Eventide of the Bear Read online

  He patted her uninjured leg. “There is a balance. However, during a raging spring flood, it’s difficult to remember how tranquilly leaves will float on a leisurely current.”

  Her smile was rueful. “This is true.”

  Calum rose. “I’ll have someone take you home when you’re ready.”

  “I—”

  “I’m taking her home,” Ben said.

  “No, Ben,” she countered. “I can manage.”

  Ignoring her protest, Calum inclined his head to Ben in acknowledgment and strode back to his bar.

  For another half hour, Emma answered questions about the history of the songs and stories.

  When Ben saw her shoulders sag, he interrupted. “Time’s up. I’m taking Emma home.” As people moved away, he plucked the glass from her hand, set it on a table, and lifted her to her feet. Fuck, she felt good in his hands.

  He looked down into startled eyes.

  “What?” he asked. Had he hurt her?

  “I’m always surprised at how strong you are,” she said. “I’m so big. And heavy.”

  “Hardly. You need to eat more. You’re still too thin and—” He stopped. By the God, he was being rude. Yet her expression showed only delight—not upset.

  “You did a good job tonight,” he murmured and pulled her into a hug. Even as he tightened his hold, half-expecting to get slugged, he savored how her full, soft breasts flattened against his chest—not his belly, as with the shorter females. She was the perfect height.

  She didn’t say a word, but the color in her cheeks deepened. Her scent changed, not into a moon-driven need, but to an even more appealing fragrance holding the first hint of arousal.

  Well then. He lowered his head, giving her time to retreat, and took her lips. Soft and receptive.

  Her hands closed on his biceps, and a tremor shook her. Her mouth opened under his, giving him access.

  Center of the tavern or not, he didn’t give a damn. He pulled her closer and explored, teasing her tongue with his, plunging deep, retreating to nibble the fullness of her lower lip.

  But before lust pushed him too far, he stepped back. His cock throbbed a protest; his blood roared for him to complete the mating.

  She shook her head as if to cast away the same arousal he felt and frowned at him. “That can’t happen again. I’m not doing this.”

  “You’re here; I’m here.” He chuckled and ran his thumb across the wetness on her lips. “And, darlin’, we’re already on the path.” Although he couldn’t take her to the end of the trail—a lifemating—they could, at least, enjoy each other for a while.

  Her hands tightened on his arms. “No. You need a female who will stay here in this town, not one who—”

  His eyebrows went up. “What the hell? You’re fucking not going back to the forest.”

  “No. I just will…move on…eventually.” Her gaze evaded his.

  “Why, Emma?”

  She shook her head and pulled out of his grip. “Let’s go.” With cane in hand, she limped toward the door.

  He crossed his arms on his chest. Oh hell, no. He’d let her go this time, but sooner or later, he was going to find out what had driven her into the forest and kept her there.

  Chapter Thirteen

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  BEN HAD KISSED her last night before they’d left the tavern. Emma finished towel drying her butt-length hair and stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. He’d not only kissed her, but she’d let him. What had she been thinking?

  Ah, but she knew. Despite her mind’s determination to avoid mating, her body longed to be touched. Held. Kissed.

  Ben would be the shining star in any female’s dreams. The most stirring tales in a bard’s repertoire were of the cahirs, huge and muscled, brave and strong. Yet the songs never mentioned that a cahir could be so…gentle…with a female.

  These days, merely catching Ben’s scent in the air sent weakness through her. Hearing his voice made her insides melt. And when he looked at her with a heated glint in his blue eyes, she wanted nothing more than to press up against him and let him have his way.

  Mating with Ben. No, no, no.

  As she pulled on a pair of jeans and a soft blue shirt Angie had dropped off, she scowled. Sex wasn’t going to happen. Ever. In fact, she should move out of his house. But to where?

  After strapping on her leg brace, she sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window at the ruins of his backyard. He’d said his efforts had been dedicated to restoring the rundown interior, and the outside had to wait. Her fingers itched to go out and make order of what had probably been spectacular gardens. As a child, she’d escape the repressive atmosphere of her house and trail after the old gardener.

