Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(51)

Failed.

In open mockery, the sprite threw a couple of tiny twigs down on Darcy’s head.

She sprang.

Success!

Securely perched on the branch, Darcy flirted her tail in triumph and clawed the rough bark to leave her scent. Darcy was here.

Level with the sprite, Darcy wrinkled her nose—and watched the pixie pop back into its hole. Poor loser.

Warm sunlight streamed through the leafy canopy and, unwilling to leave her—her—branch behind, Darcy stretched out to nap. Eventually she’d go in. When she was ready, she had a mystery to read as well as a history book from Owen’s bookshelves. The cahir did enjoy his history. Gawain preferred fiction, especially thrillers, but he owned a ton of ethics and philosophy books. Darcy loved mysteries, but the prìosan library had been so small, she’d ended up reading every book there, no matter the subject.

What with their varied personalities and interests, she and her mentors had enjoyed some crazy discussions. Owen was a cynical pessimist with an overprotective attitude. Gawain, an optimist who delighted in people. She considered herself a realist…although Owen accused her of being a closet romantic.

Add in alcohol… Well, after the movie Casablanca ended, they’d spent hours debating how it should have ended.

Darcy still thought Ilsa should have joined the fight—with both Rick and Louie. She rubbed her chin against her forelegs and settled down for another few minutes, imagining the three of them, taking on the entire German army.

Sometime later, the sound of the back door roused her. To her dismay, Owen, Shay, and a huge male walked out onto the patio. The stranger apparently wanted to check out Zeb’s new fire pit and bench.

Oh, bloody scat.

If she moved, they’d spot her right away. But if she stayed still…since she could smell them, probably the wind wasn’t sending them her scent.

Please leave so I can get away. I won’t do this again. Promise.

“How’s the new cougar doing?” the big stranger asked. “Emma says she’s something special. Says she’s a tinker—a fixer.”

Aw. Pleased, Darcy rested her muzzle on her forelegs.

“A tinker, huh? That makes sense.” Owen rubbed his chin. “You know how no shifter messes with mechanical shit? She does. She’s as talented with machines as Gawain is with metals.”

Owen thought she was talented? A purr started in her throat.

“Yeah. Last week, while I was at a job site, she visited Emma and fixed our lawn mower.” The big stranger had a slow Texas drawl. “Gotta wonder though—are those humans going to come here looking for her? I’m fine with taking them on—it’d purely be a pleasure. But what’s the risk to Emma and Minette?”

Darcy felt her breathing stop. Had the Scythe been seen? Was she putting her friends—the town—in danger? Oh, no no no.

“Can’t say. The Cosantir is…” Owen straightened, sniffed, and turned. His gaze ran over the oak tree—and met hers.

Oh my Gods.

Mouth in a straight line, he stalked over to stare up at her. “Got a good explanation for being in this form at the lodge?”

How could she answer in panther form? With a huff of despair, she hung her head.

“Yeah, you should be ashamed.” He jerked his chin toward the side of the lodge. “Go shift, get dressed, and I want you on the patio in five minutes.” It was his displeased mentor voice—bossy, growly, rough.

The trouble was she fully deserved the scolding she’d get.

Turning, she jumped down and crept through the underbrush without disturbing the foliage. Normally, she’d be pleased with her improving skill. Right now, all she wanted to do was sneak off and hide.

Once dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, she took another minute to work her courage up before she could walk out onto the patio. She’d broken the rules.

The males were watching the undines play tag with a couple of young trout. Hearing her, Shay turned.

“I’m sorry, Shay.” She pulled in a breath. “The high branches defeated me, so I wanted to practice jumping to a low one, but I shouldn’t have done it anywhere close to the lodge.”

“Aye, you screwed up.” His normally friendly face was unreadable.

Owen’s arms were folded over his chest.

The strange male was…huge, taller than Shay and Owen by inches, and had even more muscles than Gawain. “That was pretty risky behavior, girl, especially with that bunch watchin’ for hints of you?” His voice was as low a rumble as Gawain’s, but with a Texas accent. He raised his hand.

Bracing for the blow, she turned her head and closed her eyes.

No blow came.

“By the God of the Hunt.” His appalled voice was as soft as the wind from the south. “Li’l cat, I’ve never hit a female in all my born days.”

She opened her eyes, feeling creaky, as if someone had forgotten to oil her joints. Her voice sounded creaky, too. “I’m sorry. Just…reflex.”

His massive hand was still in the air, and he slowly lowered it to her shoulder—what he’d obviously planned to do all along. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze before he dropped his hand and stepped back. “Darlin’, I just wanted to ask you to be more careful. We’ll”—he motioned to himself and the others—“defend you, but—”