Eventide of the Bear Page 4

  Donal pulled the sheet to one side and ran his fingers down the bear’s right arm to where two of her fingers were swollen and dark red-purple. “Two fingers busted.”

  Her pretty lips curved up. “Is busted proper medical terminology?”

  Donal smiled for the first time. Light from the delicate, wrought-iron chandelier illuminated the crescent-shaped scar over his right cheekbone—the Mother’s mark designating a healer. Good thing, since Donal preferred jeans, boots, and flannel shirts to the more conservative healer’s attire. “Why confuse my patients with gobbledygook? I bet you knew the diagnosis the first time you tried to move your fingers.”

  Her mouth twisted ruefully. “Oh, I did.”

  Ben watched the various expressions cross her face—pain, amusement, gratitude. Amazing. He’d seen young females when they were in pain. They’d demand attention and snap at anyone trying to help. Not this one. By the Hunter, she was a mess, underweight and pale, yet the sweetness of her character came through so clearly that all he could see was beauty.

  As Donal continued his examination, grumbling over the various scars and scrapes, Ben averted his gaze. Most shifters weren’t body-shy, but the pretty female hadn’t had a choice about Ben’s presence. Since shifters occasionally lost control and trawsfurred when hurt, the Cosantir’d ordered him to stay during the exam.

  At a gasp of pain, Ben turned back.

  The sheet covered the female’s torso, but not her legs. With the dirt removed, the wound looked even worse. Red lines streaked upward toward her thigh. White bone poked out of the gashed area—and Angie hadn’t attempted to clean away the embedded dirt and leaf debris.

  “Happened how long ago?” Donal’s fingers hovered above the wound as he assessed the damage.

  “I-I’ve lost track of the days.” She bit her lower lip. “It was the last dark of the moon, whenever that was.”

  Donal’s expression turned grim.

  Dark of the moon? As a chill crawled up his spine and tensed his muscles, Ben rose.

  Startled, Emma stared up at him.

  “Darlin’…” Ben gentled his voice. “You never did tell me what bit you.”

  “A hellhound.” She shivered visibly. “I know all the old legends, yet somehow, I thought they were a myth. But they’re not. The…creature…was just as bad as the stories say.”

  Donal grunted. “No wonder there’s so much damage.”

  “By Herne’s Holy Antlers, how are you alive?” This li’l female survived a hellhound? Death would have been the least of what the creature would have done, given the chance. Torture, rape…

  Donal cast him a warning glance before saying to Emma, “I need to clean this out before I can heal it. The cream I used will numb some of the pain, but it’ll still hurt like hell.”

  She tensed. “Okay.”

  Having been on the receiving end of a healer’s digging, Ben knew even this courageous little bear would have trouble holding still. He pulled his chair to the opposite side of the bed from the healer, braced his forearm on Emma’s left leg, and gripped her right knee above the wound. His left hand was free to secure the rest of her.

  She took in his preparations and swallowed hard.

  “Easy now.” Ben patted her hip. “While Donal pokes at you, why don’t you tell us the whole story?”

  Donal filled a massive syringe with sterile saline and padded the bed with a heap of towels. Then he started squirting the fluid into the gaping flesh to flush out the grit.

  Ben winced. Against the torn tissues, the forceful stream probably felt like an assault with a fire hose of boiling water.

  Emma’s hands fisted. She flinched and unclenched her broken fingers.

  “Talk to me, li’l bear.” Ben held her gaze with his. “What happened that night?”

  “I-I heard screams from a human campground. There were children there, and I…” She whimpered in pain as Donal used tweezers to extract stubborn debris.

  “A human campground? You went to save humans?” Not something most shifters would do unless the humans were friends.

  “There were children there. I might have run otherwise. But the hellhound went after the cubs, so I attacked.”

  “In bear form?” Donal asked, not looking up.

  She nodded. “My claws didn’t even penetrate. It had…”

  “Armor.” Ben sure had scraped his claws against enough of the fucking demon plating to know how she must have felt. “Bullet-proof, knife-proof, fang-proof.”

