Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(17)

Without any fear, his muscular brother lifted the cahir out of the car and to his feet.

Owen spotted her. “Can you make it, little female?” His tone was gruff, almost a snarl, and yet…despite his own pain, he was making sure she was all right.

Unable to answer any other way, she took a few steps forward.

“Good enough. Let’s go get patched up.” Leaning on his brother, he headed up the sidewalk.

In the front doorway waited a tall, lean male with chiseled features like sharp mountain cliffs. He had a tinted scar in the shape of a crescent moon on one cheek. A healer.

Surrounded by the God-touched, Darcy wanted to cower.

“Come on in, people.” The healer motioned them through the door. As Tynan came up the walk, the healer asked, “Are you coming home finally, brawd?”

Tynan clasped the healer’s forearm, and his flashing smile was unexpected. “I am not. I cannot even linger. Alec is driving me to Seattle before the humans notice my car’s been in the parking lot too long.”

Owen turned. “Thanks for the help, cop. I owe you one.”

Tynan’s voice took on an added Irish lilt. “Just keep an eye on this lost little female so she doesn’t stray back into danger.” He ruffled her fur gently, slapped his brother’s arm, and strode back to the street.

“Come, shifters. Let’s get this done.” The healer led her, Owen, and his brother Gawain into a pale green room with a tall rectangular table in the center. A long wooden bench ran along the wall by the door. The far end held sinks, counters, and cabinets.

Darcy limped in.

“Let’s take a look at you, cat.” The healer crouched in front of her and scowled. “What in the God’s green forest did you do to yourself?”

At the anger in his voice, she tried to retreat—and bumped into Owen who stood directly behind her with his brother.

Owen growled low and mean, and Darcy cringed. She shouldn’t have—

“You’re right, cahir. I was rude.” The healer cupped her muzzle gently. “Sorry, female. I forget not everyone is used to my blunt ways. I’m Donal, the healer in Cold Creek.”

Owen hadn’t growled at her, but the healer. Why? Because he thought the healer had hurt her feelings? The sense of being cared for was so strange she wasn’t sure what to think.

Taking his time, the healer looked her over, and his mouth flattened. “That’s a bullet hole in your hind leg. And another across your ribs.”

“We will need information about how those injuries occurred.” The resonant, English-accented voice came from the doorway behind Darcy.

When she tried to turn, her legs failed. She sank to the floor, panting, and looked over her shoulder.

Silent as a panther, a male had entered the room. Black hair, gray eyes. Tall and lean. The air around him crackled with power.

“Cosantir. Good timing.” Donal inclined his head and rose.

A Cosantir. Dread constricted Darcy’s lungs. In the city, humans had known she was a shifter and chased her. Would the Guardian of this territory listen to her—or banish her for putting the Daonain at risk?

She couldn’t explain, not in this form.

The Cosantir’s gaze met hers, and she could feel the wash of power. “When Owen called, he said you were unable to trawsfur back to human. Is that true?”

Would he kill her if she couldn’t?

She hated that she knew more about humans than about her own people. It was her brother’s fault for being such a blabbermouth that their mother had stopped talking about the Daonain.

The Cosantir was still waiting for her answer. Shifters “shift,” and she couldn’t. She was…defective. Her head lowered in shame.

“Hmm.”

She could feel his gaze on her. He took a seat on the bench against the wall, and she eased herself around to face him.

“There’s a door—something akin to a door—in the back of your mind,” he said. “Can you see it at all?”

Oh, she could. The door was overgrown and blocked with vines. How many hours had she spent tearing at those vines with mental claws? Her ears flicked in an unspoken affirmative.

“Will the door open?”

She shook her head.

“I see.” He leaned forward, put his hand under her muzzle, and lifted her head. “Look at me, little female.” His soft voice held a ruthless command she couldn’t oppose.

Her gaze met his.

His eyes were darkening, turning black—black meant something, she knew. She tried to pull back, but his grip tightened. There was no escape possible. His voice deepened. No one could fail to recognize the infinite voice of the God. “Trawsfur.”

The power he held blazed into her, filled her mind with terrifying flames. The vines holding the door shut shriveled and turned to ash. As the door banged open, a gust of wind and heat pushed her through.

Her head spun, and she gasped for air. Her arms collapsed, dropping her to her elbows. Elbows. She opened her eyes and stared at her hands. Dirty, scratched…hands. “I’m human.”

“Aye.” The Cosantir’s voice was grim. “Now, turn around, find the door, and trawsfur back to cat. On your own.”

No. She never wanted to go back to being a cat. What if she got stuck again? She stared at him. “B-b-but…”