Chapter Nineteen
‡
During Emma’s Thursday performance, people had packed the tavern, as squished together as grubs under a rotting log.
Afterward, the numbers had diminished until the country-western music could be heard under the hum of conversation, and Emma—Calum’s newest barmaid—could walk between tables without being tripped. Considering she was still a bit clumsy without her cane, the decrease in crowding was a relief.
She stopped at a table of four older male shifters. “What can I get for you?”
At their welcoming smiles, she realized she was growing accustomed to being treated politely. Cold Creek was truly a wonderful place.
“Fine music, bard.” Joe Thorson, the scarred-up male she’d met at Wesley’s rites, nodded to the short, pudgy shifter beside him. “Albert Baty runs the grocery. Quentin and Walter own the hardware store.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” If nothing else, her mother had had taught her how to greet people—although three years of isolation had rusted her manners.
“An honor, bard,” Albert said with the other two chorusing in.
“Refills on anything?” she asked.
“Another round, please,” Joe said. “Tell Calum it goes on my tab.”
“Yes, sir.”
At the bar, she waited and admired Calum in action. Leanly muscular, he had all of a werecat’s grace as he moved up and down the bar, opening bottles, pouring glasses. Every now and then, his smile would flash, lightening his tanned face.
He was amazing…although she was still scandalized a Cosantir would own a tavern—let alone work in one.
“Here you are.” He handed over her tray with the drinks on it. “After you deliver those, you are off duty.”
“But”—she looked around the room—“most of the tables are still full.”
“Rosie and her daughter can handle the crowd at this point.” His grin came quick and fast. “Although I appreciate your help, I have noted that your music is the reason the place is so full.”
“Um…” What could she say?
He chuckled. “Lass, don’t apologize for being an excellent bard.”
The compliment hummed warm and soft inside her. “I can work longer.”
“You cannot.” He tilted his head toward the fireplace. “My mate and Breanne are waiting for you.”
“Really?” Despite the ache in her leg, she bounced on her toes in delight. Friends.
“Aye. They already have a beer for you.”
“Thank you.”
After delivering drinks to Joe Thorson and friends, she crossed the room, stopping frequently. Would she ever lose her wonder when people actually smiled at her, greeted her, asked her about music, or requested a song for a future night?
In the U-shaped sitting area in front of the brick fireplace, Vicki and Bree occupied the two facing couches. A leather chair formed the bottom of the semi-circle.
“Look at you,” Bree said, grinning. “When I waitressed, I’d finish feeling as if my tail was dragging on the ground. You’re glowing.”
“I had fun.” Uncaring of grace, Emma plopped down into the chair in a way that would have made her mother send her to her room. “I met more people in this one night than in my entire time here. I didn’t know taverns were like this. I thought they were mostly filled with males hunting for females to pick up—and vice versa.”
“They usually are, especially human ones.” Vicki smiled. “But Calum spent time in Ireland where the bars are almost community centers. Everyone goes there, from youngsters to seniors. He wanted Cold Creek to have something similar.”
Bree grinned. “But we never see this many people. Your singing filled the place.”
Emma hugged the words to her like a warm blanket. “Thank you.” She wiggled slightly to get more comfortable, enjoying the hum of conversation around her. Calum had created a wonderful atmosphere. Although she still had trouble believing the Cosantir owned a bar.
She couldn’t imagine having a Cosantir for a mate. She studied Vicki, wondering if—
“Did I forget to put on a shirt or something?” Vicki asked.
Oops. “Uh, no. I was just”—just being really rude—“Um…”
Vicki grinned. “Just ask. We already know you’re insatiably curious about everything. Calum says it’s because you’re a bard.”
She hadn’t realized she was so obvious. Oops, again. “Right. Well, speaking of Calum, uh…what’s it like to live with the Cosantir and all his power?”
“You mean does he fry me with it in bed?”
