Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(70)

As Owen leaned over the counter to talk quietly, Gawain glanced around the store…and spotted a coffee machine. Just what he needed after the long night. He nodded toward the machine, caught Owen’s unspoken request for his own cup, and moved away.

As he walked between bookshelves toward the rear, the scent of a human reached him…along with the stink of gun oil. Was one of the Scythe weasels in the store?

Gawain rolled his shoulders, stopped to peruse a shelf of mysteries, and pulled one out. He raised his voice. “Hey, bro, would you believe I found the mystery you wanted?”

He could hear the stunned silence before Owen called back. “Is the sequel there, too?”

Gawain could only scent one male and see only one shadow at the end of the shelving, unmoving. Undoubtedly, Thorson would confirm. “Nope. Want this one?”

“Nah, I hate cliffhangers. I’ll wait for the next and buy them both.”

What was the all-purpose word the humans used? “Whatever.” After replacing the book, Gawain continued toward the coffee. If he needed to fight, he wanted caffeine first. Then again, having an enemy so close had certainly accelerated his heart—because the human was after Darcy. My Darcy.

At the coffee machine, he glanced back. Owen still stood at the counter, and the fury in his gaze was more than a cahir’s protective anger.

The catling was rapidly becoming our Darcy.

As Gawain set a cup under the spout, the human approached. About five-eleven and bulky with muscle. His brown hair was cut short. His posture was that of an aggressive young wolf, eagerness to fight in every movement. His smile didn’t reach his cold brown eyes. “How’s the coffee?”

Gawain tasted the dark roast. He’d seen a coffee advertisement last week. What was the name? Star Stags? No. “It’s not Starbucks, but it’s good.”

“Great.” The human picked up a cup. “I’m lookin’ for work. You know anyone hiring around here?”

Clever, wasn’t he? Job-hunting would permit him to ask plenty of questions. “Bad timing, I’m afraid. Tourist season is winding down, and most positions here are seasonal.”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought about winter coming.” The man picked up his drink and eyed Gawain. “You don’t look like a shopkeeper. You a logger or something?”

Gawain smiled easily. “Blacksmith, actually. I sell ironworks to the tourist shops.”

“Wouldn’t you sell more if you were closer to Seattle?”

“Some stores there carry my work, but”—how nice he had a logical reason—“there are fewer regulations way out here and less expensive licensing fees for running a forge.”

The man’s interest in him visibly died. “Yeah, no one wants to pay for licenses.”

As Gawain returned to the front, he noted Thorson had disappeared and Owen stood behind the counter. Why the switch? Gawain raised his eyebrows.

Silently, Owen turned his hands over, showing the almost unscarred backs.

Of course. The owner had distinctive werecat scarring. He’d probably grown up somewhere with no healer. The Scythe might have noted similar scars on their captives.

Owen raised his voice slightly. “The old fool’s feeling sick and asked me to watch the counter.”

“Fool?” Gawain picked up the obvious hint.

“The idiot had supper at Angie’s Diner last night. I’ve warned him before about eating there.”

Gawain choked. “If she hears you say that, she’ll be pissed.” Yeah, she’d rip out Owen’s throat out with her bare teeth.

His brother’s eyes lit. Damn cahir was addicted to risk, wasn’t he?

“Now what?” Gawain asked under his breath. Keep the weasel here? Let him leave? Kill him? Gawain had never killed a human, but he was open to new and intriguing experiences.

“Patience, brawd.” Owen pretended to fiddle with papers on the counter.

Patience it was. Leaning on the counter, Gawain rambled about the weather, the football season, the increase in gas taxes. When painting the walls last week, he’d protected the floors with newspapers—and read the headlines.

After a few minutes, the weasel approached the counter with a book in his hand. “I’ll take this one.” He handed Owen a twenty.

Owen took the money and scowled, obviously realizing he had to get change from a cash register.

Technology and Owen…not a good combination. Gawain ducked under the counter, opened the old-fashioned register, and smirked at his littermate. “You should have taken a part-time job when you were younger like I did.”

Owen sneered. “Thank you, no.”

“You must be brothers. Which of you is older?” the human asked.

Gawain stiffened. Saying they were the same age would be a clue they were Daonain, wouldn’t it?

“I am,” Owen said easily. “By a couple of years.”

The bell rang as the bookstore door opened. Vicki strolled in, one hand on her bulging middle in the protective way pregnant women had. She had a shopping bag in her other hand. “Hey, guys.”

Truly, Calum and his littermate had hit gold with their mate—her smile brightened the room almost as well as Darcy’s did. She turned that lethal weapon on the weasel, and Gawain almost laughed when the human smiled back.

“Hi there,” Vicki said. “I haven’t seen you before. Are you touristing or a new resident?”