Eventide of the Bear Page 8

  “Hibernation?” His intent eyes deepened to the intense hue of a mountain bluebird. “You’re not pulling my tail? You don’t attend Gatherings? How long were you in the forest alone?”

  She took his questions one-by-one. “Yes. I’m not. I don’t. And it’s none of your business.” He was right, though. All too soon, she’d have to think about what she’d do for the next full moon.

  “But”—he obviously forced himself to stop—“all right.” After a second, he shook his head. “You’re safe with me, li’l bear. I have no interest in mating or in looking for a lifemate.” As a mountain wind would reveal the granite beneath the snow, she watched his jaw harden. “I enjoy touching, but I mate only because it’s required.”

  Why did disappointment mingle with her relief? “I thought all males wanted to mate. Why don’t you?”

  “I reckon my reasons are none of your business, darlin’.” An easy smile took the sting from the words.

  “I suppose that’s fair.”

  “It is.” He curled his warm fingers over her shoulder.

  Why did he keep touching her? Stroking her skin? The sensuous pleasure sent captivating tingles up her center.

  “Minette and I swung by to pick you up,” he said. “We’re going to the Wild Hunt Tavern to join Ryder. Are you ready to get out of the house?”

  “Really?” She bounced in delight—and winced as the movement jarred her leg. “Ouch.”

  She forgave him his roaring laugh since at least he hadn’t called her an idiot. And, if he’d spoken truth about not wanting to mate—and she’d heard no lie in his voice—she could stay for a while longer.

  He’d take her to the Wild Hunt. From what Ben had said, the tavern was the life-spring of this territory.

  Only…there would be people there. Anxiety sent cold fingers up her spine. After not speaking to anyone for three years, the thought of a whole bar filled with people was intimidating.

  She lifted her chin. She could manage. She would.

  She was no longer banished. They didn’t know her history. And it was time to stop hiding in a cave. “Let’s go.”

  *

  IN THE WILD Hunt Tavern, the warmth from the crackling fire slowly loosened Ryder’s tight muscles. The leather couch was comfortable, especially with his boots up on the battered coffee table. Foam tickled his lips as he enjoyed a malty Guinness. His back and shoulders ached from unloading his belongings earlier this week and setting up the shop behind the house today.

  It had felt damned good to unpack. Fuck, he’d missed feeling settled. Missed having a real home. Missed Ben. And now, the parts of his life, scattered years ago, were slotting back into place like well-crafted tongue-and-groove flooring.

  He’d never missed Genevieve or Farway, either. Because of her glee in goading males—including him—to fight, he’d never felt at home in the shifter community there.

  If his obsession with Genevieve hadn’t damaged the littermate bond, he and Ben would have been well settled into the stable life they’d both craved. Neither of them had grown up feeling secure. Ryder grimaced. His father had moved from territory to territory, female to female. Ben’s father had been mentally unsound—paranoid. As young males, he and Ben had shared the dream of a permanent home, but Ben had gone after it.

  He took another drink of his beer. By the God, he’d been a stupid young male, and his lesson had been a hard one. Now he knew that living with the wrong female was far more ruinous than having none at all. Staring into the fire, he lifted his drink and spoke softly, “To you, Genevieve, for the worst year of my life and the greatest gift a male can receive.”

  “Sounds like a contradiction, don’t you think, Zeb?” The green-eyed man who settled down on the opposing couch was about six-five with collar-length, light brown hair. Thin scars, apparently from werecat fights, covered his hands and arms. As with Ben, a blue, blade-shaped scar over one cheekbone marked him as a cahir.

  The other male grunted an affirmative and took the adjacent leather chair. Also a cahir, Zeb had hair and eyes as black as Ryder’s, but his complexion held the reddish tint of mixed Native American ancestry. The warrior was not only scarred to hell and gone, but somehow gave the impression he’d rather kill than converse.

  “Cahirs.” Ryder felt dumb as a gnome. Accustomed to living with humans, he’d forgotten how keen shifters’ ears were.

  “Welcome to Cold Creek.” The first male leaned forward and held out a hand. “Alec McGregor.” The firelight glinted off the small badge on his shoulder.

