Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3) (2 page)

Even now, her body started to warm again at the memory. Then he’d firmly—gently—laid her on the cushion-covered floor and put his mouth—his
mouth
—between her legs.
By the Mother’s Grace.
Everything in her had spun out of control. By the time he’d settled himself over her, she needed him so desperately that when he’d thrust through her maidenhead, the sharp pain disappeared under the marvelous sensation of being filled.

Afterward, Gawain had held her as she shook. The room had held the scent of sex, of musky males, of her need—and her blood.

Blood. She’d
bled
.

As she’d started to panic, he’d quickly explained, although he’d been surprised her mother hadn’t taught her about such a basic fact of life.

Priscilla Cavanaugh hadn’t been much of a mother. Emma had grieved when her mother passed on to the Goddess, but her sense of loss had been even greater. All the chances to change their relationship had disappeared. She would never know a mother’s love or care.

Even as she pulled in a shuddering breath, she felt her body starting to arouse again. A full moon heat didn’t care about mourning or lost chances. Tonight, the physical ruled the mental, and her body was all about trying to mate, to become pregnant.

Why had no one ever told her about how overwhelming a Gathering could be? She gave a huff of a laugh. Who would have talked with her? The same mother who hadn’t explained what a first mating would entail? Hardly.

Her bard instructor hadn’t discussed Gatherings other than as a basis for songs. He was very old; maybe he’d forgotten the effect of a full moon on a shifter.

Sipping apple cider, she directed her mind to happier thoughts. After all, she now knew all about Gatherings, right? And she hadn’t been ignored, as she’d feared. A lot of the males had been interested in her. One werewolf had even complimented her on her size and wasn’t making fun of her or anything. She bit her lip. Of course, his appreciation might not extend past Gathering night when hormones ruled.

But, oh, it was exhilarating to be touched and treated like everyone else.

“Hey, Emma, you’re looking fine tonight.” The male’s tenor had a pretty resonance.

She turned.

Oh my Goddess
, it was
Gary.
Two years older than Emma, the Cosantir’s son had been the most popular boy in high school. He wore the finest clothes, had the best car, and was now an officer in his father’s bank. He’d never looked at her, not even when he’d once tripped over her feet in school.

The air disappeared from her lungs as need flared inside her like a newly kindled fire. “Um…hi, Gary.”

“I hadn’t realized how pretty you’ve become.” When he stroked her loose, wavy hair, the contrast between his tanned fingers and the golden strands was striking. “I think we should find a room.”

He wanted to mate…with her?
Oh my Goddess.
“I-I…sure.”

Gripping her hand, he tugged her after him.

“Hey, you’re too little for her.” A male rudely stepped in front of them. “She needs someone her size. Another bear.”

Andre
. Tall and tough and dark. He was Gary’s age and had been the “bad boy” in her school. He’d never noticed her before, either.

“Get lost, asshole.” Gary scowled. “Lucky for you Gatherings are free, or you wouldn’t have been able to get in. Loser.”

Emma shivered at the animosity in his voice.

“Hey, pretty bear.”

At Andre’s gruff words, every cell in her body sat up and preened. He was so big and beautiful, and totally bedazzled her eyes. She swallowed, unable to speak.

“Back
off
, fleabag. You got away with poaching once; don’t fucking try it again.” As Gary pulled her closer, his tone turned as scornful as her mother’s when she felt someone was beneath her notice. “This one’s mine. And a Cavanaugh wouldn’t want someone who collects garbage for a living. No female would.”

“You got a short memory, wimp. Phoebe preferred me to daddy’s boy, didn’t she?” Andre smiled slowly and rubbed his chest. “Quite the vixen. Clawed the shit out of me when she got off.”

“She’d agreed to go with
me
, garbage-guts,” Gary snarled. “You’re a fucking thief.” He stepped around Andre, dragging Emma after him.

Her body protested—it wanted Andre. Nevertheless, Gary was right; she’d started with him first. Her mother would have insisted she be polite.

