Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(10)

“Calum wanted a word before you left,” Shay said. “He should be here soon.”

“Food, first?” Owen gave the bacon-filled skillet an assessing look.

Breanne laughed. “Yes. Go have a seat, and Shay will bring it out in about five minutes.”

Owen’s stomach rumbled a complaint at the delay.

With a snort, Zeb tossed him a muffin from a pile on the counter. “Start on that.”

Owen went out to the sunny dining room and paused.

The three other lodgers were still there, doing that giggling thing females did. High and shrill, the sounds reminded him of his mother whenever a lover had visited. His jaw locked. On one occasion, he had accidentally spilled his drink on a male’s shoes and discovered how quickly giggles could turn to shrieks of rage. And pain…

Bah. What the crap was wrong with him? For years, he’d managed to keep Pine Knoll out of his mind. Was Gawain’s presence dredging up these ugly memories?

Selecting a corner table far from the females, Owen turned his back and put his feet up on the windowsill. Nibbling on the muffin, he gazed out the window at the huge flagstone patio. The small playground Zeb had built was empty of cubs. On the far right, Zeb’s latest project, a built-in seat wall, curved around what would eventually be a circular fire pit. Down the grassy slope was a gurgling creek where silvery undines swam in a flashing game of tag beneath the footbridge. Past the creek, the dense forest sloped upward into the mountains.

The sound of footsteps caught his attention, and he glanced over his shoulder.

Carrying a cup of coffee, Gawain strolled into the room. It was still a surprise to see him as an adult, but grown up he was. Only a couple of inches short of Owen’s six-five, he had a full, neatly trimmed beard and wavy, light brown hair that reached surprisingly broad, muscular shoulders. Spotting Owen, he lifted his eyebrows in a silent question. Up for company?

Owen suppressed a grin as he shoved a chair out with his foot. Whereas Owen had the manners of a tactless dwarf, Gawain could be as courteous as their high Fae ancestors were reputed to have been.

Yeah, he’d missed his littermate over the years.

As Gawain crossed the room, the giggling from the corner began again. If Owen’d been in animal form, his ears would have gone back. He shouldn’t be surprised the females had set their sights on Gawain since blademages were called by the Mother in the same way cahirs were called by the God. Females always pursued the God-chosen…whether they liked the male or not.

Owen studied his littermate. He and his siblings had been conceived during a full moon Gathering, which meant they had different fathers, appearances, and personalities. With light brown hair and fair skin, Gawain looked and acted like a sociable, easygoing Scottish laird. Owen’s father probably had Latino blood—and perhaps the sociability of a wolverine, although Owen might have developed that trait all on his own.

As Gawain took a seat, Owen eyed him. “Maybe you should sit somewhere else.”

“What?”

“With a cahir and a blademage at one table, how long before a female approaches to see if we want to fuck, even though the Gathering is over?”

Gawain shook his head. “You’ve grown rather cynical, brawd.”

“Maybe.” Owen’s mouth tightened. Maybe he’d been more optimistic at birth—before their mother showed her hatred. Or before Edwyn’s death when Owen had left with Bonnie and not returned. “Cynicism grows with experience.”

Gawain took a sip of his coffee and glanced at the covey of females. “I don’t mind being pursued. And Cold Creek’s females are impressive.”

“Nah, the females resemble those in other territories.” Unmated males were urged to sow their seed in more than one territory, and Owen had done his share of traveling.

“In appearance, yes. But your Cosantir draws a high percentage of shifters with intelligence, flexibility, and acceptance into his territory.”

Huh. “I try not to talk with the females I mate,” Owen muttered. “But Calum is an unusual Cosantir.”

“You try not to…” Gawain stared at him and shook his head. “Brawd, you worry me.”

A scream of laughter sliced through their conversation as the females’ voices rose.

“The healer adores big breasts.” The buxom brunette cupped her breasts and bounced them. “Just think. He’s got a nice house and money. I’d be set for life.”

“Poor Donal,” Owen muttered. “The predators are circling him like hawks after a chicken.”

“I’d rather have one of the cahirs.” The blonde fluffed her hair.

“Fat chance,” the brunette told her. “The only unmated cahir left is that brown-haired one who never talks. He might be all right if he had a lot of money, but…”

“Owen’s nice.” The youngest bounced in her seat. “He liked me. I know it.”

The brunette sniffed. “I doubt it. That cahir doesn’t…” Her voice trailed off as she obviously remembered he was in the room.

When the females turned to look, Owen curled his lip in a snarl. “I’ll let the males in town know you three are out for money and a house—and that, in my opinion, they might as well fuck a human.”

They were shocked silent at the coarse insult.

He scowled at the youngest female, a slender redhead he’d mated with last night. “And I don’t like you; I don’t like any female. Unfortunately, I have no choice but to fuck you vultures one night of every month.”