Leap of the Lion
About Leap of the Lion
The Wild Hunt Legacy: Book 4
Erotic paranormal ménage romance
There’s a reason why Cherise Sinclair is on my auto-buy list: she writes fantastic erotic romances with great stories and wonderful characters.
~ The Romance Reviews
She shifts for the first time on the day of her escape.
After a decade of captivity, Darcy MacCormac escapes the corrupt, clandestine organization called the Scythe, leaving family and friends behind. She must find a way to rescue them. Discovered by other shifters, the brand-new cougar gets two mentors. Blademage Gawain is an easy-going blacksmith with a steel-hard core. His brother Owen is a deadly warrior. Grumpy. Rude. And he doesn’t like her.
They aren’t the mates she’d dreamed of—they’re more.
Powerful, dominating Owen protects the clan—especially the weak—and the only remnant of an abused childhood is his avoidance of females. Now he has to mentor one? Although Gawain soon falls for the dauntless little cat, Owen knows better than to lose his head. But Darcy has a gift for repairing everything…including damaged hearts.
Love isn’t in her destiny.
In the brothers’ arms, Darcy finds safety. Comfort. And love. But however much she longs for a future with Owen and Gawain, her people need her. Somehow, she must find the courage and skills to save them, even if the attempt demands her life.
If you haven’t read a Cherise Sinclair book, you should certainly pick one up. Apparently, no matter the genre, you just can’t go wrong.
~ Dark Diva Reviews
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Leap of the Lion
The Wild Hunt Legacy 4
Cherise Sinclair
VanScoy Publishing Group
Leap of the Lion
Copyright © 2017 by Cherise Sinclair
Smashwords Edition
ISBN: 978-1-947219-02-1
Published by VanScoy Publishing Group
Cover Artist: Hot Damn Designs
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, business establishments, or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This copy is intended for the original purchaser of this eBook only. No part of this eBook may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without prior written permission from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Warning: This book contains sexually explicit scenes and adult language and may be considered offensive to some readers. This book is for sale to adults only, as defined by the laws of the country in which you made your purchase.
Disclaimer: Please do not try any new sexual practice, without the guidance of an experienced practitioner. Neither the publisher nor the author will be responsible for any loss, harm, injury, or death resulting from use of the information contained in this book.
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Book
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgments
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Daonain Glossary
About Club Shadowlands
Excerpt from Club Shadowlands
Also from Cherise Sinclair
About Cherise Sinclair
Acknowledgments
Huge thanks go to my critique partners, Monette Michaels and Bianca Sommerland. Where would I be without you to keep my plots on the right trail?
A big squishy hug to Fiona Archer for enduring the worst year ever and still managing to perform a BFF’s handholding duties. Love you, girl.
To my beta readers, Lisa White, Marian Shulman, and Barb Jack, lots and lots of kittens. (The li’l pouncers are an expression of gratitude. Really.) Seriously, though, y’all are amazing. Thank you so, so much!
Prologue
‡
Eight-year-old Owen Treharn closed the back door silently, heard his mother yelling, and froze. The kitchen was dark and empty. For once, he wasn’t the one in trouble. Although the sound of her anger hunched his shoulders, he crept toward the living room to see what was going on.
No one would hear him. Sneaking was a survival skill he’d mastered already.
He peeked around the corner.
Two of his littermates were in the room—Edwyn on the couch, Bonnie standing motionless in the corner.
Face dark red with rage, Mother shook a broken bowl at Bonnie. “I liked this bowl. That’s why it was on top of the refrigerator.”
“Bonnie wanted the candy out of it.” Edwyn gave her a taunting look.
Bonnie gasped. “I did not. You did. You climbed on a chair an’ knocked it off when you were grabbing the candy.”
Owen’s fingers dug into the doorframe. Bonnie wouldn’t steal candy. She never broke the rules. Even so, Mother would never believe Edwyn had busted the bowl. She thought Edwyn was perfect.
“How dare you blame Edwyn for something you did.” Mother slapped Bonnie across the face.
“No, Mother!” Bonnie screamed and cringed away.
No. No! Owen cringed, too. He glanced behind him at the back door and safety.
Bonnie was crying. Bonnie needed him.
Forcing his unwilling feet to move, he darted into the living room. Mother hit Bonnie again, and then he was there, between them. He shoved Bonnie toward the front door. “Run, Nee.”
“Demon-spawn.” His mother’s cruel name for him hurt almost as much as her hand hitting his face. Pain seared his face, and he turned, covering his head with his arms.
She didn’t stop.
Blow after blow struck his shoulders and back, burning through his skin, setting his world on fire. It hurt. Tears ran down his cheeks. Jaw clamped shut against the sobs, Owen bent his head and…endured.
A door slammed shut. Bonnie had escaped. She was safe.
