Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3) (16 page)

“Let’s see what’s going on, kitten.” She checked the wound on the girl’s shin. The inch-long gash was too small to require a healer, and the lighter patch of skin showed Ryder had managed to wash the area. “What happened?”

“She was playing near those metal window guards in the garage and fell. Could’ve been worse.”

Emma knew the tightness of his voice was an attempt to conceal fear. The accident had scared him badly. “Construction materials and children are not an auspicious combination.”

“Got that.” He handed her a fine point marker and watched as she made a happy kitty-face on each side strip of the Band-Aid. When Minette saw the faces, she smiled…and he relaxed.

Emma carefully placed the bandage over the cut. “I thought you and Ben were working on the new three-story.”

Ryder set his hip on the desk. “Ben’s there. His order for a bunch of window guards came in late yesterday, and since dark of the moon is tomorrow, people are in a hurry to pick them up. I came back to hand out a few more.”

Ryder was donating his time. Emma’s heart softened further. She knew Ben cared for other people in the clan, but hadn’t realized Ryder would as well.

He shoved his fingers through his hair with a grunt of exasperation. “Minette was
supposed
to be playing in a corner away from the bars. I didn’t watch her close enough.”

Emma grinned. “Even when you think cubs are somewhere safe, if there’s anything dangerous, you can be sure one will find it, play with it, trip over it, or fall into it.” Apprentice bards spent a fair amount of time with the young of the clan.

She’d loved teaching.

“Minette is one fast little kitten.” Ryder’s wry smile carved his face into appealing lines as he stroked Minette’s hair. “Damned if I know what to do with her at construction sites.”

“Um…” Emma’s stomach quaked. A rejection would…hurt. Her gaze fell on Minette. She didn’t have a choice. The child’s safety was more important.

“What?” Ryder asked.

Needing to be able to retreat quickly, Emma tried to struggle to her feet.

To her surprise, he gripped her waist and set her on her feet. Easily.

As he resumed his seat on the desk, she gaped at him, still feeling his strong hands on her skin.

Pull it together, bear.
“Well”—she cleared her throat—“if you need to return to work with Ben, Minette can spend the afternoon with me.”

“No.” Ryder leaned away from her. “Thanks, but—”

Minette scrambled to her feet and curled her tiny fingers around Emma’s thumb.

Ryder stilled before shaking his head in refusal. “She’ll stay with me.” He glanced at the door, at Minette, at Emma, at the door.

“Are you sure?”

His scowl grew. “By the fucking God of the fucking forest. Fine.”

She fought to suppress a grin. He really was rather adorable—all helpless father. “We’ll stay right here in the house. We won’t go anywhere else.”

After a pause, he muttered, “Thanks.”

Emma led Minette through the door and waited until they were almost…
almost
out of earshot. “So, Minette, how good are you with chopping up carrots with a butcher knife?”

A roar of protest came from behind them.

Emma burst into laughter, ruffled Minette’s hair, and managed to choke out, “Kidding. Just kidding.”

‡

Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory – dark of the moon

I
n the rustic
Wildwood Lodge, Ben drank a cup of Breanna’s excellent coffee in preparation for the lengthy night ahead. Against the glass in the iron-barred windows, the red-tinged sun hovered over the mountaintops. It would set soon.

Standing on one side of the room, Shay and Zeb ran through the patrol patterns the cahirs would follow. A year ago, the brothers had moved to Cold Creek to teach the local cahirs how to survive fighting hellhounds. More recently, they’d extended the training to out-territory cahirs.

Watching the two work together, Ben felt a stab of pain. At one time, he and Ryder had been so close, sometimes they’d almost read each other’s minds. Zeb and Shay weren’t even littermates; both cahirs had lost their littermates to hellhounds, had been alone. Nevertheless—Ben shook his head—for them to become brothers-in-blood had to have been a gift of the softhearted Mother.

Tonight was dark of the moon, the only night of the month when a hellhound could shift from human to its armored demon form. Since only the ridged eyes and a narrow strip down its belly were unarmored, a hellhound was almost impossible to kill.

Cahirs often died protecting their people from a hellhound.

At least Emma and Minette were safe at home with Ryder to guard them. Unlike some of the crap construction in town, the old Victorian was solid. Ben had added iron window guards and reinforced doors. His…family…would be fine.

And it looked good for the cahirs, as well; tonight, they had a surplus of help.

Ben glanced at the males sitting in the big room. Shay, Zeb, Alec, and Owen, the North Cascade Territory cahirs, all experienced hellhound fighters, were relaxed. Thanks to Zeb and Shay’s training, Ben had two hellhound kills and had assisted in three more.

The three other cahirs were from out-territory. The two older males from northern California worked as a pair.

The third, the panther shifter from Canada, was in his thirties. His blonde hair had been chopped into a buzz cut. Against Zeb’s advice, Wesley wore a skintight body shirt and jeans rather than the leathers worn by the rest. Well, he’d undoubtedly learn the pain of abraded flesh soon enough. If flesh met a hellhound’s spiked and scaled armor, the armor always won.

