Eventide of the Bear Page 20

“Our Cosantir is both traditional and innovative.” Shay came up behind Breanne, wrapped an arm around her waist, and stole a cookie from the plate she’d just set out. “Some territories celebrate Beltane during the day, some make a slightly bigger Gathering, some celebrate traditionally like Cold Creek. So far no Daonain community has assigned Beltane to a set calendar day. Only the humans would have such gall.”

  Bree grinned. “Hey, I always thought May Day had a nice ring to it.” She nodded to the wood being stacked in the two fire pits. “I don’t think humans know about having two bonfires though.”

  “Although blessings come to those leaping a Belfire,” Shay said, “the less athletic types prefer the blessings found from between the two fires.”

  Walking between the Belfires. Emma hugged herself. This was living inside one of the ancient songs. Bless Calum for following the old ways.

  Even more wonderful, she’d have friends here to help if she got scared during the Gathering. That was so, so heartening.

  “We have a few hours before the meeting. Why don’t you help with gathering”—Bree glanced at Emma’s brace—“Hmm. Actually, could you make bouquets for the tables? We already have flowers.”

  “Emma, I’m glad you’re here. Bree, the area for the dancing and fiddler is set up.” Vicki stole one of Bree’s cookies and easily dodged the baker’s punitive hand-slap. She took a big bite. “Fuck, you can cook.”

  Breanne grinned. “And you can swear. Good thing the Daonain don’t have priests, or you’d be doing penance constantly.”

  “Can’t you see a priest here during Beltane? He’d have a heart attack.” Vicki waved her hand.

  Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight,

  Or he would call it a sin;

  But we have been out in the woods all night,

  A-conjuring Summer in!

  “Nice. What’s the poem from?” Bree handed over another cookie in appreciation.

  “Kipling, of course. The only poet a military person bothers to memorize. I’m off to fetch a load of blankets. See you two later.” Vicki saluted them with her cookie and headed down the trail.

  Almost two hours later, the bonfires were ready to be lit in the fire pits, with extra wood stacked to the side. Buckets of sand and water were there as well, although it had rained last night.

  The banquet tables were beautified. Non-refrigerated food had been set out and covered. Tubs were ready for ice and drinks.

  Most of the people had gone to the tavern where Calum was serving a lunch to the Beltane gang. Feeling too nervous to eat, Emma kept working.

  In the numerous tiny clearings and niches in the underbrush, she’d hung blankets on low branches. Shifters who wanted a more comfortable mating than in the sparse grass would have blankets available.

  With her last blanket dispensed, she stretched, feeling the slow ache of her leg. She’d been on her feet too much.

  But this had been one of the final tasks until meeting time.

  As she stepped out onto the trail, she bumped into a male.

  He grabbed her arms to steady her. His scent, his size too familiar.

  Emma’s happy glow shattered into a million pieces. “Gawain.”

  His icy blue stare burned into her. “Emma Cavanaugh. What are you—”

  Before he could finish the sentence, she turned.

  And ran.

  Despite her brace and her injured leg, she fled up the trail, away from the tavern, away from the people. Straight up the slope where the trail plunged into deep forest. Fear buzzed in her ears like a broken beehive.

  “Emma. Wait,” he called.

  She slowed slightly—and her brace caught on a broken branch, holding her. Trapping her.

  “Emma!”

  No, no, no. Panic roared in her blood. She tore at her brace until the straps came loose, threw it aside, and her clothes, too.

  In her mind, she opened the door to the wild…and stepped through. The hum of magic ran over her skin with a thousand tiny prickles, followed by the warmth of the Mother’s love in her unmistakable caress. The overwhelming dread paused for a second.

  What was she doing? Running? How stupid was that?

  Then she saw again Gawain’s blue eyes. The first male she’d ever mated with at her first Gathering that had ended in blood and death. CeeCee’s yell echoed in her ears: The rich bear-bitch made them fight over her.

  Andre and Gary had fought and died. Because of me.

