Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3) (15 page)

Ben stepped behind her. Over the noise, he said softly, “Fine job, bard.” Setting his hands on her shoulders, he growled loud enough to make the closest people—even the humans—take a step back.

Better
.

“Ben,” she chided, glancing over her shoulder.

He squeezed her shoulders and felt her tension ease, then pleased himself by stroking the newly solid muscles. She was recovering nicely, gaining weight and muscle. The weather last winter had been colder than normal—and she’d mentioned she had hibernated during the worst months.
Hibernated
. By the God. Even his paranoid father had never hibernated. Shifters rarely did. The females never.

Emma’s isolation—for whatever reason—was in the past. She looked happy, which satisfied his protective instincts, and her curves were filling out, which enticed other parts of his nature. She had a beautiful body he was craving to touch. Every day, the need grew to explore her softness, her curves, her scent.

She was letting him touch her more often.

He really shouldn’t have put his hands on her in a way that would claim her in front of the clan—the little innocent probably thought he was just being friendly—but the males in the audience had taken notice.

Good.

As she answered questions, Calum strolled through the crowd, carrying a glass of red wine. After handing her the glass, he went down on his haunches, an unexpected courtesy from the Cosantir.

“Excellent evening, bard,” Calum said quietly. “I enjoyed your selection. ‘The Wolf’s Revenge’ has always been one of my favorites.”

As Emma smiled with pleasure, Ben said, “Yeah, the tune was good. I favor the Rhonwen stories, too.”

“The stories of Rhonwen were my favorites as a cub.” She frowned at the dark wine in her glass. “But the tales are perhaps too optimistic. Teaching our cubs the world is fair might be faulty judgment.”

Clearly, she’d learned the world wasn’t fair, and from the sorrow in her voice, the lesson had been a painful one. What the fuck had happened to her? Obviously, the Cosantir wasn’t going to quiz her further. Ben could push, as Ryder had, but by the Hunter’s bow, he wanted her to trust him. To share her past willingly.

“Optimistic? If you only view one moment in time, pessimism might be warranted—depending on that moment,” Calum said. “However, I don’t view events as being balanced on a set of scales at one given instant. Our lives run like a river through a mountain range, rushing noisily, then flowing quietly. Spilling over its banks one season, barely a trickle during a drought. And eventually, every drop of water returns to the ocean that gave it life.”

He patted her uninjured leg. “There is a balance. However, during a raging spring flood, it’s difficult to remember how tranquilly leaves will float on a leisurely current.”

Her smile was rueful. “This is true.”

Calum rose. “I’ll have someone take you home when you’re ready.”

“I—”

“I’m taking her home,” Ben said.

“No, Ben,” she countered. “I can manage.”

Ignoring her protest, Calum inclined his head to Ben in acknowledgment and strode back to his bar.

For another half hour, Emma answered questions about the history of the songs and stories.

When Ben saw her shoulders sag, he interrupted. “Time’s up. I’m taking Emma home.” As people moved away, he plucked the glass from her hand, set it on a table, and lifted her to her feet. Fuck, she felt good in his hands.

He looked down into startled eyes.

“What?” he asked. Had he hurt her?

“I’m always surprised at how strong you are,” she said. “I’m so big. And heavy.”

“Hardly. You need to eat more. You’re still too thin and—” He stopped. By the God, he was being rude. Yet her expression showed only delight—not upset.

“You did a good job tonight,” he murmured and pulled her into a hug. Even as he tightened his hold, half-expecting to get slugged, he savored how her full, soft breasts flattened against his chest—not his belly, as with the shorter females. She was the perfect height.

She didn’t say a word, but the color in her cheeks deepened. Her scent changed, not into a moon-driven need, but to an even more appealing fragrance holding the first hint of arousal.

Well then.
He lowered his head, giving her time to retreat, and took her lips. Soft and receptive.

Her hands closed on his biceps, and a tremor shook her. Her mouth opened under his, giving him access.

Center of the tavern or not, he didn’t give a damn. He pulled her closer and explored, teasing her tongue with his, plunging deep, retreating to nibble the fullness of her lower lip.

But before lust pushed him too far, he stepped back. His cock throbbed a protest; his blood roared for him to complete the mating.

She shook her head as if to cast away the same arousal he felt and frowned at him. “That can’t happen again. I’m not doing this.”

“You’re here; I’m here.” He chuckled and ran his thumb across the wetness on her lips. “And, darlin’, we’re already on the path.” Although he couldn’t take her to the end of the trail—a lifemating—they could, at least, enjoy each other for a while.

Her hands tightened on his arms. “No. You need a female who will stay here in this town, not one who—”

His eyebrows went up. “What the hell? You’re fucking
not
going back to the forest.”

“No. I just will…move on…eventually.” Her gaze evaded his.

“Why, Emma?”

She shook her head and pulled out of his grip. “Let’s go.” With cane in hand, she limped toward the door.

He crossed his arms on his chest.
Oh hell, no.
He’d let her go this time, but sooner or later, he was going to find out what had driven her into the forest and kept her there.

‡

B
en had kissed
her last night before they’d left the tavern. Emma finished towel drying her butt-length hair and stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. He’d not only kissed her, but she’d let him. What had she been thinking?

Ah, but she knew. Despite her mind’s determination to avoid mating, her body longed to be touched. Held. Kissed.

Ben would be the shining star in any female’s dreams. The most stirring tales in a bard’s repertoire were of the cahirs, huge and muscled, brave and strong. Yet the songs never mentioned that a cahir could be so…gentle…with a female.

These days, merely catching Ben’s scent in the air sent weakness through her. Hearing his voice made her insides melt. And when he looked at her with a heated glint in his blue eyes, she wanted nothing more than to press up against him and let him have his way.

Mating with Ben. No, no, no.