  “Yes. Very. I hit it hard enough to get its attention away from the children, but it…bit me.” She motioned to her leg.

  “Most shifters facing a hellhound are dead within seconds.”

  Ben’s comment got a disgusted glare from Donal. Fine. He wasn’t a damned diplomat.

  The pretty bear actually huffed a bit of a laugh—and then gasped as Donal’s tweezers dug deeper.

  Ben pressed down to keep her leg immobile and took her uninjured hand with his free one. “Squeeze, female.” She had a nice strong grip. “How’d you get away?”

  “I tried to get free, but nothing worked. Not until I poked it in the eye with a claw.”

  “By the God, you did well. I’m impressed.” One-on-one, even a cahir rarely survived against a hellhound. “It ran?”

  She nodded. “But the damage was done.”

  “I’m going to fix this mess,” Donal said briskly. “But you’ll have a scar. And although I can put the bones in place and start the healing, you’ll need time to recover strength. It’ll be a while before your leg will take weight.”

  “What?”

  Donal ignored her and kept going. “I’ll give you a brace to wear. Eventually—when I tell you it’s all right—you can walk with a cane. And once the healing is complete, you won’t have even a limp.”

  Her face went even paler. “But, I don’t have any… I mean, I can’t stay here.”

  “Don’t even think about arguing.” He glanced at Ben. “I want you to hold her knee with one hand and pull on her ankle. Slow and straight until I say stop.”

  At the foot of the bed, Ben wrapped his left hand around her thigh and curled his right around her ankle. Slowly, he pulled, grateful for the extra strength given to cahirs.

  As Donal placed his hands on each side of her wound, using his power to loosen her knotted muscles, Ben continued the traction. The protruding bone slid beneath the skin.

  Donal muttered, “Hold there, Ben.” His fingers worked the outside of her leg, lining up the bones, before he delved inside the wound.

  Emma let out a sharp scream and jerked, but Ben didn’t let the leg move. After a second, she regained control and held completely still. Tears streamed down her white face. Brave female.

  “Ease up, slowly,” Donal ordered, and Ben complied.

  Donal set one hand over the area, eyes closed. “Yes, the pieces are in the right places.” He bent his head, hands on each side of the wound, and the flesh started filling in. Closing.

  After several minutes, Donal lifted his head. Sweat moistened his face, and his silvery eyes had lost their glow. “You can let go now, cahir.”

  With obvious dissatisfaction, the healer studied the fragile, pink tissue covering the area. There would be scarring, Ben knew. Donal muttered, “I could have done better if I’d seen you right away.”

  Emma eyed him and looked away.

  Why hadn’t she had anyone to help her? “Ignore Donal, Emma. He can be grumpier than a winter-starved badger.” Ben winked. He pushed the healer down into the empty chair. “Sit. I’ll fetch the leg brace you brought.”

  When Donal dropped into the chair, Ben gratefully left the room, needing to settle his nerves. Seeing a female in pain made him want to go on a grizzly rampage.

  She’d handled herself better than he had. By the God, she was brave.

  She was also a mystery. Why had she been alone in the forest? Why had no one reported her missing? Where were her people?

  He rubbed his neck as he tro
tted down the stairs. Good thing she’d be laid up for a while; he’d have time to find out all about her.

  Chapter Six

  ‡

  HALFWAY TO THE bathroom—and the mirror there—Emma steadied herself on the back of the sturdy wooden chair, pushed it forward again, and hopped to it on one leg. Every thump seemed to echo through the house.

  She stopped and listened. Only silence met her ears.

  Half an hour ago, Ben had checked that she had food and water, and made sure the disgusting commode was close to the bed. He’d left to get groceries, but would be home all too soon. This was her only chance.

  Oh, Goddess, she hurt. Every jump jarred her leg so badly her clenched teeth were probably going to fracture.

  It was better though. Really. Today her leg only throbbed as if a dwarf was thumping the wound with a giant hammer. Uncomfortable, yes, but far more tolerable than when her imaginary torturer had used a knife.

  She sighed. Couldn’t the pain stop? Just for a little bit so she could have a break?