  Gawain was here, in Cold Creek. What would Ben say when he knew? Or Ryder who already thought females were suspect? She imagined the two males she loved looking at her with disgust. Cedrick’s pronouncement of banishment was like acid in her ears.

  Footsteps sounded behind her. Running toward her. Chasing her.

  Bear instincts took over. Flee.

  And she ran. Up the slope, veering onto one fork, then choosing another. Miles passed under her paws, miles between her and Cold Creek.

  Hours passed.

  Her panic retreated slowly. Far too slowly. The descending sun rested on the mountain peaks when she finally regained control of her bear.

  Sides heaving with her breathing, she stopped. Her head hung with exhaustion.

  What had she done? As her fear disappeared, shame took its place.

  Shifting to human, she stared at her back trail in dismay. How far had she come? She sniffed and caught nothing but the scent of the forest—no wood smoke, cooked food, gasoline, machinery. No stench of civilization.

  She was nowhere near Cold Creek.

  Looking back, she knew Gawain had been as surprised to see her as she’d been to see him. He’d probably come to Cold Creek for the full moon. To ensure a diverse gene pool, non-mated males were encouraged to visit distant Gatherings.

  Her legs had turned as brittle as toothpicks. A fallen tree trunk provided her a seat.

  Everyone would wonder why she ran. And Gawain would tell them how she’d incited Gary and Andre to fight. How the Cosantir of the Mt. Hood Territory had banished her. Cold Creek was small. Every shifter would know by morning.

  She stared at the dirt under her bare feet, remembering the stares that night, and the hatred on Cedrick’s face. The banishment and the guilt. By the God, the Gathering had happened three years ago. She hadn’t done anything wrong since.

  Why hadn’t she been an adult and faced Gawain instead of bolting like a rabbit confronted by a coyote? She was no longer banished. The Mother had obviously forgiven her. She could have pointed that out. But nooo, she hadn’t thought, hadn’t talked, had simply fled.

  By the God, Emma, grow up.

  She should go back.

  She stood.

  Ben and Ryder. What would they say? What if they looked at her and…despised her? Her courage faltered.

  She sat.

  Okay, they might. Everyone might scorn her…and her heart would break.

  Tears burned in her eyes, and then she lifted her chin. Cold Creek was her town now; she could take what they felt they needed to hand out. After all, she’d shouldered worse.

  The chill wind slapped against her bare skin, making her shiver.

  Ben…Ben was her friend. He might hate what she’d done, but he’d listen. He might even understand her confusion.

  Ryder… Who would have thought he’d come to be her friend? And more. Would he now think she was as horrid as Minette’s mother? The idea hurt her deep inside. If she shook him—smacked him as he’d told her to do—then might he listen? Maybe. Whatever happened, she really did have to shake out her fur and go back, and face her past.

  With a huffing sigh, she rose and shifted back to bear. Her shivering stopped as her fur wrapped her in warmth. Turning, she started back down the trail, feeling the ache of her hind leg.

  Three legs or not, she felt…good. Oh, it seemed like forever since she’d been in bear form.

  Each breath brought her the lush fragrance of damp evergreens, the icy scent of the breeze off the snow-packed mountaintops, the tang of metal and
rock from a nearby dwarf trail.

  The last rays of the slanting sun glinted through the trees. Beautiful, but…worrisome. She could feel the hormones starting to bubble in her veins.

  By law, she needed to attend the Gathering…and she was so, so far away now.

  All too soon, the sun would be down, the moon would rise, and her need to mate would begin.

  *

  HEARING THE FRONT door open, Ben said into the phone, “That’s probably her now. I’ll call you back.” He set the phone down, strode into the foyer, and stopped at the sight of Ryder. “Shit, it’s you.”

  “Hell of a greeting.” His brother’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong?”

  “Breanne called. Said Emma disappeared from the Beltane festival area around lunchtime. They found her clothes and leg brace up a trail and figured she’d probably taken animal form and gone for a run.”

  “Logical. Since she hasn’t trawsfurred since being hurt, she’d be craving getting into fur again.” Ryder frowned. “Did the healer clear her to trawsfur?”