Dodging the next blow, he tore for the kitchen, his mother on his heels. As he ran through the back doorway, she flung the broken bowl at him. It slammed into his hand, and blinded by tears, he fell down the back steps. His face ground into the dirt, scraping his chin and cheek. Ow, ow, ow. A sob broke out.
Mother stood on the steps. “You disgusting brat. Your sire was no good, and you’re no better, Demon-spawn.”
Gawain, his other littermate, was suddenly there. He yanked Owen to his feet. “C’mon, brawd.”
They ran for the forest.
Every footfall sent pain through Owen’s hand, and his eyes were so filled with tears, he kept tripping over branches.
&nb
sp; Finally, Gawain slowed. “She gave up and went back to the house. Is here okay?”
“Yeah. It’s good.”
A sprite, wakened by their noise, chittered at them before popping back in her hole.
Gulping back sobs, Owen crumpled down into the soft debris on the forest floor. With his good hand, he wiped the tears away, wincing at the sore spots on his face. He was too old to be crying. But his hand, shoulders, and face hurt. The names she called him hurt, too. Why did she hate him so much? She loved Edwyn. Most of the time, she liked Gawain and Bonnie. But she’d always hated Owen.
With a tired grunt, Gawain dropped onto the ground, his face was streaked with sweat and dirt, his blue eyes worried. “What made her so mad this time?”
“Edwyn told her Bonnie broke the candy bowl.”
“Bonnie? She wouldn’t take Mother’s candy. He lied.” Gawain was smart that way. He understood people better than Owen did.
“Yeah. He lied.”
“Is Bonnie okay?” Gawain’s eyes narrowed. “You let Mother beat on you instead, didn’t you?”
Owen’s shrug made his shoulders hurt worse. “Why does she hate me so much?”
“Dunno.” Gawain sighed. “Maybe she’d love us if we looked like her. She loves Edwyn.”
Edwyn and Mother had skin the color of milk, and their hair was as light as the pearl necklace Mother always wore.
Owen’s thick, straight hair was as dark as the tree trunks around them. Where his arms weren’t bruised purple, his skin was reddish-brown. And his eyes were the color of the evergreens.
Gawain had blue eyes, hair a lighter brown than Owen’s, and his skin was golden with freckles.
Bonnie’s eyes were brown, but her hair was as yellow as the sun.
Owen scowled. “Other littermates don’t look much alike, and their mothers love them.” He wasn’t saying it right—he wasn’t good with words—but Gawain would understand. Gawain always understood him.
“I know. Mother’s different. Maybe she only wanted one cub.”
Owen closed his eyes. “Maybe.” If she had to love only one, she should have picked Gawain or Bonnie. Edwyn was a liar and a cheat—and even if Owen loved him, he didn’t really like Edwyn much. The sneaky weasel didn’t deserve their mother’s love.
And Owen didn’t deserve her hate…did he? What had he done to make her scream at him and hurt him all the time? “She sure didn’t want me.”
“I think it’s ’cause of your sire,” Gawain said.
“Did he make her mad, so she hates me instead?”
“That’s what Great-Aunt Sandy says.” Face streaked with tears, Bonnie stepped into the clearing and sat down next to Owen. “I’m sorry Mother hit you.”
“Better me than you.” Owen tried to smile even though his swollen cheek pulled painfully. “What did Great-Aunt say?”
“She told the grocer lady how your daddy was one of the males Mother mated with during a Gathering, and later, she wanted to be his mate, but he didn’t like her much. Only she kept bothering him until he made fun of her…and then he mated a really pretty female, and Mother got so mad she moved away to here in Pine Knoll.”
Gawain chewed on a finger. “Being made fun of would make her really mad.”
“Yeah.” And Mother could stay mad a really long time. His stomach dropped lower in his belly. If she hated his father, she’d never like him, either. She’d keep hating him and hitting him.
Owen blinked back more tears. He was only a little cub. He couldn’t hit her back. It wasn’t fair.
But life wasn’t fair, was it? He looked at his purpling swollen hand and felt the burning pain in his shoulders. No, life wasn’t fair.
Bonnie leaned her head on his shoulder. “Great-Aunt Sandy says she’s taking me away from here. From Mother. But I don’t want to leave you and Gawain.”
“Leaving?” Gawain gulped, swiped his sleeve over his eyes. “That-that’s good. It’ll be safer.”
Lose Bonnie? Owen felt his own eyes burn. Cubs were often fostered other places, but only when they were older. Not at eight years old. He turned to tell Bonnie to beg them to let her stay—and saw the red welt on her face from Mother’s hand.
Owen couldn’t keep her safe. Not yet.
“Yeah, you should go.”
Determination straightened his spine. He’d get bigger and older, and when he did, he’d take care of all the cubs and people who couldn’t hit back.
Chapter One
‡
Only humans would take two beautiful three-story brick manors and turn them into houses of horror.