When Emma’s eyes widened, Vicki laughed so hard her eyes started to water. “Okay, I’m sorry.” She pulled in a breath. “It’s just your expression was…” Still giggling, she said, “The power doesn’t come into the bedroom. And really isn’t very…present…in just daily stuff. Calum says his connection to the God is normally like a light switch. He can flick it on to check where the shifters are in his territory.”
The sense of disappointment was keen. “Oh. Here I thought it was so much bigger. I guess the tales were exaggerated.”
Bree frowned. “When the Cosantir confronted Klaus, he was humming with power.”
“He does, sometimes.” Vicki considered. “If he actually invites the God in by opening his soul—rather than drawing a little juice—the connection is more like a massive power line. But he said when the God takes over, he has very little control over the outcome. I get the impression he doesn’t always agree with how expeditiously Herne will execute the Laws.”
“Well,” Bree said diplomatically, “your mate was a lawyer.”
A lawyer? Calum? Oh, so many tales here in Cold Creek needed to be written. “So he doesn’t…call…on the God if he can avoid it?”
“Fuck, no.” Vicki sent a fond look toward the bar. “It’s why Herne has Cosantirs rather than just handling everything Himself. The Cosantirs might be human and imperfect, but they’ll listen to everyone and take their time in deciding what’s best for the clan. Far better than the Bad Daonain; Dead Daonain style of judgment the God is known for.”
“This is true,” Emma muttered, feeling a shiver seize her as she remembered the alternate, Bad Daonain, Banished Daonain. “So if Calum calls on the God’s power—say to compel someone to tell the truth—the God might just take over completely.”
“Exactly—which is why Calum invokes the least amount of power needed to get the job done.” Vicki moved her shoulders. “If you’re being all bard-like and collecting information, Calum did say each Cosantir works out his own balances with Herne.”
“Herne apparently gives the guardians more flexibility than the cahirs,” Bree said. Considering she was married to two of them, she would know, Emma decided. From what she’d heard about Zeb and Shay, their history would be fascinating.
“By the way, Emma, did Angie mention the Beltane preparations?” Bree asked. “An hour before the meeting on Saturday, a lot of us will gather wood for the two bonfires. Also, people bring finger foods and drinks, and blankets.”
Beltane, already? The sun festival marked the beginning of summer. Time had certainly gone by quickly. “I can manage finger foods.” And if she felt adventurous, Angie’d give her some ideas. Ben and Ryder could bring the drinks. “When is the meeting?”
“Before sunset. It’s the usual Daonain meeting,” Vicki said. “Calum hoped you’d give the people a Beltane song. He told me you’d know one, but—”
“If you don’t, it’s all right,” Bree said hastily.
A bard not know a sun festival song? Emma stared at the females and recalled they’d been raised as humans, and hadn’t heard of the Daonain until grown. Having lost her shifter parents as a toddler, Bree had been raised in a human foster care home. Vicki’d been changed into a shifter by a young werecat’s Death Gift. “Am I the first bard you’ve met?”
Both nodded.
“Well, a bard must memorize the songs of our heritage, as well as add to them.” She smiled. “I know about a dozen Beltane songs.”
Bree blinked. “I think I know about a dozen songs. Total. You know a dozen just for one holiday? Does your head hurt?” She handed Emma the still full glass of beer sitting on the coffee table.
Grinning, Emma took a sip—and a deeper one as the icy liquid slid down her throat. “Not any more. But when I was an apprentice and memorizing a song a day? Oh, most definitely.”
“A song a day. Damn, that’s amazing.” Vicki raised her glass. “To Emma.”
Bree followed suit.
Emma had to clear the thickness from her throat before she could speak. “Right. Please inform the Cosantir I’d be honored to sing before…” Her voice faded as fear filled her center. The meeting was before sunset.
Beltane was celebrated on a full moon…which meant a Gathering would start immediately afterward. A Gathering.
“Jesus-fuck, what’s wrong?”
At the sharp voice, Emma’s head jerked up.
Vicki was leaning forward, scanning the room, her posture that of a male ready to fight.
Bree took Emma’s hands. “Are you all right? What scared you?”