  “Nope. And she hasn’t returned to help Bree. You know Emma doesn’t bail on a job.” Worry tightened a band around his ribs. “Where’ve you been? Have you seen her?”

  “Uh-uh. I dropped the kitten off to join the other cubs.”

  Damn, he’d forgotten the cub preparations. “Is Minette comfortable with being away from us?”

  Ryder’s expression softened. “Yeah. Bonnie says the cub-sitters will bring the mites to the festival for an hour before bedding them down.”

  “Minette’ll like the bonfires.” She’d have more fun if the bard was there. “You haven’t seen Emma at all?”

  “Not since I dropped her off at the tavern. What the fuck is she thinking?”

  “A while back, she said she doesn’t attend Gatherings.”

  “Not surprising if she lived in a cave, bro,” Ryder said. “But I got the impression she wanted to be with us tonight, even if she was nervous.”

  “Maybe.” Ben scrubbed his face. “Maybe her nerve broke.”

  “Missing Gatherings in the wilderness is one thing. But in town? The Cosantir wouldn’t permit a fertile female to remove herself from the gene pool.”

  Ben winced. He’d effectively done the same by never spilling his seed inside a female. The Mother couldn’t have approved, but maybe She’d understood why. “What the fuck could have happened to make Emma so wary?”

  “No clue, but it’s fucking past time she shared with us.” Ryder scowled. “She’d better not have run from the Gathering. Her leg’s not very strong yet.”

  “No.” If she was hag-ridden by her past, would she even return? And what if she got hurt? Although no hellhounds would be out during a full moon, accidents could happen any time.

  By the God, Emma.

  Ben opened the closet door and took out a jacket. “I’m going to the festival area to pick up her scent.”

  Without hesitation, Ryder pulled a coat out, too. “I’ll help.”

  The knowledge he and his littermate were in step about Emma was heartening. “Thanks, bro. But after we find her trail, you need to stay at the Gathering in case she comes back—or if Genevieve tries to get her hands on Minette.”

  Warring expressions crossed Ryder’s face before he nodded. “Agreed. I’ll wait—no matter how long it takes you. If she goes very far…”

  “Yeah.” Worry settled in Ben’s gut. “With her leg, she might have trouble getting back.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‡

  Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory – Beltane’s full moon

  MOTHER’S BLESSING, BUT why wouldn’t it stop? By the God, she’d never felt desire so strongly before. Not since her first time. Tears streamed down Emma’s cheeks as she staggered down the trail toward Cold Creek. She had no choice. Every nerve in her body screamed with the need to mate. The full moon heat boiling in her veins was driving her down the mountain to where there were males.

  With every step, pain stabbed deep into her right leg. Her leg brace was on the trail somewhere near the tavern, and she had no cane.

  Four legs would be better than two, but with moonrise, lust had bloomed in her blood, and her body had shifted to human. She hadn’t been able to trawsfur back to bear.

  Shifters mated as humans; under the full moon, her body would stay human.

  She glanced up. The night was clear. The silvery moon had lowered only an infinitesimal amount since her last look. Moonset was hours away.

  Even if she even managed to reach Cold Creek, she might not have a leg left. Already she’d fallen several times, narrowly avoiding breaking her still fragile bones.

  Would anyone search for her? Loneliness welled up and shattered her awareness. She stumbled and fell, catching herself on her hands and undamaged knee. At the impact, her injured leg blazed with new pain as if she’d shoved it into a meat grinder.

  Ow, ow, ow.

  Head hanging, she tried to rise, but after the day of fleeing from her past and hours of stumbling back toward Cold Creek, her strength was gone. Yet the full moon heat towed her along like a fast-moving current. Why was it so much worse than before?

  The sound of a four-legged animal on the path brought her head up. Not good. It was big enough to rustle the brush on both sides of the trail and coming fast. She sniffed the air, but the wind was from the wrong direction—and undoubtedly had carried her scent right to the animal.

  She struggled to stand and failed. Heart pounding, she closed her hand around a fallen branch.

  The animal burst into sight. A massive grizzly bear, more than double the size of her bear form.

