Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(33)

“Her control is normal for having her first trawsfur only a week ago”—Gawain grinned—“although she’s more frustrated than a pixie unable to reach a flower.”

“She is.” Owen snorted. “Most new shifters expect they’ll screw up. Not being a youngster, Darcy figured she’d be perfect by now.”

Gawain studied Calum. “Owen mentioned your mate was human before the Death Gift transformed her to Daonain. Did being an adult speed up her control over shifting?”

Owen blinked. Good question.

“Victoria achieved control quickly, but it wasn’t due to her age,” Calum answered. “Years as a soldier gave her a superb mastery over her body, which extended to her ability to shift. Breanne, however, went through much of what Darcy is experiencing.”

“Darcy will get there, even if not fast enough to suit her.” Owen’s lips twitched. The female was fun to watch when she got frustrated. He took a sip of his coffee. “You wanted to see me, Cosantir?”

“Aye. I want to discuss where you live.”

“My cabin?” Owen frowned. What was wrong with his place? The Cosantir had visited a couple of times in the past years and admired it. Had even helped Owen learn to brew his own beer.

“Not your cabin, but the location.”

“Owen showed me on a map where his place is.” Gawain shook his head. “Insane cat. Admittedly, I don’t want my den side-by-side with someone else’s, but a dozen miles of wilderness seems excessive. I’d rather be able to stroll down to a tavern or restaurant in the evening.”

Owen sighed. He’d hoped Gawain would come and live with him. Littermates belonged together. Silently, he absorbed the disappointment.

“Your cabin is far away, cahir, and I have a couple of concerns.” The Cosantir’s gaze rested on Owen. “Yesterday, on Main Street, some shifters found a hellhound’s scent.”

“Yesterday?” Gawain straightened. “I thought they only appeared when it’s moonless.”

Owen’s gut hardened. “They shift to their hellhound form only at the dark of the moon; they’re in human form otherwise. This one could be scouting Cold Creek and targeting vulnerable shifters.” The thought was worrying. Although the cahirs patrolled on moonless nights, if a hellhound was prepared, his prey might die before help arrived.

Calum frowned. “And even in human form, the demon-dog might attack someone. Violence trails a hellhound like a coyote after a lame rabbit.”

Owen nodded. The Cosantir was right to be worried. “You said you had two concerns?”

“Aye. In addition to a hellhound in town, there is the danger of the Scythe. Darcy’s former captors are undoubtedly searching for her.”

“But her trackers were removed,” Gawain said.

Calum nodded. “However, if they have any suspicion she was rescued, their experience with Dogwood will point them toward the closest wilderness areas. This territory.”

“You want me to move into town,” Owen said slowly.

“I do.” Rather than trying to persuade him, Calum walked away to fill another order.

Owen swirled his coffee, gazing into the black liquid. After years of peace, Cold Creek was being threatened by multiple foes. He was a cahir—called by Herne the Hunter to defend the Daonain and given increased strength and size to do so. He’d seen what was left after a hellhound attacked a shifter—gore, shattered bones, and eviscerated corpses.

It seemed that being several hours away from the people he was guarding was…no longer possible.

“I don’t like living in towns,” he muttered. He loved his isolated cabin. No power lines, no phones, no cars—

“Aren’t you supposed to defend your people?” The question came from behind him.

—and no females. Recognizing the smoky voice as Darcy’s, Owen turned. “What did you say?”

“You’re a cahir, right?” When Darcy set her hands on her hips, Owen felt his muscles tense. Now would come the screaming, hitting, and throwing things.

Rather than rising to a shriek, her sultry voice lowered. “The Scythe are searching for shifters. Do you want to come back and find your town burned to the ground? All the Daonain gone? What’s wrong with you?” She gripped his arm and actually tried to shake him.

He plucked her hand from his arm and held it—and her—in place. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t move. I said I don’t like towns. I’ll be moving here.” He glanced at Gawain. “Females. Always jumping to hasty conclusions.”

Darcy made an annoyed sound.

“Mmmhmm. You making a remark like that? Sounds like the ocean calling a lake wet.” Gawain’s smile faded, and he hesitated. “Ah…I’ve missed you, brawd. Since you’re moving to town, want to get a house with me? Try living together?”

“Yeah.” The answer came so easily Owen knew he’d been burying his feelings deeper than he would his own scat. Sharing a room at the lodge with his littermate was comfortable. Home-like. No, better—since they’d never had what could be called a home. There was no stress in being with Gawain, just familiarity. “As long as we can find something near the edge of town.”

Gawain nodded. “Aye. And I need a place for smithing. We’ll find something that works.”