Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(72)

“Another damn human? I’ll have to fumigate the place.”

“You’re just stewing that the spymaster beat your furry ass at chess last month.” Owen grinned at Gawain. “The two play every time Wells is in town.”

“At least he can play. You cubs lack the patience for a decent game,” Thorson said.

Chess? Mother and Hunter, but it’d been a while. Gawain smiled. “I have an adequate amount of patience.”

Thorson gave him a skeptical stare. “You any good?”

Gawain ignored Owen’s snort and said mildly, “Fair.”

The old werecat grunted. “You’re on. Anytime during store hours.” Thorson rested his scarred-up hand on Vicki’s shoulder. “You planning to ever have those cubs?”

“Cub, Thorson. I’m shooting for one. Just one. A single baby. Fuck this litter bullshit.”

Gawain smothered a smile. The Daonain didn’t often have singletons.

Thorson gave her a cynical half-smile.

“Don’t even say it.” She rolled her eyes. “And, for your question, according to Donal, babies come when the Mother decides and not before.”

“Ah, well.” Thorson snorted. “Difficult to argue with that kind of a statement.”

“Yeah, the healer’s fucking sneaky that way.”

Gawain grinned. Calum’s mate had the vocabulary of a drunken dwarf.

“C’mon, you two.” She motioned toward the door. “Calum and Wells will want a report.”

As Gawain turned to follow her and his brother, Thorson cleared his throat. “Come by for a game tomorrow, mage. We’ll see if you have more brains than a pixie.”

“You’re on.”

*

The street felt cleaner without the Scythe van on it, Owen thought, as they crossed the street toward the sheriff’s office. He walked on Vicki’s left, pleased Gawain automatically took her right. The van might have left, but neither of them was about to be careless with her safety.

“Joe’s delighted to find a new chess player.” Vicki raised her eyebrows at Owen. “Is your brother going to get slaughtered?”

With a straight face, Owen said lightly, “Who knows?” Owen had lost a game or two to the old werecat…barely. With Gawain, Thorson would be slaughtered. As cubs, no one gave Gawain enough of a challenge, and he’d taken to playing chess online with other fanatics. “How long since you had a game, brawd?”

“A few months. I’ve missed it.” At a patch of cracked concrete, Gawain put his hand under Vicki’s arm to help her.

She scowled. “I’m pregnant, not fucking incapacitated.”

Owen grinned.

Her spine was straight, head was up, and she walked a step in front of them as if determined not to slow them down. Yeah, he liked the feisty little female. Honest, blunt, brave. Her mates—and Calum’s teenaged daughter—adored her because, despite trying to hide it, she had a tender heart.

He didn’t. So why did he wonder how many good people he’d ignored because they were female. He growled under his breath. Fucking self-evaluation was a pain in the tail.

Vicki led the way into the police station, past the reception desk, and motioned to a door on the right. “Alec’s out on Main Street, but Wells is in there with Darcy.

Owen stepped into the conference room.

Wells was seated at a long rectangular table across from Darcy. From her pale color, Owen figured the spymaster had quizzed her about the Scythe’s prìosan.

Calum was pacing up and down the room. When Vicki came in, he growled and pulled her into his arms…very gently. “You…”

“Relax, boss cat.” She kissed his chin. “Stalling a dimwitted foot-soldier for a few minutes is hardly dangerous.”

Belatedly, Owen realized why the Cosantir was so furious. “You didn’t ask her to come to the bookstore?”

“I did not.”

Vicki turned to look at Owen. “Wells and I were in here when you called, so we made a plan while Alec notified Calum.”

“Ah, right.” Owen retreated a step from Calum.

After detouring around the seething Cosantir, Gawain sat beside Darcy…and quietly appropriated her hand.

Good job, brawd. Owen positioned himself behind her and Gawain. Felt right, guarding these two that he… Guarding these two.

When Darcy turned to look at him, he tugged a lock of her black hair and stepped back. Folding his arms over his chest, he nodded at Wells. “Go ahead.”

Wells looked from him to Darcy, obviously caught the warning, and his head tilted an infinitesimal degree. The lean spymaster had icy blue eyes, gray hair the color of his tailored suit, and was the most calculating person Owen had ever met. A notepad sat in front of him. “Miss MacCormac was telling me about the Scythe plans.” He pointed his pen at Darcy, his eyes narrowed. “Why would competent operatives discuss secrets where you could hear?”

“They didn’t. I mean they didn’t know I was there.”

Owen moved to the side a step so he could see her face. Her color had returned to normal and she’d relaxed…maybe because she trusted him and Gawain to care for her. It was a satisfying thought.

“Explain,” Wells snapped.

When she flinched, Owen growled—as did Gawain.