“S-scared me?” Emma shook her head. “I’m not…” She was. She could smell her own fear stench.
“You’re as fucking terrified as fresh meat facing their first battle,” Vicki said bluntly. Her determined copper-colored eyes held the same protectiveness as Ben’s. “Who are you afraid of?”
“No one. Not exactly.” Emma closed her eyes and breathed out in the way the Master Bard had taught her to avoid freezing up before a performance.
“Emma?” Bree prompted, her blue eyes gentle.
“It’s not a person,” Emma said. “My last Gathering”—her first and only Gathering—“was a disaster. I haven’t been back since and…I’m scared.”
“Oh, I know how that can happen,” Bree muttered. She squeezed Emma’s fingers. “My first Gathering was so bad that Calum made Donal knock me out.”
“Seriously?” Her story simply cried out for a song.
Vicki half-grinned. “I don’t think I was terrified. But to learn I had to go through this shit every month—and fuck all night long? I was more than pissed off.”
Bree rolled her eyes at her friend. “Why am I not surprised?”
“You both had trouble?” Emma shook her head. Why had she assumed everything went perfectly for everyone else?
“Oh, definitely.” Bree smiled. “Do you want to tell us what happened?”
Never. Emma shook her head. “I’d rather not talk about it. But, isn’t it silly? I knew the full moon was coming.” Ben and Ryder had even told her they were helping her get used to having males’ hands on her. “I’m just…scared.”
She stared at the orange fire, seeing the black eyes of a salamander resting in the coals. She’d already had this talk with herself. Had decided to stay.
No one here knew her, so being revealed wasn’t the problem. The question was… Would she put young males in danger if she showed up? Would she somehow incite them to fight? If only she knew what she’d done to incite Gary and Andre to fight. The fear that she’d inadvertently repeat her actions was crippling.
Unfortunately, the night was a blur. Her memories had been tattered by the overwhelming nature of uncontrolled lust and then the terrifying end.
But…she was older now. Maybe she could handle herself. Keep from doing…whatever she’d done. A tiny, hopeful song wafted into her mind. Calum said it was the young males who had trouble with their own control—she could try to stay away from them.
“You know, you live with two males,” Bree said. “I don’t know Ryder, but Ben is awfully nice.”
“He is,” Emma said. “Actually, Ryder is much nicer than I thought at first.”
“If they know you’re worried about the full moon rites, they’ll help, you know,” Vicki said. “You can start the Gathering by taking them to bed. Once the ice is broken, you’ll feel more comfortable. They’ll also help you find other males who will be good to you.”
Start with… Vicki meant she should mate with Ben and Ryder? She could. Sex was what happened at a Gathering. They’d touch her, kiss her—and she’d be able to kiss and touch them back. Oh. Yes.
The tavern seemed to have grown extremely warm, and she realized she was hugging herself.
Bree and Vicki were laughing.
“I’d say she’s on-board with the idea,” Vicki said.
Emma bit her lip before grinning ruefully. “I guess I am.” Needing time to cool down, she drained her beer and rose. “My turn to provide drinks. What can I get for you two?”
“Calum will know,” Vicki said. “And when you return, we’ll discuss what you’re going to wear. We’re talking sexy, sexy, sexy.”
Clothes? Emma stared for a second, thinking about the conservative clothing she’d worn to her first Gathering. Obviously, there was more to learn than she’d thought. “Be right back.”
She made it halfway across the room when a massive male stepped in front of her.
“Li’l bear, you smell like Gathering night already,” Ben rumbled. He bent, sniffed her hair, and pulled her into his arms. “Fuck, you’re testing my restraint.”
Oh, by the Mother, he felt good. As her breasts flattened against his solid chest, she gripped his muscular biceps. They were harder than the boulders that scattered the mountainsides.
When she tipped her head back to tease him, he took her lips.
Startled, she tensed, then as his scent reached deep into her soul, her mouth softened.
His hand fisted in her hair, pulling her head back as his tongue took possession. He held her firmly…and took and took and took.