  Seoirse had been a bear, big and burly and, as with many bears, easy to be with. He’d chafed against her mother’s regimented order, and defiantly tucked herbs among the flashy flowers. Ignoring Emma’s shyness, he’d talked to himself. “Appears I need to dig up these iris and divide them.” He’d stick a finger in the earth. “Not too wet, good. Bulbs don’t fancy wet, now do they?”

  When he caught her singing to the flowers, he’d called in a master bard to speak to her.

  She’d had two years left of her apprenticeship when Seoirse had gone ahead to the Mother. Had he ever known how much he meant to her? She smiled slowly. Yes, the male who could read a plant’s health by the slightest droop of its leaves would have understood a child.

  Right now, he’d tell her to stop moping around and get her tail out to clean up those flowerbeds.

  “All right, Seoirse. I will.”

  After she’d done her duty to the gardens, she’d find herself a place to live. For now, while she was here, she’d simply enjoy every moment of being in Ben’s presence. Like a parched lilac, she’d drink in the sound of his laugh, the amused gleam in his gaze, the way the sunlight glinted off the light brown hair on his arms, the shadowy valleys created by his heavy muscles. She would allow herself to delight in the way he’d lift Minette over his head, not caring if the little girl made no sound, but openly reveling in the light in her face and her soundless laughter.

  If Emma stayed in town—while she stayed in town—she’d be able to see him. Her heart lightened. She wouldn’t lose him completely.

  Oh, she knew her respite in Cold Creek wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, the truth would come out about her banishment. Every tale about a person holding a secret made that ever so clear.

  And, although the Mother had forgiven her and erased the darkness of the scars, if the town learned of her banishment? Well, few shifters held an overabundance of understanding and forgiveness in their hearts. Just look at how Pine Knoll had treated her.

  If…when…people turned on her, she’d be forced to move on. Maybe she’d travel far away to the eastern forest communities or the northern ones.

  She had no reason to return to the forest.

  Well. Her mouth tightened. No reason except for the upcoming Gathering. What should she do about the full moon? Just the thought of being around all those shifters while she was drowning in hormones made her stomach clench with nausea. If she attended, a male—or more—might want to mate with her.

  What if she caused another fight? She still didn’t know how she’d started the last fight. How could she prevent herself from causing another?

  If only she could avoid the whole thing. But the Daonain had traditions—laws, even. By the mingling of the genes during the times of increased fertility, the Gatherings ensured the survival of the people. Attendance was mandatory.

  With a low sound, she straightened her spine. Other females managed to attend and even anticipated the monthly Gatherings. If she wanted to stay in a town, she must conquer her fear. To find her courage and start living her life, this would be the first step.

  She could do it.

  She would.

  Carefully, she cleaned up her bedroom and the bathroom, pleased she’d exceeded her mother’s maid’s spotless efforts. A shame she was
n’t as good at cooking.

  Good job, Mother. You raised a child incompetent in the very basics of living.

  Using her cane, she left the bedroom. The sound of crying drifted down the hall. Emma followed the pitiful noises to Ryder’s bedroom.

  “Just let me get this Band-Aid on your leg. It’ll be okay, kitten.” Unhappiness had deepened Ryder’s voice to a low growl.

  Emma almost laughed. The terrifyingly tough male turned helpless as a bunny when his daughter gave him those big sad eyes.

  He made another frustrated sound.

  Ryder hadn’t been a father long…and he really was trying. Would he let her help? She knocked on the door.

  “Yeah. We’re in the back.”

  She crossed the bedroom and walked through an open door into a wide, unfinished room. From the location and the faint petroleum scent, it must be above the two-car garage. A large filing cabinet stood against the right wall. Boxes and empty shelves lined the left. In the center of the room, a computer, monitor, and printer occupied a massive desk.

  She grimaced.

