Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(116)

He hated to leave her, even for a few hours. After kissing her rosy lips so lightly she didn’t rouse, he rose and reluctantly pulled on his clothes.

Grumbling under his breath, Owen eyed him, then rolled off the bed and dressed. “No more early morning deliveries,” he muttered to Gawain.

“Agreed.” But Ryder was ready to bring over the furniture he’d built for the female bedroom. Over at Ben and Ryder’s, Owen had been working on the headboard every moment he could spare. It was time.

Darcy’s room—Darcy’s bed was finished.

Gawain tucked the covers around her. She liked sleeping with them; she’d said so.

The rest of the house was clean, furnished enough to live in, floors gleaming, walls ready to paint or wallpaper—ready for her. He glanced around the room, noting the vase displaying bright yellow and orange leafed branches, the myriad of candles, a bowl filled with pinecones. He wanted her living in their house, doing her nest making, adding the warmth of her touch.

When she joined them, their house would have a heart.

It was time to move out of the Wildwood Lodge. The cabins and interior rooms were filled with villagers who were assigned to Cold Creek as well as the injured shifters who needed Donal’s care.

He grinned at Owen who was pulling on his soft, high leather boots. “Let’s go get our cat her bed.”

Owen’s green eyes lit. “Aye.”

*

Later that day, Owen walked into the Wild Hunt with his brother. Behind them came Tynan and Donal. The tavern was more crowded than normal, considering it was only four in the afternoon. The Daonain were still discussing the past events and making plans for the future.

“Now there’s a lovely sight—one I haven’t seen since I left Ireland.” Tynan nodded to the left.

Owen followed his gaze.

Near the fireplace, Calum’s daughter Jamie held brown-haired Artair. Vicki sat beside her, feet up on the short game table.

Her face soft with delight, Darcy cuddled another cub with a golden fuzz of hair. Even though he’d seen the little tinker only a few hours before, his heart still lifted.

“Darcy’s here,” Gawain murmured in pleasure.

Owen moved closer, rubbing his shoulder against his littermate’s. Ours. Would she accept them? His hopes had risen. She’d been in their bed every night since the rescue.

“Joe’s going to have those cubs reading before they learn to talk.” Smiling, Donal pointed toward the window where the bookstore owner, Thorson, held Toren in his uninjured arm. As the grizzled old cat talked, the cub’s eyes were fixed on his face as if taking in every word.

“Aye, he will.” Chuckling, Owen glanced around.

Calum was behind the bar, his faint smile apparent as some shifter told a story, hands waving in the air. Having the Cosantir in his usual place was oddly heartening, indicating all was right with the world.

“Beer?” Donal asked Owen.

“In a bit. We have a female to harass first.”

Donal laughed and headed toward the bar with Tynan.

Owen followed Gawain toward Darcy.

When she saw them, the way she brightened sent his heart to bouncing like a mountain goat within his chest. Her loose black hair shimmered in the light from the window, and when he bent to kiss her, he couldn’t help running his fingers through the soft waves. She smelled of a light clean shampoo and her own feminine fragrance, and he nuzzled the curve between her shoulder and neck to savor the scent.

After collecting his own kiss, Gawain went down on his haunches beside the infant in her lap. With an expression of wonder, he carefully touched the infant’s round cheek. “She’s so tiny,” he murmured.

Seated next to Darcy on the couch, Owen stroked a finger over the cub’s hand—and was startled when the tiny fingers closed around his. “She’s got a grip on her.” He grinned at Vicki. “Takes after her mother, doesn’t she?”

Mother. The word no longer tasted like cinders in his mouth. Only a lingering sorrow remained.

“Sorcha is going to kick butt and take names.” Vicki bumped shoulders with Jamie. “She takes after her big sister.”

Jamie grinned. “Damn straight.”

Gawain glanced over at Vicki. “Do we know anything about what happened with the Scythe prison in Seattle?”

“Yep. Wells called with a report.” She smirked. “The manor where I was held was gutted by the fire. Nothing was recovered. The other manor isn’t in much better shape”

Owen grinned. He’d never seen anything burn as fast as those two houses. “Good to hear. What else?”

She continued, “The human hostages were quietly returned to their families, and the FBI is openly investigating. They think a hostage’s family must have hired a mercenary group.”

“That’s not far from the truth,” Gawain noted.

Vicki scowled. “Unfortunately, the person called Director wasn’t on the property at the time. He’s in the wind.”

When Darcy shivered, Owen put his arm around her. She’d tried to hide how much the fighting and death in Seattle had unsettled her. She was getting better and, by the God, it made him feel good when she’d said sleeping between him and Gawain drove away her nightmares.

“Any idea what will happen next with the Scythe?” Gawain asked Vicki.