Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(34)

A tug made him realize he was still holding the female’s hand.

Her eyes were the darkness of a lake at midnight…and narrowed. At him.

“You’re glaring at me, little cat.” By Herne’s holy antlers, she was pretty when she was pissed-off. He had to say, it was refreshing not to be treated like a stud male…or feared. “Are you still angry with me for finding your hiding place this morning?”

“For finding me? No. For knocking me into the creek? Oh, yes.” The fiery snap in her voice made him grin. The screech she’d let out had been amazing and then she’d lost control and shifted to human. Fuck, she’d been angry. Yet her voice had never risen above a whisper as she spewed a stream of very interesting human curses.

She tugged on her hand again. “Please let go.” Even now, her voice was low and polite.

Her personality was remarkably restrained. Why did that spark a perverse need to shake her up? Rather than releasing her, he kept her hand imprisoned. Such a delicate hand, and yet her fingers held calluses that spoke of hard work.

“Darcy, thank you for coming.” The Cosantir smiled at her before glancing at Owen, then her hand in an unspoken order.

Well, scat. His fun was over. He opened his hand.

Moving closer to Gawain, she cast Owen a fulminating look. With her strong personality, it was easy to forget her size. And whenever she was steaming mad? He could swear she grew almost a foot.

Still left her a fuck of a lot shorter than he was.

Wisely holding back laughter, Gawain winked at him before asking, “Darcy, are you in the mood for some coffee?”

“I…” She pushed her annoyance aside with impressive skill. “Sure. I’d love coffee.” Her smile curved her cheeks, created dimples beside her mouth, and totally transformed her face.

He realized interest hummed in his blood, and he was watching her as a male would a female he wanted to mate.

No. Owen stomped on the emotion with a ruthless paw. Absolutely not. Maybe if she chose him at a Gathering, he’d enjoy her favor then. And only then.


Darcy caught the dawning masculine appreciation in Owen’s gaze before his expression went blank and his eyes shuttered. The loss seized her before she regained some common sense.

She didn’t want to attract a male. This wasn’t the time or place. There probably would never be a time or place. She couldn’t afford to rely on a mate—or anyone. Not really. She’d learned to stand on her own two feet…and now she had four paws. Four paws were wonderfully stable, far better than feet any day.

Well, they would be more reliable if she could regulate when she had paws and when she had feet. Honestly, inadvertently shifting was—

“Here you go.” Gawain set a cup in front of her and slid the cream and sugar closer. “Owen said you hunted well this morning.”

She couldn’t have asked for a better opening. “I did. In fact,”—her attention turned to the Cosantir—“I’m ready to go search for my brothers and the shifter-soldier compound.”

“Indeed. Are you in control of your shifting?”

Under the Cosantir’s level gray gaze, she couldn’t lie. Getting dumped into cold water had made her trawsfur. And just this morning, she’d rolled out of bed, landed on four paws, and realized she’d changed in her sleep. She shook her head. “Soon, though.”

She couldn’t wait forever. “Cosantir, the male villagers—the shifter-soldiers—must be told about the hidden trackers right away. Since the males visit the female littermates every few months, they—”

“Why the visits?” Owen asked. “Why show captives that mercy?”

Mercy? Darcy’s laugh came out bitter. “Not mercy. The Scythe think they have to let us visit. You see, humans can’t feel their bonds to family or lovers. If they’re parted too long, apparently the love dies. So, the shifter-soldiers visit the prison to ensure each male continues to love his sister and won’t put her at risk by trying to break free or refusing an order. It also proves to the males their sisters are still captives.”

“Clever and effective.” Gawain tilted his head at Owen. “Face it, we’d do just about anything to keep Bonnie from being hurt.”

Owen looked like he’d bitten into a sour huckleberry. “Yeah.”

“When the males visit the prìosan in two to three months, my brothers won’t find me there. They’ll revolt—and the Scythe will kill them.” The thought made her breathing go all funny, and she closed her eyes.

Her hair was given a stern tug. “Stay human, Darcy,” Owen growled.

She froze, realizing that, in her mind, she’d opened the door to the wild. Had been about to trawsfur. Appalled, she slammed the door shut and edged away.

When she looked up, Gawain’s hand was on her back. Owen’s fingers were wound in her hair, keeping her from doing something stupid.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

With a grim nod, Owen released her hair and moved back.

Well, that sure showed the Cosantir she couldn’t leave yet. Her breath escaped in a long unhappy sigh.

Gawain squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll get better, catling.”

“Tynan is searching for the property where Darcy was held,” Calum told Owen. “But she couldn’t give much of a description of the location or property. Two three-story houses surrounded by a high stone wall. Somewhere in Seattle to the west of Lake Washington.”