  Her mouth went dry. Don’t move.

  The bear’s mouth opened to display terrifying fangs.

  Oh, she knew how much those would hurt. A shiver ran through her.

  As the moonlight shone on the grizzly’s silvered outer coat, she caught its wild scent…accompanied by a familiar, heady, masculine fragrance.

  “Ben?” she whispered.

  The bear rose to its hind legs, and the terrifying sound of angered grizzly filled the air and echoed from the peaks.

  Her muscles turned to water, and she dug her fingers into the pine needles and dirt to keep from collapsing.

  Then he shifted. Yes, it was Ben, and he was furious.

  He stalked over to stand above her, as huge a male as he was a bear, his face dark with anger. “By the God, I should spank your ass the way my father thrashed mine. What kind of a stupid—”

  “Thank you for coming after me.” It was Ben. Her Ben. She blinked back tears. “I thought I’d die here.”

  His mouth closed. The slow, deliberate breath through his nose made his broad chest expand. After studying her for a drawn-out minute, he squatted in front of her.

  “How badly are you hurt?” His Texas accent was thicker than usual, but his rumbling voice was level and controlled. Ben’s temper was a fast-moving thunderstorm, one that shook the windows and moved on.

  She sagged with relief. “Not bad. I’m mostly exhausted.”

  He made a disbelieving sound.

  “Well, when the moon rose, I couldn’t stay in bear form.” She bit her lip and admitted, “So my leg hurts.”

  “I bet.” He ran his hand down her right lower leg and pressed to assess the injured bone.

  A mew of pain escaped her.

  “Donal would be pissed if you busted the bones again. You don’t want him yelling, do you?”

  The silver-eyed healer was scary. She shook her head emphatically.

  Ben’s laugh was deep and masculine.

  As she stared up at him, the ache in her leg disappeared under a new throbbing, one located right between her legs. Her breasts swelled and ached. The night air brushed cool against her suddenly sensitive skin.

  Naked skin.

  When Ben started to release her leg, her hand was right there, pressing on top of his, keeping his warm, callused palm on her.

  He blinked, then his eyes narro
wed before his fingers curled around her calf and caressed.

  Everything in her melted at his measured touch. At the strength in his grip.

  “Ah, like that, is it?” he said softly.

  Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t swallow. Her lips tingled.

  His intent gaze trapped hers, immobilizing her as he lifted her hand toward his face…and inhaled.

  There was no disguising the scent of an interested female. He would know how much she wanted him.

  “Li’l bard.” His voice lowered to a growl. “Unless you send me away right now, I’m going to take you.”

  By the Mother, what control he had to be able to walk away from a female in heat. A female he wanted—for the scent of his hunger tinged the air she breathed. But he was giving her the choice.

  How could she not want him? She loved him, had desired him forever. Had almost lost him to a hellhound.

  “Stay,” she whispered. She ran her free hand over his corded forearm. He was a cahir, more powerful than other males, and his muscles were pumped from the run up the mountain. She yearned to run her hands and tongue over those ridges and valleys. To touch him everywhere. “Please.”

  “All right, honey bear.” His eyes never left hers as he curved a hand around her nape and held her. His mouth was skilled, his lips firm, his tongue demanding, and he kissed her ruthlessly until every drop of blood in her body sparkled.

  A surge of desperation made her moan.

  He chuckled. “Easy, darlin’, I’ll get right to that…soon.” To her frustration, he rose, looked around, and scooped her off the ground.

  Why did he keep carrying her? “I’m too big. Put me down.”

  “You’re not more than a mite.” He walked off the trail and down a tree-covered slope toward the sound of water. The forest opened into a moonlit meadow of softly flattened winter grass bisected by a rushing creek.

  He laid her down in the cool grass. For an eternity, he towered above her, looking down as the moon bathed her in light. Under his smoldering gaze, she felt…beautiful.

  “I’ve wanted you for a long time, li’l bear,” he said softly. Down on one knee, he cupped her face, brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “Do you have any idea how magnificent you are?”