The stuffiness of the crowded main room gave way to the cooler, quieter back area, which held several tiny mating rooms on the main floor with more on the second and third levels.

Gary walked past the stairs, down the hallway past several rooms, and stopped to open a door. “Here’s an empty one.”

The scent of previous matings spilled out of the room, setting Emma’s hormones rioting in her veins. Dizzy, she leaned against the wall.

“Oh, female, we’re gonna have fun.” Gary ran a hand up and down her arm to set off a new release of lust.

Her core throbbed, demanding to be satisfied, and Emma leaned against him, making him laugh.

“Flabby feline, you think you can handle mating a bear?” Andre’s voice came from behind them. “You sure your dick is big enough?”

His rough baritone seeped into Emma’s bones and made her tremble.

As Andre loomed over her, his heady, dark scent swept over her. Despite being only in his twenties, he had the size of a mature male. His chest stretched his tight body shirt to display hard, contoured muscles. At the surging want, her muscles and tendons felt unconnected, as if her body belonged to someone else.

Realizing she’d leaned toward him, she pulled back.

When Gary glared at her, Andre laughed.

“Get the fuck out of here, Andre,” Gary snapped. “Go find a dumpster to raid or something.”

“Quit with the yowling. Go count your daddy’s money and leave mating for the real males.”

Emma blinked as their hatred cut through the fog of desire. “Guys. Please, don’t—”

“This one’s
mine
.” Gary’s grip on her arm turned painful. “She agreed to come with me.”

Ignoring him, Andre fixed his intense gaze on Emma. “Hey, pretty bear. Wanna mate?” He touched her cheek with a big hand. His virile, musky scent surrounded her.

Push him away. Now.
She ordered her body to obey. Gary was getting more and more upset. Yet somehow, her fingers curled around Andre’s hand. He leaned down. As his lips met hers, she sank into lust like a stone thrown into a warm ocean.

“You mangy dick.” Gary’s bellow split the air. “She’s mine!” He yanked her away from Andre and shoved her toward the mating room.

Her head slammed into the doorframe with an excruciating thud, and the hallway went black.

Why am I on the floor?

She was sprawled on her side. Carpet scraped her cheek. Her vision blurred, focused, blurred. Her head felt as if it would crack open with each pulse beat—if she didn’t throw up first. Groaning, she struggled to her knees. Was the floor swaying?

Sounds surfaced through the hum of pain. The smack of flesh on flesh. A grunt. Another slapping sound. Snarls, growls, and cursing. With dawning terror, she realized Andre and Gary were fighting.

No, oh no.
Emma tried to stand, failed, tried again, and finally succeeded with the help of the wall. Shaking her head to try to clear it, she stared. And cringed. This—this was horrible. “No.” Her voice cracked. Not even heard. “Don’t. No.”

They were enraged. Crazy. Grappling and biting. Growling, Gary punched Andre’s face. With a furious roar, Andre seized Gary by the throat. Choking him.

“Stop!” She sprang forward, grabbed Andre’s arm, and yanked his hand away.

A fist hit her forehead, splitting the skin. Blood filled her eyes even as another blow landed on her cheek. She staggered back into other bodies. Other shifters. Watching the battle.

“Stop them!” Blinded by the blood pouring down her face, she clutched one female’s arm and was pushed away.

The growls increased. Clothing tore as both males
trawsfurred
into animals. Panther and bear.

Savage snarls. Bellows. Shrieks. Thuds. A ghastly sound of wheezing. The bear’s jaws tore into the cat’s throat. Even as blood sprayed the air, the panther’s hind legs clawed through the bear’s fur-covered stomach and groin, shredding skin and muscles and arteries.

Bellowing in agony, Andre flung Gary away. Blood was everywhere, splattering the floor and walls.

And then there was silence.

Still dazed, Emma could only whimper in denial as, in death, the bodies shifted back to human. Bits of blood-soaked fabric still clung to them. Gary’s throat had been torn out. Andre’s whole abdomen was sliced open.

