Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(57)

His honest, steady blue eyes met hers. And when he smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, she could only smile back.


After the little cat had relaxed and started to talk with Donal, Gawain wandered away to collect wood for the fire Tynan was building. The cop shifter wore a magicked blade similar to Gawain’s, but also carried a pen-sized ferrocerium fire starter rod in the sheath. Good thing since this was going to be a long cold night. In animal form, they’d have been comfortable, but flirting, choosing, and mating were done in the human form. Since no one had clothing, a fire was a necessity.

Strolling through the trees, Owen appeared with an armload of firewood.

“Are you through acting like a bee-stung badger?” Gawain asked. “You almost had her crying.”

Owen flinched. “I know.” He dumped the stack of wood into Gawain’s arms.

“Thanks.” Gawain shifted the awkward mess to a better balance. “I assume you were listening.” In feline form, Owen would have been able to hear every word.

“Aye and looked, too. Her paws are raw, fur’s bloodied. She was just trying her best to save her friends and family—and she sure doesn’t understand the dangers, let alone what the Cosantir might do. We should have explained better.” Owen scrubbed his face. “I owe her an apology.”

Owen had the temper of a moose, but his sense of fairness was as reliable as moonrise and moonset. “’Fraid so. Are you going to rejoin us?”

“Eventually. I’ll pretend to guard the camp for a while yet.”

“Why?” They both knew there was no need for a sentry, not this far into the wilderness.

Owen glanced toward the stream. “Her emotions are already a tangle—I’m not a good choice for her first mating.”

“Heh—you’re assuming she’d pick you at all.”

His littermate snorted…with good reason. Like starving wolves, females in heat pursued all the God-chosen—cahirs, Cosantirs, healers, and blademages. Then Owen grinned. “Or she might well decide she hates the God-touched. In which case, Tynan will have her favors, and you’ll have an aching dick.”

Gawain laughed and felt the stretch of the Goddess’s scar on his cheekbone. “Cantankerous cat.”

“Lethargic lion.”

Gawain paused for the next voice to chime in—but no, Edwyn had returned to the Mother. There would never again be a childish, three-part insult-fest. With an effort, he pushed the ache of loss away. One brother was gone, but he had Owen back again.

Owen slapped his arm and motioned toward the clearing. “Go on, brawd. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Later then.” Gawain headed back. A shame they wouldn’t be together later. It had been decades since he’d shared a female with his littermate, and he’d been looking forward to the Cold Creek Gathering. But tonight wouldn’t be the time—not with a new female to tend.

Yet, as he walked away, he felt closer to Owen than he had since Edwyn’s death.

In the clearing, Tynan had built a fire in the hollow area left by an aged, fallen tree. The massive root ball served to reflect the warmth of the flames to the three around it.

Although a log had been dragged over, Darcy was sitting in the grass with Tynan and Donal sprawled on each side of her. She looked better. Donal had apparently healed her deeper cuts and scrapes.

As Gawain dumped his firewood into the nearby pile, Darcy jumped. Her face was flushed, her lips redder than normal.

Even as a needy hum started to simmer in his blood, he noticed the heavy circle of the moon rising above the forests. “How are you doing, catling?”

A shiver shook her, and goosebumps rose on her skin. “Um…”

Gawain frowned. If merely the sound of his voice caused a response, she was well taken with the heat. He glanced at Donal, surprised neither of the males had led her to the tiny mating area they’d created.

“Tynan and I waited, in case she wanted to start with her mentor,” Donal said softly.

Gawain blinked. Setting aside the instinct to compete for a female’s favors in favor of keeping her comfortable showed impressive control as well as kindness.

“That was a generous thought.” Gawain pushed down his own need to fight the others, to prove himself worthy of mating this beautiful cat. As the other males rose, he stepped to Darcy’s right side, leaving room for them.

Under the silvery moonlight, Tynan knelt in front of Darcy with Donal to his left.

“Sweetling,” Gawain murmured and went down on one knee on the other side. “I love seeing you in the moonlight.”

Darcy’s hair streamed down her back like a midnight river, and he ran his hand over it. Thick as a winter pelt. Her big eyes were wells of darkness as she looked at him. When he stroked the wayward locks from her face, he heard her swift inhalation.

“Gawain,” she whispered. “I feel so strange.”

His imagination tried to give him an idea of what she must be feeling. He knew it was something akin to what a male felt when he wanted a female and discovered she was interested in him. Perhaps very similar to what he felt now as his cock rose and throbbed with urgency, as the skin on his body felt abraded, as his palms itched to run over her soft curves. Shoving his need down, he glanced at Tynan.

The cop nodded and took Darcy’s hand.