Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(11)

The younger one burst into tears and fled…followed by the other two.

“By the Goddess, Owen.” Gawain shoved to his feet. “What is wrong with you?”

Guilt made Owen growl as he stood. “Did you hear them? Donal deserves better. Fuck, even I deserve better.”

“You made that little female cry.” Gawain grabbed his arm and yanked him forward. “You can’t—”

“Back off, brawd.” Owen slammed his palm against his brother’s chest.

Gawain staggered back, knocked over a chair, and regained his balance. “You mindless moose.” Head down, he charged Owen, his head impacting Owen’s sternum. Painfully. A table and chairs crashed under their weight.

As Owen broke free and nailed Gawain in the jaw, Shay shouted from across the room. “By the God, stop!”

Not a chance. Adrenaline crooned a battle song in Owen’s ears. He hadn’t had a good fight—a fun fight—with anyone in years. A grin pulled at his mouth—until Gawain’s fist wiped it away.

Scat on the trail. When had his brother learned to punch?

Blinking away the swirling stars, Owen spat, “Flabby feline, that the best you can do?” Readying an attack, he spotted a tall, dark-haired, olive-skinned, leanly muscular man at the kitchen door.

It was Calum. Oh fuck.

How long had the Cosantir been watching? “Stop, brawd.”

Gawain halted. Looked. His hand relaxed, and he took a step back.

“Sorry,” Owen said under his breath.

Gawain nodded, and a corner of his mouth curved up. Slow to ignite, the blademage’s temper was hotter than the fire in his forge, but his anger died quickly, and he held no grudges.

Owen’s anger didn’t contain as much heat, but could take hours…days…to disappear.

Then there was Calum. The God-called guardian of the North Cascades Territory kept firm control over his temper, and his anger was as icy as the glaciers covering the highest mountain peaks.

Gawain’s fury could be intimidating. Calum’s wrath was deadly.

Might as well see how badly his whiskers were about to be trimmed. Owen gave a slight bow and attempted a smile. “Good morrow, Cosantir. Do you remember my littermate, Gawain? He’s a blademage from Pine Knoll in Mt. Hood Territory.”

Calum’s normally gray eyes were dark with the presence of the God.

Owen heard his littermate make a soft sound at the impact of the black gaze.

“I remember Gawain,” Calum said.

“Cosantir,” Gawain acknowledged quietly.

Calum’s faint English accent grew terser with his anger. “Three females ran from the room.”

By Herne’s hairy balls, females were more trouble than anything on the planet. What was he supposed to say? I’m sorry would be a lie. “They annoyed me.”

“Nia was crying.”

The youngest one. “She boasted that I liked her. She lied.”

Calum’s voice held a chill that matched his eyes. “If a young one has only experienced a Gathering or two, she might misread a mating for something more. Childish boasting is harmless. Even if irritated, an honorable adult doesn’t cut down a tree to move a branch out of his path.”

No argument could stand up. As Calum had noted, the female was young and inexperienced. Owen bowed his head. “I was overly harsh.”

The evenness of Calum’s voice was more menacing than a shout. “You are often overly harsh with the females. You may well regret your intolerance when you try to win a mate.”

Owen stared at him. “I will never lifemate.”

Calum lifted a brow. Rather than answering, he appraised the room, and Owen winced. Several chairs were busted. A painting lay on the floor, the frame broken. “It seems you are also angry with your littermate,” Calum said. “Was there a reason?”

He hadn’t done anything right this morning. “Not really, Cosantir.”

An eyebrow rose. “Indeed. Aside from females, your judgment of people tends to be quite accurate. If you dislike your littermate so much, should I drive him from my territory?”

For Herne’s sake.

Beside Owen, Gawain stiffened—and stood his ground.

“No, Cosantir. My brother is a fine shifter. Strong and honorable. A talented blademage. We simply have a history which lies uneasily between”—no, that wasn’t right—“with me.”

Gawain looked over and a corner of his mouth lifted, his emotions right there on his face for everyone to see. How could they have been birthed by the same female?

Calum’s eyes narrowed. “History shouldn’t become a weight tied to a shifter’s tail.” His attention turned to Gawain. “I’ve heard you and your Cosantir are at odds.”

Gawain probably had cause. Last Beltane, Owen had watched the Pine Knoll Cosantir acting the fool.

Calum looked at Owen. “Cahir, you have risked your life for our people. I won’t invite someone here who makes you unhappy.”

Unhappy. That wasn’t what he felt when his brother was around. Not any longer. Owen collected his laggard wits and offered his Cosantir the truth of his heart. “I would be pleased to have Gawain here. I would also be pleased to punch him when he annoys me.”

The darkness disappeared from the Cosantir’s eyes, and his quicksilver grin appeared. “That seems clear enough. Gawain, the North Cascades Territory could use a blademage. You are welcome to move here.”