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

It was a shame she didn’t have the skills to use the route. Then again, she couldn’t. If the Scythe didn’t have her as hostage to keep her brothers in line, they’d kill Fell and Patrin.

Focus on today, tinker. Don’t think about what can’t be.

After doing routine maintenance and running the emergency generator, she went into the equipment building to work on the chainsaw. Gathering oil, lubricants, and sharpeners, she set the chainsaw on the table and started to work.

She’d barely finished sharpening the chain when a foul scent came through the door. Darcy tensed and glanced over her shoulder.

Huber. The human who’d raped Fenella. Hatred roared up within her.

Sneering, the guard swaggered into the building and pulled his cane. “Slacking off again? Lazy cunt.” The blow sliced across her shoulders, her cheap cotton shirt providing no cushion.

The long line of pain flared. Gritting her teeth, she didn’t move.

Huber’s smile was ugly with pleasure—and frustration. “The Director might let you run around like a real person, but we all know you’re just an animal. A freak. One of these days you’ll fuck up, and then I’ll deal with you.”

She didn’t answer. His open lust nauseated her, but he wasn’t allowed to do more than beat her.

A decade ago, after he’d molested Fenella, the girl’s male littermates visited, went berserk with rage, and killed human after human before being shot down. With the loss of the littermate bonds, Fenella turned feral and attacked the Director himself. Unwilling to risk losing more shifter-soldiers, sex with shifter females was prohibited.

And this human male salved his thwarted lust with violence instead.

When he drew back for another swing, Darcy dodged and ran outside where those in the gardens, including the other guards, could see her. As a handyman, she was useful enough the Director wouldn’t want her incapacitated.

Huber knew it. With an annoyed sound, he followed her. “Fucking unnatural freaks.” Backhanding her to her knees, he attached the cane to his weapons belt and sauntered past her to continue his rounds.

The desire to tear at him with claws was a furious drumming in her blood. Her fingers curled…uselessly. She had no claws.

Had never shifted.

She couldn’t trawsfur to animal form; none of the females could. The sense of loss drained away her anger.

When captured, she’d been twelve years old, wondering what animal she would be when she first shifted. She didn’t know what her father had been, but she’d hoped to be a cougar like her mother.

She had daydreamed of running the forest trails with a beloved lifemate on each side, dancing in the moonlit meadows, and playing tag the tail. She’d live in a big house with her mates, all sleeping in a pile in a huge bed. And she’d someday swell with their cublings. She’d known she would be cherished and protected and in turn, would give her mates all the love in her heart and soul.

But her dreams of a sunlit forest trail had turned to an ugly concrete road. One she would travel alone.

Even if she were free, even if she could shift, she would never lifemate. Love required trust. The starry-eyed cub had matured into a scarred, realistic survivor.

The only person she could count on in life was herself.

*

Lights were out, and each female’s cell door was locked. In her tiny space, Darcy sweated as she completed another set of squats. From watching the guards’ daily sparring sessions, she’d learned how to exercise, how to fight, and the very best curse words. From working on equipment around the human hostages, she’d learned current slang.

Her legs trembled as her muscles failed on the last squat—one less than she’d completed last week. Each week she lost more strength.

Why did she keep trying? The other females had given up hope.

But, as her mum had often said, Darcy was a tomfool tinker—and she never gave up.

Using the jackknife she kept hidden in her sock, she manipulated the old-fashioned window lock until it clicked open. Thanks to frequent waxing, her third-floor window slid up silently.

The security lights had come on at dusk, flooding the wide front lawn. Thank the Mother, she had a room in the rear where the spot lighting illuminated only the sidewalks and patches of the perimeter fence. The ivy-covered manor walls lay in darkness.

After shoving the jackknife back in her sock, she looked up. Black clouds covered the almost full moon.

What nice sneaking weather you have, tinker.

Carefully, she climbed onto the narrow ledge and gripped one of the vines covering the aged brick walls. After a forceful tug to check if the ivy would hold her weight, she swung out and curled her legs around the sturdy trunk. Vine by vine, she worked her way along the wall before moving downward to the second floor. The staff apartments.

She passed the library window and hesitated. Book lust caught her every time. But no, she’d already “borrowed” every book in there at least once. And it was too dark to read now anyway. Summer was the best season when the days were long enough to read far into the evening.

But it was fall, and she had snooping to do. She climbed to the window outside Director’s lounge.

Soundlessly, she balanced on the ledge and peered in.

In the sitting area, Director sat across from the visitor. An older, rotund, balding human, Director was in charge of the entire prìosan.

Darcy didn’t know Director’s real name. High status Scythe used simply their titles or ranks.