  Ryder was kneeling on the other side of the desk, his gaze dark. “If you have a problem with computers, leave. I don’t have time for it.” The lash of anger in his voice made her jump.

  “I…I don’t.” She pulled in a slow breath. Many shifters weren’t fans of modern living, especially computers and televisions. “My mother liked human technology. More than she did me.”

  “By the God.” Ryder rubbed his shadowed jaw. “Sorry, Emma. I’m frustrated and taking it out on you. What can I do for you?”

  Emma limped around the desk to see him better.

  And there was Minette. Clad in a T-shirt and pink shorts, the little girl sat on the floor, legs outstretched before her. Tears rolled down her cheeks as Ryder fumbled with a Band-Aid. His hands dwarfed the tiny bandage—already partially torn.

  “Need help?” Reading his glower, she knew he would say no.

  “I…” He scowled at the Band-Aid. “Fuck, yeah.”

  “All right.” She took the Band-Aid from his hand. The adhesive was stuck to itself and partially torn. Worthless. “Do you have another one?”

  He handed her the box sitting beside him.

  Boring tan adhesive. “You might consider getting some decorated ones. If she has to choose which cartoon character she wants, she won’t be thinking about owies.”

  His eyes lit with humor. “You’re almost sneaky enough for a feline.”

  Was that a compliment? He’d actually complimented her? “With children, diversions are wonderfully effective. Meantime, might I borrow a pen?”

  As Ryder rose to find one, Emma smiled at Minette, leaned her cane against the desk, and painfully lowered herself to the floor. The stupid brace on her leg destroyed any semblance of grace.

  “Let’s see what’s going on, kitten.” She checked the wound on the girl’s shin. The inch-long gash was too small to require a healer, and the lighter patch of skin showed Ryder had managed to wash the area. “What happened?”

  “She was playing near those metal window guards in the garage and fell. Could’ve been worse.”

  Emma knew the tightness of his voice was an attempt to conceal fear. The accident had scared him badly. “Construction materials and children are not an auspicious combination.”

  “Got that.” He handed her a fine point marker and watched as she made a happy kitty-face on each side strip of the Band-Aid. When Minette saw the faces, she smiled…and he relaxed.

  Emma carefully placed the bandage over the cut. “I thought you and Ben were working on the new three-story.”

  Ryder set his hip on the desk. “Ben’s there. His order for a bunch of window guards came in late yesterday, and since dark of the moon is tomorrow, people are in a hurry to pick them up. I came back to hand out a few more.”

  Ryder was donating his time. Emma’s heart softened further. She knew Ben cared for other people in the clan, but hadn’t realized Ryder would as well.

  He shoved his fingers through his hair with a grunt of exasperation. “Minette was supposed to be playing in a corner away from the bars. I didn’t watch her close enough.”

  Emma grinned. “Even when you think cubs are somewhere safe, if there’s anything dangerous, you can be sure one will find it, play with it, trip over it, or fall into it.” Apprentice bards spent a fair amount of time with the young of the clan.

  She’d loved teaching.

  “Minette is one fast little kitten.” Ryder’s wry smile carved his face into appealing lines as he stroked Minette’s hair. “Damned if I know what to do with her at construction sites.”

  “Um…” Emma’s stomach quaked. A rejection would…hurt. Her gaze fell on Minette. She didn’t have a choice. The child’s safety was more important.

  “What?” Ryder asked.

  Needing to be able to retreat quickly, Emma tried to struggle to her feet.

  To her surprise, he gripped her waist and set her on her feet. Easily.

  As he resumed his seat on the desk, she gaped at him, still feeling his strong hands on her skin.

  Pull it together, bear. “Well”—she cleared her throat—“if you need to return to work with Ben, Minette can spend the afternoon with me.”

  “No.” Ryder leaned away from her. “Thanks, but—”

  Minette scrambled to her feet and curled her tiny fingers around Emma’s thumb.

  Ryder stilled before shaking his head in refusal. “She’ll stay with me.” He glanced at the door, at Minette, at Emma, at the door.

  “Are you sure?”