  “Police officer?” Both a cahir and cop? He shook the man’s hand, feeling the strength and the calluses of a fighter.

  “Sheriff,” Alec corrected easily. He grinned. “The male there is Zeb Damron. He and his brother run the Wildwood Lodge. Be warned—Zeb chatters worse than a blue jay. He’ll talk your tail right off.”

  Zeb’s glare should have sliced the cop in two.

  Ryder smothered a laugh at the familiar werecat humor. Ben’d predicted he’d like the local cahirs. “Ryder Llwyd. Ben’s brother.”

  “He mentioned you’d moved in.” Alec glanced over his shoulder, caught the attention of the female waitress, and held up two fingers.

  Not interrupting her conversation with a battered older shifter, the barmaid nodded. Short and pleasantly full-breasted with rich, walnut colored hair, she was almost as pretty as Ben’s lushly curved female.

  Emma’s eyes were stunning though—the exact color of golden oak. He frowned. Fuck it all, he would not become attracted to her. One of them needed to keep his head. Forcing her from his thoughts, he asked the cahirs, “Ben said hellhounds have increased in this territory and pretty much everywhere. How come?”

  “The demon-dogs have always hidden in cities and preyed on the humans.” Alec scowled. “But now “developments” are springing up in our mountains. Trouble is, once a hellhound catches the scent of a shifter, they’re never satisfied with human prey again.”

  A splinter of ice formed in Ryder’s belly. When he’d been in Rainier Territory, a hellhound had broken into a shifter’s home and slaughtered everyone inside so savagely the bodies were unrecognizable.

  How could he risk Minette getting hurt? And yet… “Seems no place is safe any longer.”

  “No. Hellhounds are in every territory now.” Zeb had a voice like a badly maintained gravel truck.

  “Ben said you’re teaching cahirs how to fight the demon-dogs?” Ryder asked.

  “Aye. Zeb and Shay have three students.” Alec’s jaw turned hard. “A hellhound was scented in the area, so chances are good they’ll get hands-on experience with the coming dark of the moon.”

  Ryder eyed the scars on Zeb’s neck and face. “When Ben was chosen by the God to become a cahir, he got extra height and muscles. Females flocked to him—and I envied him.”

  “Past tense?” Alec asked.

  “I’ve seen the cost.” The pain, the scarring, the deaths. Yet he knew Ben and these males didn’t begrudge the price. By the God, his brother made him proud.

  Zeb’s gaze sharpened on something behind Ryder, and amusement lit his dark eyes. “That your cub?”

  Ryder turned. His shy daughter was edging around the clusters of people, heading straight for him. He couldn’t suppress his grin. “Oh, yeah.”

  “Aren’t you just a cutie!” A gray-haired female at the next table held her hand out.

  Eyes wide, Minette scurried away from the female, then launched herself at Ryder like a tiny missile, thumping against his knees.

  “My Minette.” Heart full, he picked her up and nuzzled her cheek. “You’re safe, kitten.” Frightened, she’d come to him. Trusted him to protect her. Had he ever received a greater compliment? When her arms wrapped around his neck, he discovered that love was more than a feeling—it could swell inside a male’s chest until he couldn’t speak.

  Settling her on his lap, he looked around for his brother.

  Approaching more slowly, Ben carried Emma in his arms. The si
ght sent a pang of worry through Ryder.

  Why did the female have to be so pretty? Everything about her—from the silky hair to the smooth skin, to the soft curves—enticed a male. He wasn’t even sure he liked her, and he wanted to touch. Ben didn’t stand a chance.

  “Ben. Good to see you.” Alec rose, emptying the couch. “Put her here.”

  “Thanks.” Ben set Emma down so she leaned against the couch arm. He propped her right leg up on cushions.

  “I don’t need the entire couch.” She struggled to swing her leg down. “I can sit like a normal person.”

  He set a hand on her good leg, easily pinning her in place. “No, darlin’. You just stay put right there.”

  “But—”

  Grinning, Ben ruffled her hair as if she were a cub.

  Her glare made her appear Minette’s age, and Ryder chuckled. But when she turned her big amber eyes on him—those damned appealing eyes—his amusement faded. He nodded. “Emma.”