Everything inside her melted like a snowpack under a hot sun.
He lifted his head and chuckled, low and deep. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous.”
Her eyes opened wide. “Really?”
Ben grinned.
“Really, little bear. You’re gorgeous.” Ryder’s voice was a resonant baritone under the noise in the bar. When he moved closer, Ben turned her and steered her right into his littermate’s arms.
Ryder, shorter than Ben, still towered over her. His muscles were lean—ripped was the term—and he was far stronger than she was. When he gathered her to him, molding her against him, she felt wonderfully trapped. Powerless. Fragile.
Female.
He nibbled her lips, and when she opened her mouth under the silent pressure, he slid his tongue in. Like his voice, his kiss was smoother than Ben’s, darker, and he encouraged her to kiss him back, giving a hum of satisfaction as her tongue fenced with his.
When he released her, the brothers had her penned between them, each with a hand on her upper arm. And the scent of their desire—for her—was headier than the first fragrance of spring.
They wanted her.
The corners of Ben’s eyes creased with his smile, and he ran his finger down her cheek. “You’ve got us all het up, darlin’. Were you doing something now, or shall we take you home and to bed?”
Bed? Doing something?
She stared at him blankly. He was looking at the empties in her hands. Alcohol for her friends. “I…I have friends here.” The hum of desire almost drowned out the music from the jukebox. Friends. Right.
“All right.” Ben let her go.
She took a step forward.
Ryder laughed, and with a steady hand, he steered her around the chair in her path before letting her go—with a pat on her butt.
“By the God, I love her ass,” he muttered to Ben.
“Mmmhmm,” was Ben’s gravely agreement.
Okay, maybe all their desire was merely anticipation of the full moon, but oh, she loved being wanted. She managed not to turn, not to hug them for making her feel absolutely sexy and beautiful, but she couldn’t help walking to the bar with a wide smile on her face.
And her ass swaying.
*
Not much later, Ryder was deep in a discussion with Owen and Ben about the best way to secure isolated cabins against hellhounds when he noticed the time. “We’ll need to continue later. I have a cub to pick up.” Angie’s second daughter was in town and her children were Min’s age.
When Ryder had left, the cubs had been tumbling over each other like kittens in a basket.
“Nah, you stay put. I’ll get the cub.” Ben rose.
Ryder frowned. “You usually stay longer.”
When Owen asked, “Are you all right? You look like hell,” Ryder realized the lethal-looking cahir did have a heart.
“Just tired.” Ben grimaced. “Donal said my energy will be used for healing for another week. I fucking hate it when he’s right.”
“No shit,” Owen muttered in sympathy, despite his grin.
“I’ll put the cub to bed.” Ben hesitated and glanced over where Emma was laughing with the Cosantir’s female and Breanne.
Reading his littermate’s concern, Ryder said, “Don’t worry about the little bear. I’ll walk her home.”
“Females,” Owen muttered in disgust.
Ignoring the cahir, Ben smiled at Ryder. “Might be a fun Gathering this month.”
“Yeah.” Anticipation curled in Ryder’s gut, and he hardened. He’d never kissed any female as sweet as the little bear. Even better, he’d get to share her with his brother. Nothing felt as right as pleasuring a female with his brother beside him. “It might at that.”
Ben lifted his chin to Owen and left.
Leaning back in his chair, Ryder studied the brusque cahir for a second. “Been wondering. Do you have an aversion to Emma or bards, or…”
“Bards are all right.” Owen took a drink as if he had a bad taste in his mouth. “I don’t like females.”
Ryder nodded. “I had the same opinion. My experience with one shrewish cat was so bad I figured all females were untrustworthy.”
“My friend,” Owen said, “They are. Don’t get taken in.”
Ryder almost grinned. And he’d thought he had problems. “You need to get to know the bard. She—”
“Ryder. I found you.” The female’s voice was one he knew too well. All silky seduction. The razor’s edge that’d leave a male scarred was well hidden…for the moment.