As she pulled on a pair of jeans and a soft blue shirt Angie had dropped off, she scowled. Sex wasn’t going to happen. Ever. In fact, she should move out of his house. But to where?

After strapping on her leg brace, she sat on the edge of the bed, staring out the window at the ruins of his backyard. He’d said his efforts had been dedicated to restoring the rundown interior, and the outside had to wait. Her fingers itched to go out and make order of what had probably been spectacular gardens. As a child, she’d escape the repressive atmosphere of her house and trail after the old gardener.

Seoirse had been a bear, big and burly and, as with many bears, easy to be with. He’d chafed against her mother’s regimented order, and defiantly tucked herbs among the flashy flowers. Ignoring Emma’s shyness, he’d talked to himself.
“Appears I need to dig up these iris and divide them.”
He’d stick a finger in the earth.
“Not too wet, good. Bulbs don’t fancy wet, now do they?
”

When he caught her singing to the flowers, he’d called in a master bard to speak to her.

She’d had two years left of her apprenticeship when Seoirse had gone ahead to the Mother. Had he ever known how much he meant to her? She smiled slowly. Yes, the male who could read a plant’s health by the slightest droop of its leaves would have understood a child.

Right now, he’d tell her to stop moping around and get her tail out to clean up those flowerbeds.

“All right, Seoirse. I will.”

After she’d done her duty to the gardens, she’d find herself a place to live. For now, while she was here, she’d simply enjoy every moment of being in Ben’s presence. Like a parched lilac, she’d drink in the sound of his laugh, the amused gleam in his gaze, the way the sunlight glinted off the light brown hair on his arms, the shadowy valleys created by his heavy muscles. She would allow herself to delight in the way he’d lift Minette over his head, not caring if the little girl made no sound, but openly reveling in the light in her face and her soundless laughter.

If Emma stayed in town—while she stayed in town—she’d be able to see him. Her heart lightened. She wouldn’t lose him completely.

Oh, she knew her respite in Cold Creek wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, the truth would come out about her banishment. Every tale about a person holding a secret made that ever so clear.

And, although the Mother had forgiven her and erased the darkness of the scars, if the town learned of her banishment? Well, few shifters held an overabundance of understanding and forgiveness in their hearts. Just look at how Pine Knoll had treated her.

If…when…people turned on her, she’d be forced to move on. Maybe she’d travel far away to the eastern forest communities or the northern ones.

She had no reason to return to the forest.

Well.
Her mouth tightened. No reason except for the upcoming Gathering. What should she do about the full moon? Just the thought of being around all those shifters while she was drowning in hormones made her stomach clench with nausea. If she attended, a male—or more—might want to mate with her.

What if she caused another fight? She still didn’t know how she’d started the last fight. How could she prevent herself from causing another?

If only she could avoid the whole thing. But the Daonain had traditions—laws, even. By the mingling of the genes during the times of increased fertility, the Gatherings ensured the survival of the people. Attendance was mandatory.

With a low sound, she straightened her spine. Other females managed to attend and even anticipated the monthly Gatherings. If she wanted to stay in a town, she must conquer her fear. To find her courage and start living her life, this would be the first step.

She could do it.

She would.

Carefully, she cleaned up her bedroom and the bathroom, pleased she’d exceeded her mother’s maid’s spotless efforts. A shame she wasn’t as good at cooking.

Good job, Mother. You raised a child incompetent in the very basics of living.

Using her cane, she left the bedroom. The sound of crying drifted down the hall. Emma followed the pitiful noises to Ryder’s bedroom.

“Just let me get this Band-Aid on your leg. It’ll be okay, kitten.” Unhappiness had deepened Ryder’s voice to a low growl.

Emma almost laughed. The terrifyingly tough male turned helpless as a bunny when his daughter gave him those big sad eyes.

He made another frustrated sound.

Ryder hadn’t been a father long…and he really was trying. Would he let her help? She knocked on the door.

“Yeah. We’re in the back.”

She crossed the bedroom and walked through an open door into a wide, unfinished room. From the location and the faint petroleum scent, it must be above the two-car garage. A large filing cabinet stood against the right wall. Boxes and empty shelves lined the left. In the center of the room, a computer, monitor, and printer occupied a massive desk.

She grimaced.

Ryder was kneeling on the other side of the desk, his gaze dark. “If you have a problem with computers, leave. I don’t have time for it.” The lash of anger in his voice made her jump.

“I…I don’t.” She pulled in a slow breath. Many shifters weren’t fans of modern living, especially computers and televisions. “My mother liked human technology. More than she did me.”

“By the God.” Ryder rubbed his shadowed jaw. “Sorry, Emma. I’m frustrated and taking it out on you. What can I do for you?”

Emma limped around the desk to see him better.

And there was Minette. Clad in a T-shirt and pink shorts, the little girl sat on the floor, legs outstretched before her. Tears rolled down her cheeks as Ryder fumbled with a Band-Aid. His hands dwarfed the tiny bandage—already partially torn.

“Need help?” Reading his glower, she knew he would say no.

“I…” He scowled at the Band-Aid. “Fuck, yeah.”

“All right.” She took the Band-Aid from his hand. The adhesive was stuck to itself and partially torn. Worthless. “Do you have another one?”

He handed her the box sitting beside him.

Boring tan adhesive. “You might consider getting some decorated ones. If she has to choose which cartoon character she wants, she won’t be thinking about owies.”

His eyes lit with humor. “You’re almost sneaky enough for a feline.”

Was that a compliment? He’d actually complimented her? “With children, diversions are wonderfully effective. Meantime, might I borrow a pen?”

As Ryder rose to find one, Emma smiled at Minette, leaned her cane against the desk, and painfully lowered herself to the floor. The stupid brace on her leg destroyed any semblance of grace.