  “Hello, Ryder,” she said with a careful politeness. The cautiousness in her voice reminded him of when he’d hurt his back and how carefully he moved to avoid a painful muscle spasm.

  The thought of a female being wary around him was…distressing.

  Yet when she surveyed the room, her tense posture didn’t ease. Her scent held a trace of fear, like that of a cub venturing from its den for the first time.

  Ryder’s protective instincts roused. What was here to alarm her? The people?

  Kneeling up in his lap, Minette put her hands on his cheeks and turned his head. A glowing lizard twisted within the flames in the fireplace. There hadn’t been a fireplace in Genevieve’s house, had there? And Ben hadn’t lit a fire in the great room. “That’s a salamander, Minette. A young one.”

  As his cub bounced on his knees, he noticed Emma was watching Minette’s delight with a sweet expression the kitten’s own mother had never shown. In the tangle of worries in his chest, one strand unknotted. Unlike his father’s females, this one apparently had a soft spot for cubs.

  With a werecat’s silent gait, the brunette barmaid arrived with the drinks. “Zeb, here you go.” She handed him a beer and gave the other to the sheriff. “One for you, although I doubt you deserve it. I still can’t believe you told Jamie she could stay overnight with her friend.”

  “She’ll be fine. And the house will be empty so Calum and I can do evil things to you tonight.” With his free arm, Alec pulled her against him for a no-holds-barred kiss more typical of full moon lust.

  Spotting the matching silvery bracelets, Ryder realized the two were lifemated. He exchanged an amused glance with Ben.

  “Bad cat.” With a skillful twist and a powerful punch, the barmaid freed herself.

  “Assault and battery,” Alec mock-wheezed, holding his gut. “I just happen to have an empty jail cell for such a violent offender.”

  “Isn’t it a shame you gave me a key to the cells when you made me a deputy?”

  “Well, damn.”

  Grinning, she stepped out of his reach and smiled at Emma. “Ignore the barbarian. I’m Vicki. I’ve wanted to meet you—but first, what can I get you to drink?”

  “Emma.” Her return smile was tentative. “Didn’t you just say you’re a deputy?”

  “I am. But when off duty, I play barmaid if the Wild Hunt needs extra help.”

  “How wonderful to stay so busy,” Emma said. “As soon as my leg heals up, I’ll be job hunting. I hope I can find something.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out,” Vicki said with calm assurance.

  Leaning on the couch, Ben said under his breath to Ryder, “Vicki used to be a Marine sergeant.”

  That explained the confidence and military bearing.

  Ryder studied Emma’s hopeful expression. Apparently, the female didn’t object to working for a living and didn’t plan to impose on Ben forever. Another knot of worry unwound.

  Vicki turned toward the men. “Calum wanted to talk with you all in the portal room.” She smiled at Ryder. “The room is one of our entries to the forest for when you want to run in animal form. He’ll give you an orientation.”

  “Good plan.” Ben gave Ryder a hand up.

  “I’m afraid the cub will have to stay here,” Alec said.

  Ryder shook his head, “I can’t leave her. Maybe—”

  “I’d be happy to watch her,” Emma said hesitantly.

  Entrust her with his cub? He’d rather chew off his left paw. But…did he have a reason to distrust this female who’d already befriended his daughter? “All right.” He set his daughter down by the couch.

  Without any hesitation, Minette crawled onto Emma’s lap and snuggled close with her head pillowed on the soft breasts. After wrapping her fingers around the female’s honey-colored braid, she tucked her thumb in her mouth and fell asleep within a breath.

  Ryder doubted the cub trusted her own mother that completely. “Thank you, Emma.”

  “Be at ease, father of Minette,” she said softly. “I will guard your cub with my life.”

  SEEING RYDER’S SURPRISE, Emma regretted her impulsive statement, but she’d meant every word. His unreasonable aversion to her didn’t matter. No one would harm this little one while she was here.

  After a second, he nodded.

  Ben bent and ran his hand down her hair in an unspoken leave-taking. As he straightened, a sense of warmth lingered along with his masculine scent.

  “Let’s go.” Vicki led the cahirs and Ryder away.