  Break. Cute, Emma.

  She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. At one time, she’d loved playing with words. Only when alone though. Her mother believed a child should be silent. Very, very silent. Moreover, when allowed to speak, her manners had better be impeccable. She half-smiled. Her mother’s training had been effective enough that the master bard had teased Emma for being too shy and reserved. Those weren’t common songster traits. Now, she was so unused to being around people that speaking aloud at all was difficult.

  But she certainly hadn’t forgotten how Daonain were supposed to treat a banished shifter. No one should even acknowledge her presence, let alone speak to her, yet they had.

  And, oh, it was wondrous to hear other shifters, to smell their scents, to be spoken to. She’d found herself singing little tunes under her breath. Still…no one had commented on her scarred face or even looked at her strangely. She hadn’t said anything, either.

  What if they suddenly comprehended she’d been banished? What if they kicked her out before she could walk again? Why hadn’t they noticed the banishment scars? The long, black scars along her jaw could hardly be invisible, could they? She could feel them, after all.

  She needed to see them.

  She eyed the distance to the bathroom. Maybe seven gut-wrenchingly painful hops. She could do it; she had to know.

  One hop. Her teeth gritted together.

  Ben would growl if he found her out of bed. He’d been so concerned. No one had ever treated her as he did, as if she was important. When she’d been hurting, he’d read to her to take her mind off the pain. He brought her treats to tempt her appetite. By the Mother, he’d brought her chocolate ice cream. Just the memory made her smile.

  Although he’d looked frustrated at the way she’d evaded his questions about her past, he hadn’t growled. However, she had a feeling he hadn’t given up.

  Another hop.

  The Cosantir hadn’t returned to question her. Ben said he’d gone into the mountains to the territory’s Elder Village and wouldn’t be back for a couple more days. Reprieve.

  Another hop.

  Another.

  A few minutes later, she leaned on the sink, gulping, and trying not to vomit. Agony roared through her body. Cold sweat ran down her back.

  Eventually, she wiped the tears from her face and pulled in a slow breath. Anticipation and dread filled her as she leaned forward to peer into the mirror.

  She blinked.

  It had been three years since she’d looked at her reflection in…anything. How gaunt she’d grown. Her wavy, light hair was longer and almost reached her butt. Her face was awfully pale.

  Enough stalling. Her fingernails dug into the sink enamel as she turned her head and angled her chin. The light shone on her lower cheek and jaw, and on the thin, white scars from a werecat’s claws.

  White. She felt as if she’d run into a tree and knocked the air out of herself.

  The scars weren’t black. But marks of banishment were always black…unless…the Mother forgave a shifter and erased the darkness.

  Emma ran her fingers over the healed wounds. When had the thin scars changed from black to white? They’d never felt different from one day to the next. It could have been any time, since she’d never looked, not even in the lake when bathing. To see the black of a Cosantir’s Judgment staining her skin would have sent her into a depression from which she’d not have recovered.

  For all she knew, she might have been forgiven a year ago. Two.

  Her fingers traced over the thin scars as she stared in the mirror. She was forgiven. No longer banished or shunned.

  Slowly, then faster, exhilaration filled her like a spring flood, washing everything clean before it. She couldn’t stop touching the scars. The beautifully white, white scars.

  Had she ever seen any shifter who’d returned from banishment? She couldn’t recall. Did healed scars from a banishment look different? Maybe no one would know she’d been banished.

  Maybe she could live with her own people again.

  Hope swelled in her heart, so painfully she had to wrap her arms around herself to hold it in.

  Could she stay here in Cold Creek? Find something to do? Maybe…maybe even sing?

  “What the hell are you doing out of bed?” Ben’s deep bass filled the bathroom as he stopped in the doorway.

  Hopping away from the mirror, Emma tripped and fell backward.

  He closed strong hands around her waist and caught her easily. His chuckle was a low rumble as he said, “Sorry, li’l bear. I didn’t mean to scare you.” With no evidence of exertion, he scooped her up and carried her to her bed.

  “Um, thank you.”