Gut knotting, Ryder turned. As always, her scent was masked by the expensive human perfume she wore. “Genevieve.”
“My darling, we need to talk.” Her gaze swept over Owen, obviously noting the cahir mark over his cheekbone. She gave him a predictably flirtatious sweep of her artificially lengthened eyelashes. “I’m sorry, cahir, but I have to talk with my male.
Not gracing her comment with an answer, Owen turned to Ryder. “Want me to stay, or want me to dump her ass outside?”
The cahir really hated females, didn’t he? As tempting as it would be to sic Owen on her, Genevieve was Minette’s mother. Unfortunately. He’d try talking first.
“How dare you speak about me with such disrespect.” Her voice had sharpened.
Owen ignored her.
A glance at her heightening color and flashing eyes suggested their talk had better happen outside the tavern. Ryder tossed some bills on the table and rose. “Thank you, but I think it’s best if she and I go for a walk. Sorry to cut our talk short.”
“No problem. I’m due at my sister’s house soon anyway,” Owen said.
Ryder motioned to Genevieve. “We’ll take this outside.” Not waiting for her answer, he walked across the tavern and into the chill night air.
Left without a target, she followed. She wasn’t yelling at him yet, which meant she wanted something.
He doubted that something was her child.
“Ryder, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I can’t believe I finally found you.” She put her hand on his arm, turning at an angle to showcase her curves. “I’m so happy you finally spent time with the cub we created together. Isn’t she wonderful?”
What the fuck did she want? As if he didn’t know. How had he ever been so lust-struck as to fall for her act? Disgust with himself made his gut twist. “Get to the point, Genevieve.”
“Oh, Ryder, how can you be so cruel?” Her hazel eyes filled with tears, desolation in her expression.
Damn, she was good. And he wasn’t even tempted. “We’re done here.” He tried to shake her hand off his arm.
Her grip tightened. “You don’t understand. We share a child—a beautiful little cub—who needs her mother. I know that you and Ben are rattling around in his big house like two acorns in a squirrel hollow. You need a mate.”
Disquiet ran an icy hand up Ryder’s spine. Genevieve had seen Ben’s house. “You stay away from Minette. Far, far away.”
She recoiled as if he’d slapped her, and her tears spilled over. “I miss you, my darling. I want to be with you—and my child. We can be together.” A faint smile tilted her lips. “I know you remember how very good together we were.”
“Oh, you’re a fairly good fuck. Considering you’ve probably practiced with every male in the Pacific Northwest, you should be.” He peeled her hand off his arm. “I don’t like you. Don’t want to be anywhere near you. And you’re not going to get anywhere near Minette after the way you abused her. So crawl back into whatever slimy hole you emerged from.”
Anger narrowed her eyes. “You think you’re going to mate with that enormous, ugly female? You think she’s prettier than me?
Enormous female? Did she mean Emma? His laugh burst out. “If you mean the beautiful blonde, yeah, mating with her is exactly what I intend.” Soft and sweet, inside and outside. Generous and real. Oh, yeah, he definitely intended.
“No one takes what’s mine.” Her face twisted—and there was the real Genevieve. “You are mine—and so is Minette. I’ll be damned if I let you get away with this.”
He shook his head, disgusted with her, with her selfishness, her self-centeredness, her petty tantrums. “Right. Go away, Genevieve.”
The tavern door creaked as few of the wolf pack emerged. He recognized the snippy one named Candice.
“You’ll be sorry you screwed with me,” Genevieve gritted out and burst into loud weeping.
The shifters stopped to look.
“I want my baby back.” Genevieve clutched his arm, pulling at him.
“Stop it.” He shook her off. “You know you—”
“How could you steal my cub from me?” Her voice cracked as she backed away from him. “You’re evil. A monster.” Sobbing as if her heart was breaking, she staggered to her car and got in.
“You’re the monster,” he gritted out. Should have yelled the words, he thought, as he saw the way the stunned group of shifters watched her drive away.
Oh. Shit. This felt far too familiar.