  As the minutes passed, Emma cuddled Minette close, brushed her lips over the cub’s silky hair, and inhaled the scent of little girl sweetness. Like well-banked coals, contentment was a steady warmth. She had a child in her arms, the pleasure of being useful, laughter and conversation around her—everything she’d lost three years ago. She’d be happy to sit here forever.

  “You nailed it!” The yell came from an alcove holding two pool tables.

  At the loud cheers and clapping, Minette roused. Her tiny face pulled in a worried scrunch as she pushed up and looked around for her father.

  Ben and Ryder never spoke about their mate, but if they were caring for this cub, the mother must be dead. How horrible for Minette.

  “Your father will be back soon, sweetheart,” Emma told her. But now what? The child was too anxious to sleep again, and a tavern wouldn’t have toys available.

  Lacking blocks and dolls, Emma knew only one way to divert a bored child. “Let me tell you a story, my small cub.” She’d spent three years entertaining easily bored pixies; one sleepy child would be a joy. Her voice slid right into the traditional story-telling rhythm.

  Without any hesitation, Minette laid her head down. Sucking her thumb slowly, she rubbed Emma’s braid against her cheek.

  “Long and long ago, in the very dawn of the days of the Daonain, wolf-shifters found a baby girl lying in a burrow in the wide, green forest. The pack named her Rhonwen, for her hair was the shining silver of a mid-winter moon.”

  Emma’s miserable years of loneliness disappeared as she recounted her favorite story of all time—the early days of the legendary bear-shifter. By the Goddess, how she’d missed using all her skill to entertain her clan, to draw her audience with her into the heart of a story.

  As she brought the story to a glorious finish, she noticed Vicki near the fireplace, probably checking to see if aught was needed.

  Emma smiled. We are fine, thank you.

  With a token salute, the barmaid-deputy moved away.

  Emma looked down at her audience of one. “Do you want a song this time? Maybe one about a kitten like you?”

  Minette gave an enthusiastic nod.

  The teaching tune about the perils of heedless exploration—and the blessings of an understanding clan—was one Emma had always loved. Enjoying herself as much as Minette, Emma used tone and tempo to texture in emotions, much as artists layered color into paintings. Her surroundings disappeared as she submerged herself in the music.

&
nbsp; One verse and another. Danger and courage. With joy and an aching heart, she sang the final verse about the little cat’s return to her family. She trailed off with a few hummed notes.

  A contented sigh came from her little-girl audience—the best, best reward a bard could receive.

  Deep inside her bloomed a sharp joy that was almost pain.

  After a second, she realized sighs and murmurs were sounding throughout the unnaturally quiet tavern. Her head jerked up. Oh my Goddess…

  People all around the room were looking at her. Had been listening. Ryder, Ben, the two strange cahirs, and the Cosantir stood near the fireplace.

  Anxiety crawled up Emma’s spine like a wave of ants, waiting to all bite her at once. “I’m sorry,” she said to the group of males.

  “For what?” Ben sauntered forward. “Great song, darlin’.” He tugged her hair lightly.

  “I-I didn’t mean to disturb the—”

  “You disturbed no one, Emma.” The Cosantir walked around the couch and sat facing her on the heavy oak coffee table. His gray eyes held hers. “How much training have you had, bard?”

  She felt the blood leave her face. He knew what she was. Had he heard of the bard who’d caused the deaths of two males? Would he kick her out of his territory?

  “Emma?” the Cosantir prompted. He didn’t look angry. “Did you start at the usual age…as a teen?”

  “Fourteen.” It’d been the only time she fought her mother. She’d never have obtained permission if the master bard hadn’t spoken up. Her mother hadn’t been able to refuse someone so respected. “I finished my seven years of apprenticeship. And then…” And then her life had been destroyed. “I haven’t entertained anyone”—besides tree fairies and forest animals—“for a long time. I’m no longer a bard.” Renouncing her dream pierced her like a knife to the soul.

  Wry humor lightened his lean face. “A tail does not disappear, even if not wagged. You are yet a bard.” He regarded her thoughtfully. “We postponed your judgment, aye?”

  When her body tensed, she felt Minette stir. Breathe, Emma. “Yes.” Please, don’t send me back to the forest. Please.