Imitating Zeb, Wesley preferred to fight in human form so he could carry his weapons—a knife on the left hip, a serrated dagger and revolver on the right. Amused, Ben shook his head. It was surprising the cub didn’t stagger under the load of weaponry and ego.

The ego was a problem. Taking on a hellhound alone was basically suicide; Zeb and Shay’s strategy required the cahirs to work together in a fight. Unfortunately, cat shifters—especially young males—had a difficult time with teamwork.

Huh.
Ben shook his head. Wesley seemed damned young, which implied years were passing. Fuck, Ben was…he was on his way toward fifty. Then again, he wasn’t ancient yet. Those descended from the Fae lived twice as long as humans did and matured late. Females didn’t reach their first heat until their twenties; males were stupid until well into their thirties.

Shay tapped the map of Cold Creek. “As usual, Alec, Owen, and Ben, you’re assigned the east side of town. Wesley joins you tonight.” He glanced at Ben. “You get the killing blow. Try for the gut so Wesley can watch.”

Ben nodded. Standard teamwork. One cahir would divert the hellhound while the other rolled beneath the demon-dog to gut it.

“Alec and Owen, you take backup,” Shay said, “since no strategy goes as planned.”

Yeah, Ben had learned fuck-ups happened all too often.

Shay turned his attention to the younger male. “Wesley, if contact is made, you pretend to be prey. As we’ve practiced, your job is to lure the hellhound into chasing you.”

“That’s bullshit. I’m no fucking rabbit.” Wesley jumped to his feet. Although well muscled, at only six feet, he was shorter than the average cahir. Maybe insecurity explained some of his bluster. “I want the kill.”

“No, you’re not a rabbit,” Shay agreed, showing admirable control. As alpha of the local wolf pack, he was probably accustomed to swaggering young males. “But this is our protocol. Cahirs who haven’t fought hellhounds are assigned as decoy first. This gives you a chance to experience a hellhound’s speed before you go hands-on.”

“But—”

“We ready to go?” Zeb interrupted, his irritation obvious. Wesley had been playing dominance games since arriving, and Zeb wasn’t known for his patience.

Wesley shut up.

Honed to a fighting edge and scarred from years of fighting hellhounds, Zeb exuded danger. No smart shifter fucked with him—and Wesley wasn’t stupid. He was just a typical young male, more mouth than brains, who’d mature into a decent cahir with time. The God hadn’t chosen badly; the cub had a good heart and ample courage—if perhaps a tad too much testosterone.

He’d learn. And after seeing his first hellhound, he’d be far more willing to be part of a team.

“Let’s go,” Shay said. “The sun is almost down.”

*

Ryder paced through
the house, checking the heavy, iron window guards and the door locks…again. All good. Unfortunately, the activity didn’t relieve the worry wafting up his spine like an icy breeze off the glacier-covered mountains. His littermate was out in the night, hunting hellhounds.

He’d never worried about a dark of the moon night before. Then again, when a youth, hellhounds had been more of a legend than a reality.

Not any longer.

The past few years on dark of the moon, he’d taken panther form and gone deep into the mountains where hellhounds hadn’t penetrated. But he couldn’t run the trails with a cub. Instead, he was stuck in town, worrying about…fuck…about everything. Not only Ben, but also whether the last shifter who’d picked up a window guard had managed to install it. And whether Tullia, the old wolf shifter of Zeb’s, was safe in her ramshackle home.

Even though Ben had assured him the Cold Creek shifters would remain inside their well-fortified homes, he still worried about them. And about Ben.

Half of him wanted to be beside his brother, shoulder-to-shoulder, facing down danger as littermates should. The other half needed to be here, guarding their cub.

And guarding Emma, as well. Anything trying to hurt the little bear would have to go through him first. Of course, protecting her was merely a…natural…instinct, nothing more. So why did guarding her give him such a bone-deep satisfaction?

He kept moving through the silent house.

Undoubtedly picking up on the adults’ anxiety, Minette had been nervous. After an extra two stories from her favorite picture book, she was still awake.

But Emma had shown up to sing her lullabies while Ryder patrolled the house.

He’d heard her singing softly in Minette’s room. Her presence in this house felt as right as when he
trawsfurred
and breathed in the scents of the wild, knowing he was in exactly the perfect place and shape for him.

He shouldn’t feel this way about the little bear. Females were purely trouble. Didn’t he ever learn?

Growling under his breath, Ryder built up the fire in the great room until the resident salamander spiraled in joy. At least Emma had stayed upstairs, leaving him to his silence.

Damned if he’d think about how comforting it would be to have her gentle company right now.

*

In bear form,
Ben ambled through the dark town, sniffing the moist, clean air. A storm had passed earlier. Stray rumbles of thunder and lightning streaks tracked its passage toward the eastern side of the mountain range.

The brisk wind ruffled his shaggy fur pleasantly. Not so pleasant was the cold mud packing between his paw pads.

Tonight, he’d have to resume human form if a hellhound was detected, but until it was time to fight, he wanted his animal-enhanced senses. On his right foreleg, he wore a sheathed knife that a blade-mage had magicked for him. Akin to a lifemating bracelet, the band changed sizes when he
trawsfurred
.