Leap of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #4)(9)

Owen shook his head and turned his thoughts from his past. Gathering night’s enforced intimacies always left him feeling as if someone had skinned him and hung his carcass from a tree. This morning, his mood was as mean as a half-starved badger’s.

He needed to go home to his isolated cabin. But…Gawain had been at the Gathering last night, and it’d be good to spend some time with him. Maybe. If he could figure out what to talk about, since it seemed as if Gawain had inherited all the conversational skills.

But damn, it was nice to see his brother again. Maybe he could just sit and let Gawain talk?

They’d both changed in the last…what…twenty-five years since they’d separated? When Owen had walked away from Pine Knoll at sixteen, Gawain had been apprenticed to a metalsmith. Pride swelled in Owen’s chest because, somewhere along the line, his littermate had been called by the Goddess to be a blademage—a magical blacksmith.

Every cahir who had access to a blademage wore a magicked blade, because there were no finer knives in the world.

“Look, look!”

“Unca Wen!”

At the sound of his nephews’ high voices, Owen stopped, and love swept through him. Smiling, he went down on one knee and braced. One tiny body hit him, then another, like the patter of acorns in a high wind. “What are you two doing in town?”

Luke bounced on his tiptoes. “We get b’ekfast at the diner. Da said Mommy is sweepy.”

“Sleepy,” their father Brady corrected with a grin. The male’s eyes were half-lidded with both exhaustion and satisfaction. Owen figured the three lifemates had spent all night mating.

“An’ Da Van is sweepy, too,” Tyler said.

Owen smothered a laugh. As he rubbed his cheek over Tyler’s soft hair, he noticed a human leaving Angie’s diner with a donut box.

Bonnie had always loved chocolate donuts. His sister was an amazing female, not manipulative or self-centered—nothing like their mother. He’d never regretted moving here to be closer to her, and she’d given the Daonain two fantastic cubs. She deserved all the treats in the world. “Luke, Tyler, I saw chocolate-covered donuts in the diner. Why don’t you buy some for you…and your mama?”

The screams of glee made him wince. Angie might nip his ears off if the tiny terrors disturbed her customers. “Cubs,” he said sternly. “You have to be quiet as little mice to earn donuts. Can you do that?”

Vigorous nods.

Brady clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, cahir. You heading back to your cabin today?”

“Probably. Tell my sister I’ll stop by when I return for dark of the moon.”

Brady nodded, although his mouth flattened at the reminder of the dangers during moonless nights. Because of the human encroachment, more hellhounds hunted the North Cascades Territory. As a cahir, Owen stood between danger and his people.

Cahirs often died young. And yet—Owen ruffled Tyler’s hair—was there anything more important than protecting the cubs?

With a nod to Brady, Owen rose and headed toward the wilderness lodge where he’d stayed yesterday. By now, the innkeeper Breanne would be serving breakfast.

A few minutes later, as he approached the lodge, he spotted a tiny pixie perched in a huge fuchsia bush, nibbling on a bloom. Not a sprite’s favorite food, but summer’s bounty was decreasing. Even the miniature roses in the porch planters were done flowering. But… He plucked a rose hip and tossed it over.

The pixie caught the marble-sized hip, examined it, and chittered happily.

This kind of female he could tolerate. Open and honest. No manipulation. When given a treat, a sprite openly exhibited her delight. A shame Daonain females weren’t the same.

Inside, the tantalizing scent of bacon drew him through the main lodge to a glass-walled dining room in the rear. Three shifter females at a window table were already chowing down.

Ignoring them, Owen walked into the kitchen.

“Hey, Owen.” At the sink, Zeb, a fellow cahir, acknowledged his presence in a gravelly voice. Somewhere over the past centuries, a Native American human had joined the bloodline of the mostly Celtic shifters. Zeb had black hair, dark brown eyes, and his bronzed skin showed a wealth of scars, many from hellhounds’ teeth and claws.

Shay, another cahir and Zeb’s blood brother, nodded a greeting. Called by the God to serve, cahirs were gifted with additional strength and size, usually ending up around six and a half feet tall. The three of them made even the huge kitchen feel crowded.

And they dwarfed Zeb and Shay’s pretty lifemate who stood at the stove.

Breanne smiled over. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send Shay to find you.”

“It’d take a hellhound to make me miss one of your breakfasts.” Owen returned her smile. Bree was a likable female. The rough time she’d had when first coming to Cold Creek had revealed unexpected courage and generosity of spirit. Although being lifemated to one female seemed a form of insanity, he had to admit his friends had been lucky to win Bree for their mate. “Gotta say, having one of your breakfasts after a Gathering makes coming into Cold Creek truly worthwhile.”

The way she brightened made her almost radiant, and Shay grinned. “Pretty compliments get your plate loaded to the edges.”

“Challenge accepted.” Owen took the cup of coffee Zeb poured and leaned against a counter.