  “Not a problem. Just don’t do it again, or Donal will bite my head off.”

  “Right.” As he swept the covers over her, she looked around. “Did I ever mention how beautiful your room is?”

  His gaze took in the furnishings. “I’m sorry I didn’t have time to do better. But you’re lucky. Aside from my bedroom and this one, the rest of the upstairs is still being restored. Two weeks ago, you’d have been bunked down on the floor.”

  “I’d have been fine.” She laughed. “Floors are softer than caves.”

  He stilled, surprise in his expression, and she realized she’d never laughed. She’d been so worried about people’s reactions, expecting someone to tell her to leave, that she hadn’t been able to relax.

  But her scars were white. No one knew her here, so far from the Mt. Hood territory. No one knew she’d been banished.

  Mother’s forgiveness or not, she didn’t deserve to live among the clan, and she shouldn’t, but how could she not savor this boon for a little while? Hearing the rumble of Ben’s voice, smelling his faintly wild shifter scent, seeing the warmth in his eyes…she felt like a parched desert plant greedily embracing the first drops of rain.

  Her mind was made up. She’d stay as long as they’d let her.

  Chapter Seven

  ‡

  NESTLED IN THE white-capped North Cascade Mountains, the tiny town of Cold Creek looked as if it hadn’t changed since the early 1900s. Past the two-block-long Main Street, Ryder drove to the edge of town, down a smaller road, and parked at the end. The road had a rural feel with oversized lots and older two- and three-story homes. He could see why Ben had chosen it.

  “We’re here, Minette.” May the Mother be with us. He lifted his daughter from the kiddie seat on the passenger side of the SUV.

  Settling her on his hip, he ruffled her silky brown hair. “Gonna need you to sit on the step for a few minutes, kitten.” While I see if we have a welcome here or not. Anticipation, hope, and worry welled inside him in an unsettling brew.

  She blinked up at him, thumb firmly in her mouth, green-brown eyes wide. No answers forthcoming. Considering he hadn’t heard her speak at all in the last six days, he wasn’t surprised, but he still hoped. By the Mother, he’d never hoped so hard in his life. If only he’d
known Genevieve had born a child. Or not fallen for her in the first place. His jaw clenched. Fuck, he was an idiot. Nevertheless, that trail was in the past, he had a new one to follow now.

  And amends to make.

  He stared up at the three-story Victorian house. The dark green siding contrasted pleasantly with the white trim and a dark brown, shingled roof. The covered front porch butted up against an octagonal tower on the left. Although the grounds looked as if no one had tended them in a decade or more, the house had been recently restored. Lumber off to one side indicated Ben wasn’t finished.

  Ryder’s shoulders relaxed. His littermate hadn’t changed beyond all recognition. Building was one of the loves they’d shared. Ben preferred to work on a large scale by building and remodeling houses. Ryder favored customized finish work and handcrafting furniture.

  “Let’s see how loud the bear will roar.” His gut was tight as he carried his cub up the sidewalk. When she was settled on the porch steps, he handed her a picture book to look at.

  With a small smile—her only kind—she opened the book. Minette never moved much. Never got in trouble. Never had a tantrum or disobeyed. He hoped, prayed to the Mother for her to grow confident enough to be a normal, feisty cub.

  She needed a stable home and family. Worry gnawed at his guts as he moved past her to the front door.

  What if his brother had a mate? What if he was still angry with Ryder for leaving? Every second of the last five years weighed down his shoulders.

  His rap on the door was answered by Ben himself.

  Pleasure surged through Ryder at the sight of his littermate. The world hadn’t felt right without his brother at his side.

  “Griz.” Fuck, it was good to catch his brother’s scent—bear and male, along with hints of sawdust and pine.

  “Ryder?” Ben’s voice was hoarse, as if he didn’t believe whom he was seeing.

  Ryder hadn’t changed that much. Sure, he’d put on the heft and weight of a mature male, but not much else. He wanted to laugh—whoever heard of Ben being silent—but he had to struggle to get air into his lungs. It felt as if the bear had pinned him with a heavy paw. “I—fuck, Ben. I’m…”