Her bloody hands covered her mouth as tears filled her eyes.

“In the God’s name,
what
is going on?” Still unclothed from mating, the Cosantir leaped down the stairs. He shoved through the cluster of shifters blocking the halls and saw the bodies. His face turned white.

“Gary?” He sank to his knees beside his son. Touched the lifeless body.

Oh, no.
The anguish in his face battered Emma, hurting her heart, bringing tears to her eyes. The shifters in the hall were silent as he turned his head, taking in the carnage.

Like a crippled elder, he struggled to his feet. “What happened?” His voice was hoarse.

“Rich bitch Cavanaugh made them fight over her.” Standing next to Marnie, CeeCee pointed directly at Emma.

“Yeah. The bear teased them into it,” Marnie confirmed.

The Cosantir’s gaze turned cold, seeping into her, freezing her bones.

Emma shook her head. “No. I-I didn’t want—”

“Wait a minute,” said someone behind her. “She didn’t—”

“She’s as bad as her mother,” a female said. “
Cavanaughs
.” She made the word into a curse.

“Getting a thrill from goading males into fights that leave them crippled. Scarred.” Cedrick’s fingers traced a bite scar on his shoulder before his gaze dropped to Gary’s body.

She hadn’t caused the fight, had she? But they’d killed each other…because of her. Emma shook her head again.
No.

The movement made the Cosantir look at her. Grief and fury rolled from him in icy waves. “I had no choice but to tolerate your mother.” His voice harshened. “You, though… I should have dealt with you before you cost us so much.”

A few protests came from the shifters in the hallway—too few, too soft. The Cosantir ignored them, his gaze never leaving her. “Emma Cavanaugh, you are cast out from the Daonain, banished from us. Forever.”

As despair filled her, she simply stood as he
trawsfurred
into his cat form. His paw rose. Claws slashed across her face.

And she made no sound at all.

‡

North Cascades Territory – dark of the moon

B
right stars filled
the black sky, unchallenged by any rival light, because tonight was dark of the moon.

The dank forest air was pungent with the fir and pine needles underfoot. The rain-slick mud on the trail clogged irritatingly in Emma’s paws. Her fur was matted, her nose wet. She gave a grumbling cough, and her ears flickered when a rabbit darted away. Too fast for her, unfortunately. Besides, her stomach was fairly full. The stream was full of trout, and fishing was one of her finer skills.

Still… She clouted a rotting log and nosed out the scuttling inhabitants beneath. Mostly grubs. A few crunchy beetles. Only a fool turned down a light dessert. And she was no fool.

Well, not about food.

She stopped to listen to the humans in a wilderness campground. Their laughter and chatter rang through the trees, filling her heart with delight. Not her people, but oh, the sound of them was so wonderful. They, too, had been successful at the stream, and the chill mountain air carried the scent of fried fish.

Her mouth watered. Cooked food. Her bear form preferred raw, but she remembered how good prepared food had tasted. These days, she rarely bothered.

Reluctantly leaving behind the campground, Emma ambled toward her den in an uprooted tree hollow and thought wistfully of the cave in which she’d holed up last winter. Very few bear shifters ever hibernated, but she’d needed to escape the loneliness of the long, long nights. When spring finally arrived, she’d resumed wandering through the mountain range.

Daonain often died after being banished. Now, she understood why. If she hadn’t been used to being lonely all her life, she’d have given up her first winter.

How many times had she despaired over the last three years?

She missed voices the most… Children’s giggles. The gardener’s low grumble at finding a weed. The maid’s humming as she dusted. Emma could survive without hot showers and cooked food, and books. She could sing to the pixies and tell stories to the undines in the streams, but she longed for voices the way a flower fairy craved rose blooms.

Human campgrounds lured her close far too often.

A foul stench on the wind made her paw at her affronted nose. By the Hunter, it smelled like a rotting carcass covered in moldering oranges. The fur on her back rose.

Overhead, a pixie chittered and disappeared into its hole.