divert a bored child. “Let me tell you a story, my small cub.” She’d spent three years entertaining easily bored pixies; one sleepy child would be a joy. Her voice slid right into the traditional story-telling rhythm.
Without any hesitation, Minette laid her head down. Sucking her thumb slowly, she rubbed Emma’s braid against her cheek.
“Long and long ago, in the very dawn of the days of the Daonain, wolf-shifters found a baby girl lying in a burrow in the wide, green forest. The pack named her Rhonwen, for her hair was the shining silver of a mid-winter moon.”
Emma’s miserable years of loneliness disappeared as she recounted her favorite story of all time—the early days of the legendary bear-shifter. By the Goddess, how she’d missed using all her skill to entertain her clan, to draw her audience with her into the heart of a story.
As she brought the story to a glorious finish, she noticed Vicki near the fireplace, probably checking to see if aught was needed.
Emma smiled. We are fine, thank you.
With a token salute, the barmaid-deputy moved away.
Emma looked down at her audience of one. “Do you want a song this time? Maybe one about a kitten like you?”
Minette gave an enthusiastic nod.
The teaching tune about the perils of heedless exploration—and the blessings of an understanding clan—was one Emma had always loved. Enjoying herself as much as Minette, Emma used tone and tempo to texture in emotions, much as artists layered color into paintings. Her surroundings disappeared as she submerged herself in the music.
One verse and another. Danger and courage. With joy and an aching heart, she sang the final verse about the little cat’s return to her family. She trailed off with a few hummed notes.
A contented sigh came from her little-girl audience—the best, best reward a bard could receive.
Deep inside her bloomed a sharp joy that was almost pain.
After a second, she realized sighs and murmurs were sounding throughout the unnaturally quiet tavern. Her head jerked up. Oh my Goddess…
People all around the room were looking at her. Had been listening. Ryder, Ben, the two strange cahirs, and the Cosantir stood near the fireplace.
Anxiety crawled up Emma’s spine like a wave of ants, waiting to all bite her at once. “I’m sorry,” she said to the group of males.
“For what?” Ben sauntered forward. “Great song, darlin’.” He tugged her hair lightly.
“I-I didn’t mean to disturb the—”
“You disturbed no one, Emma.” The Cosantir walked around the couch and sat facing her on the heavy oak coffee table. His gray eyes held hers. “How much training have you had, bard?”
She felt the blood leave her face. He knew what she was. Had he heard of the bard who’d caused the deaths of two males? Would he kick her out of his territory?
“Emma?” the Cosantir prompted. He didn’t look angry. “Did you start at the usual age…as a teen?”
“Fourteen.” It’d been the only time she fought her mother. She’d never have obtained permission if the master bard hadn’t spoken up. Her mother hadn’t been able to refuse someone so respected. “I finished my seven years of apprenticeship. And then…” And then her life had been destroyed. “I haven’t entertained anyone”—besides tree fairies and forest animals—“for a long time. I’m no longer a bard.” Renouncing her dream pierced her like a knife to the soul.
Wry humor lightened his lean face. “A tail does not disappear, even if not wagged. You are yet a bard.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “We postponed your judgment, aye?”
When her body tensed, she felt Minette stir. Breathe, Emma. “Yes.” Please, don’t send me back to the forest. Please.
“Why were you in the forest with no one to aid you?”
He didn’t know she’d been banished. The knowledge loosened the constriction around her throat. She chose her words carefully. “After my mother died, I had no family left. And I was…unhappy. No one cared when I left for the forest.” Truth. The town of Pine Knoll would only have cared if she’d returned. “So I was alone when I got hurt.”
He studied her for a long, uncomfortable moment. Plainly, he knew she wasn’t telling everything.
What would he decide to do with her? As guardians of Herne’s territories, the Cosantirs followed their own unique logic, making decisions to benefit the Daonain as a whole, not one lonely shifter.
She looked away. Ben stood with arms folded over his chest. Beside him, Ryder leaned one shoulder on the fireplace mantel. Both were listening.
She swallowed and returned her attention to the Cosantir.
“I will accept your explanation for now.” Calum’s measured gaze held her. “So…for risking discovery by humans, I impose this penalty: You’ll work as a bard twice a week until Lughnasadh.”
She gaped at him as if he’d awoken her early from hibernation. Sing? For others? Until the harvest festival in August? “Um, where?”
“Oh, here.” His gesture took in the whole room. His lips curved. “Did I forget to mention I own the bar?”
“You?” A Cosantir was a lowly tavern owner?
He didn’t…quite…snort. “Your singing will draw in customers during the quiet periods, which will be good for the bar. As Cosantir, I want our people to hear their history in song and story again.”
She would have an audience? A raging river of emotion surged over her banks, stealing her voice. She could only nod.
Laughter lit his eyes. “I silenced a bard. Delightful.” He tapped his fingers together. “Let’s plan for Thursdays from seven to nine. Do whatever suits you. On Sundays, I’d prefer traditional teaching songs and stories. We’ll encourage families to attend with their cubs and set the time to be from five to seven. Are we in agreement?”
“Yes.” Surely, she could do better than such a weak response. She firmed her voice. “Yes, I’d enjoy that very much.”
“Then we have an accord.” He rose, nodded at the others, and moved toward the bar with the characteristic stalk of a werecat.
Oh my Goddess. She turned to Ben and Ryder, and from the amused look on Ryder’s dark face, she knew she was grinning wider than a tipsy flower fairy. She ignored him and told Ben as if he hadn’t already heard, “I’m going to get to sing again.”
Ben grinned. “And so you are. Congratulations, li’l bear.”