Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(31)

Unable to resist, she stroked his head. Short, plush fur, prickly whiskers.

He purred, low and beautiful.

“Back up, brawd, and let her shift,” Owen said.

Right. She needed to trawsfur. Okay, then. First, find the door. Darcy looked inside her mind and found the dark wooden door, now clear of any barriers. But would she be able to open it? She had to do this correctly. Carefully. Not mess it up. Really, it should be simple. Walk to the door in her head. Find the—

“Darcy. Less thinking, more action.” Owen’s voice held impatience.

Honestly, didn’t he know things needed to be done properly? That people got…hurt…if others lost control and simply acted? But she could do this. Pull open the door.

Take a step.

As she changed, the full force of the Mother’s love hit her, flowing up from the ground, through her paws…so achingly beautiful her heart swelled.

When she lifted her head, she saw Owen had trawsfurred as well. Although taller, he was sleeker than Gawain and moved with a lethal, predatory grace. Gawain’s pelt held a few claw and bite marks from fighting. Owen’s darker fur showed so many scars she wanted to weep for the pain he must have endured.

The cahir had fought and survived—and grown only more deadly. The knowledge should have made her fearful.

Instead, when he stalked over to her and put a big paw on top of her neck, she sank to the ground, curving her neck as if in invitation. What…what had she just done? Yet the purr filling the air was her own.

Owen rubbed his furry chin over the top of her head. When his deep, rough purr joined her own, the sound filled the gaps in her heart. His raspy tongue smoothed the fur behind her right ear.

Gawain chuffed at him, as if laughing.

Owen turned. His tail lashed, once, twice, and he sprang at Gawain.

No! Don’t fight! Darcy danced in anxiety as the panthers rolled on the ground.

Gawain’s hind paws scrabbled at Owen’s pale belly fur. Only…his claws were sheathed. They rolled again and leaped apart, curveting away from each other in a sideways dance, which was as funny as it was graceful.

Playing. They were playing. They’d probably had mock-fights since their first shift at thirteen or so.

Regret seeped into her. She, Patrin, and Fell should have spent the last decade learning how to be cougars. Playing games and pouncing on each other. Fell would have been awesome at hide and seek. Patrin loved heights and would have lurked on low branches. Her? Undoubtedly, she’d have gotten caught up trailing something, and they’d both have ambushed her.

Because of the Scythe, they’d missed all that.

But she’d get them free. She would.


Turning to look at her, Owen chirruped and trotted forward, taking an almost invisible trail through the brush. She glanced at Gawain.

He waited for her to go next.

All right then.

As she trotted across the space, she realized they’d been right. She did feel better, just from trawsfurring. Happily, she leapt after Owen in long bounds.

Soon, the undergrowth hid him almost completely. All she could see were occasional flashes of movement, a flash of dark ochre fur, and the black tip of his tail.

He disappeared entirely.

She stopped and looked around.

Joining her, Gawain made a huh-huh sound. He was laughing at her.

Her ears flattened, and his huff grew louder. He shifted smoothly to human form and stood straight. “You kept him in sight longer than I thought you would. But Owen’s better than anyone I know at disappearing. Alec, one of his cahir partners, calls him ghost cat.”

Her tail lashed. Weren’t they supposed to be running together? He’d cheated.

“This is a lesson, Darcy.” Gawain’s voice was patient. “What should you do when your prey disappears?”

She stared at him. Oh. In Seward Park, when she’d stalked a rodent, it had faded into the brush. She never did find it.

She shook her head to show she didn’t know the answer to his question.

“Learn to use your other senses. You see, the human form relies almost entirely on sight. As a cat, you’ll want to use your nose and ears, as well.” He grinned. “The lesson on whiskers will come later.”

Whiskers? She realized she could feel the long, stiff hairs on her muzzle. Could move them. Could—

“Can you hear anything moving?” Gawain tilted his head. “Point your ears and listen.”

Her ears swiveled obediently forward and sideways. The rustle came from something tiny—maybe a mouse or shrew. The wind stirred the tops of the conifers. Bird song came from farther away, probably by the creek. There was the smack of an axe against wood from someone cutting firewood.

Nothing related to Owen. Giving up, she looked up at Gawain. Was she missing something?

“I can’t hear him either,” Gawain said, easing her worry. “Use your nose. You should know his scent.” The male grinned. “He rubbed it on you before we split up.”

Oh. Both males had, and she’d recognize them anywhere now, whether human or cat. Lifting her head, she inhaled, caught a whiff of bitter minerals and smoke, and wrinkled her nose.

Gawain’s eyebrows lifted, and he sniffed. “No, that’s not Owen. I’d guess there’s a dwarf hall around. Try again.”

This time, she caught something elusive on the wind.