Toolbox in hand, Darcy MacCormac stood on the front steps and looked across the grounds of…hell…or whatever this place should be called. Her friend Barbara who liked the old language called it a prìosan. A prison.
If run by the government, the place would be termed a detention camp. But their captors, the Scythe, weren’t with the government. Much to the contrary. Their mission was to manipulate the governments of the world. Holding hostages was one of their favorite techniques.
H Hall on the west held human hostages from all over the world. They’d been kidnapped to ensure their influential family members complied with anything the Scythe demanded.
Z Hall, which the guards called the Zoo, held the female shifters from Darcy’s village. They were also hostages, not to keep CEOs and politicians in line, but for their fellow shifters.
Darcy walked down the front steps.
Encircling the entire property, ten feet tall, thick stone walls muffled the noise of Seattle and blocked any view of outside. Her shoulders rounded against the claustrophobic feeling.
It could be worse, though, couldn’t it? When the shifters first arrived, they’d been confined underground in animal cages. The adults, then babies had sickened and died before the Scythe realized the fatal effect of confinement and proximity to metal. Finally, they’d let the surviving children out of the basement, given them outside tasks, and housed them on the third floor of Z Hall. There they’d been imprisoned for over a decade.
Each year, each day, she felt more trapped.
Each year, each day, she grew weaker.
Stop. This was where she was—and no one escaped the Scythe. She pulled in a slow breath. The scent of cut grass hung heavy in the humid air, mingling with the briny breeze off Puget Sound and the overripe smell of late September apples that had fallen into the brambles. The years of captivity had taught her to ignore the stench of gasoline, metal, and other putrid odors from the surrounding city.
A cry of pain came from the right.
Hand to her cheek, twelve-year-old Alice, the youngest shifter, cringed from a uniform-clad guard. Long blonde hair pulled back, the youngster wore the Scythe-assigned garb of white T-shirt and cheap cotton pants.
Palms sweaty, Darcy headed that way, moving quickly without looking as if she hurried. “Can I be of assistance, sir?”
After so many years, maintaining a polite tone was habitual, despite feeling as if she was strangling down her shouts. Interrupting an abusive guard was never safe, but sometimes…sometimes she could redirect their anger from a cubling and toward her instead.
With a relieved look, the girl spoke to Darcy. “Manager said I can’t have supper unless all the grass is cut. The mower was working, but I had to stop it to clear the blades, and now it won’t start. Can you fix it?”
The guard grabbed Alice’s shoulder and gave her a brutal shake. “You don’t talk with other dirty beasts. Shut your mouth.”
The girl’s eyes went glassy with tears.
Darcy clasped her hands in front of her waist in an appearance of servitude…and to keep from belting the guard. Once, only once, had she hit a guard, trying to save a friend from a caning. Both she and Margery had been beaten into the ground with fists and boots and canes, thrown in separate cells, and left for days. Darcy’s intervention had turned a common caning into an unspeakable nightmare.
No hitting. No shouting. Humbly, she looked at t
he guard and bowed her head to keep him from seeing the hatred in her eyes. “I could look at the motor if you wish. Sir.”
After a second, the guard snorted. “Fix it, freak, or I’ll take it out on your hide.”
She kept her gaze lowered until he’d stalked away. Her mum would have called him a stupid, sprite-brained boggart. Being imprisoned had taught Darcy other terms—the fucking, dickhead asshole.
A sigh escaped her.
“You can fix anything,” Alice whispered, trust glowing in her big blue eyes.
“Most mechanical things, yes.” Not the important things, like illness, heartbreak, and imprisonment. She couldn’t fix the slow wearing away of her life force. All the older captives from their village were weakening. Barbara had collapsed yesterday and been taken away.
Had she been taken to the ghastly research labs in Z Hall’s basement? Despair filled Darcy. The Mother keep you, my friend. Because there was nothing anyone could do.
Do what you can, tinker, for the little one here, instead. Pulling her gaze away, she reached in her pocket and pulled out a wrapped piece of cake she’d snitched when fixing the dishwasher.
A quick look around showed no one was watching. “Here, munch on this while I work.”
The girl’s eyes grew wide, and she turned so no one would see her stuff the treat in her mouth. Shifters received only enough food to stay healthy—never sweets. The cake had been baked for the staff.
Alice’s eyes filled with tears. A treat. And kindness. Both were unknown in this place.
After patting the cub’s shoulder, Darcy knelt beside the mower. It had gas, and the gas wasn’t old. The air filter was clean enough. The spark plug—ah-hah—was wet. During the summer season, Darcy’d learned to keep extras in her toolbox. After replacing the plug, she gave the pull rope a firm yank.
The mower sputtered, and she adjusted the throttle for a healthy roar.
Alice hooted in glee and threw her arms around Darcy. The hug was bittersweet. The child should have been preparing for her first shift, should have been running in the mountains with her littermates. Should have been home. But their Daonain village was blackened rubble.