  His scowl grew. “By the fucking God of the fucking forest. Fine.”

  She fought to suppress a grin. He really was rather adorable—all helpless father. “We’ll stay right here in the house. We won’t go anywhere else.”

  After a pause, he muttered, “Thanks.”

  Emma led Minette through the door and waited until they were almost…almost out of earshot. “So, Minette, how good are you with chopping up carrots with a butcher knife?”

  A roar of protest came from behind them.

  Emma burst into laughter, ruffled Minette’s hair, and managed to choke out, “Kidding. Just kidding.”

  Chapter Fourteen

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  Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory – dark of the moon

  IN THE RUSTIC Wildwood Lodge, Ben drank a cup of Breanna’s excellent coffee in preparation for the lengthy night ahead. Against the glass in the iron-barred windows, the red-tinged sun hovered over the mountaintops. It would set soon.

  Standing on one side of the room, Shay and Zeb ran through the patrol patterns the cahirs would follow. A year ago, the brothers had moved to Cold Creek to teach the local cahirs how to survive fighting hellhounds. More recently, they’d extended the training to out-territory cahirs.

  Watching the two work together, Ben felt a stab of pain. At one time, he and Ryder had been so close, sometimes they’d almost read each other’s minds. Zeb and Shay weren’t even littermates; both cahirs had lost their littermates to hellhounds, had been alone. Nevertheless—Ben shook his head—for them to become brothers-in-blood had to have been a gift of the softhearted Mother.

  Tonight was dark of the moon, the only night of the month when a hellhound could shift from human to its armored demon form. Since only the ridged eyes and a narrow strip down its belly were unarmored, a hellhound was almost impossible to kill.

  Cahirs often died protecting their people from a hellhound.

  At least Emma and Minette were safe at home with Ryder to guard them. Unlike some of the crap construction in town, the old Victorian was solid. Ben had added iron window guards and reinforced doors. His…family…would be fine.

  And it looked good for the cahirs, as well; tonight, they had a surplus of help.

  Ben glanced at the males sitting in the big room. Shay, Zeb, Alec, and Owen, the North Cascade Territory cahirs, all experienced hellhound fighters, were relaxed. Thanks to Zeb and Shay’s train
ing, Ben had two hellhound kills and had assisted in three more.

  The three other cahirs were from out-territory. The two older males from northern California worked as a pair.

  The third, the panther shifter from Canada, was in his thirties. His blonde hair had been chopped into a buzz cut. Against Zeb’s advice, Wesley wore a skintight body shirt and jeans rather than the leathers worn by the rest. Well, he’d undoubtedly learn the pain of abraded flesh soon enough. If flesh met a hellhound’s spiked and scaled armor, the armor always won.

  Imitating Zeb, Wesley preferred to fight in human form so he could carry his weapons—a knife on the left hip, a serrated dagger and revolver on the right. Amused, Ben shook his head. It was surprising the cub didn’t stagger under the load of weaponry and ego.

  The ego was a problem. Taking on a hellhound alone was basically suicide; Zeb and Shay’s strategy required the cahirs to work together in a fight. Unfortunately, cat shifters—especially young males—had a difficult time with teamwork.

  Huh. Ben shook his head. Wesley seemed damned young, which implied years were passing. Fuck, Ben was…he was on his way toward fifty. Then again, he wasn’t ancient yet. Those descended from the Fae lived twice as long as humans did and matured late. Females didn’t reach their first heat until their twenties; males were stupid until well into their thirties.

  Shay tapped the map of Cold Creek. “As usual, Alec, Owen, and Ben, you’re assigned the east side of town. Wesley joins you tonight.” He glanced at Ben. “You get the killing blow. Try for the gut so Wesley can watch.”

  Ben nodded. Standard teamwork. One cahir would divert the hellhound while the other rolled beneath the demon-dog to gut it.

  “Alec and Owen, you take backup,” Shay said, “since no strategy goes as planned.”

  Yeah, Ben had learned fuck-ups happened all too often.