Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3) (20 page)

Read Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3) Online

Authors: Cherise Sinclair

Tags: #Fiction, #Paranormal, #erotic, #Romance, #Erotica, #Contemporary, #BDSM

BOOK: Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3)
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Love wouldn’t be her reward in the end. Ben would turn away from her if he knew what she’d done.

No, she must simply cherish the friendship he offered and not yearn for more.

Moving a few inches away from him, she set aside regrets and turned her thoughts to what was to come.

The Return to the Mother Rites of Passage.

She was ready. Mostly. All day, despite the growing pain in her leg, she’d searched out shifters who’d known the young cahir. She’d heard what had happened during the moonless night, learned about the people involved, been instructed about young males.

If she’d known more at her own first Gathering, surely she’d have been better able to prevent problems. All day, she’d been reminded of Andre and Gary’s deaths.

Beside her, Ben scratched his back against the seat and winced at the pull on his wounded shoulder.

Pulled from her moody thoughts, Emma narrowed her eyes at him. “Stop scratching.”

He picked up her hand as he murmured, “You’re damned cute when you get bossy.”

“What?”

“Thank you for worrying about me, darlin’.” He lifted her hand, kissed it, and started nibbling on her fingers, sending shivery sensations up her arm to her…surely not her heart.

“I hate cars.” Ben’s lips curved up, and from the front seat, Minette turned to look, and he winked at her.

Ryder, who was driving, shot him an amused glance in the rear view mirror. “This from the shifter who owns so many cranes and trucks that the cub was impressed?”

“Now you know why I keep humans on the crews. So they can drive the damn things.” Ben pointed. “The turn is here on the right.”

Ryder turned, drove down the small forest road past shifters walking on the side, and pulled into a grassy area carved out of the woods. He parked at the end with several other vehicles. “Looks like you two wimps aren’t the only cripples.”

“Bite me,” Ben grumbled.

Laughing, Ryder opened Emma’s door.

She stared, then slid out—and almost fell when Ryder assisted her with a hand under her arm.

“Easy, pretty bear. We’re friends now, right?”

She couldn’t think of anything she’d like better than to have him as a friend. “Yes,” she whispered and watched his slow smile appear.

“Good.”

When he touched her cheek with gentle fingertips, she realized he still made her uneasy, but in a way that made her aware of his size, his graceful strength, his dark voice. Looking up into his intense black eyes, she felt a quiver start deep in her core.

As he pulled the seat forward to get his daughter from the third row seat, Emma frowned. His apology last night had come as a surprise, but after hearing about Minette’s mother, she understood his wariness. If the mother was the reason Minette was so quiet around people and flinched when someone moved too fast, well, the female must be simply vile.

Ryder had learned females were untrustworthy. As his friend, she’d do her best to teach him the opposite.

He set Minette beside her, then walked around the SUV to open Ben’s door.

The bear shifter edged out of the car, carefully not bumping his oversized shoulders against the doorframe. He straightened with a sigh of relief. “I could have walked, dammit.”

Emma smiled in sympathy. The grizzly didn’t deal well with being an invalid. No one did, but Ben was so physical, he took being incapacitated worse than most. “Grumbly old bear.”

He huffed at her.

Ryder grinned as he retrieved their food from the front seat.

With Ryder carrying their food offering, Emma held Minette’s hand and walked between the two brothers toward the side of the clearing where people milled around the food. Wide boards on sawhorses had been covered with colorful tablecloths to provide tables for an enormous amount of food.

“Hey, Ryder. Ben.” A grizzled shifter stood with several other males. “I saw what the hellhound did to Sarah’s crappy door. We have some questions about reinforcing doors.”

Ryder and Ben stopped.

“I’ll take the casserole to the tables,” Emma said.

“Thanks, Emma.” Ryder handed it over and picked up his daughter.

With the heavy dish in one hand, using her cane with the other, she made her way over to the tables.

“Emma, what have you got there?” Obviously in charge of the food, Angie smiled and held her hand out.

“Some kind of casserole. Ryder made it this morning.”

Angie blinked with obvious surprise. Males often learned to cook, but females always prepared the important meals.

“I-I don’t cook,” Emma said, her voice almost inaudible.

Angie snorted. “No need to act like you slaughtered a pixie. There’s no law against avoiding the kitchen.”

“I don’t—I mean I wouldn’t.” It hurt to admit she was so incompetent at the basic life skills. “I just don’t know how to cook.”

“Oh. Hmm. I’ve got to say, I appreciate Calum’s dictate that all shifters—male and female—should be taught to cook. But the decree is only enforced in our territory.” Angie regarded her. “Would you want to learn?”

“Oh yes! I really, really would.” If she could, she’d have leaped and bounded like a spring foal. And wouldn’t a bear look stupid imitating a horse?

“Easy enough. Anytime you’re eager for a lesson, come to the diner. I enjoy having help, and you’ll learn to make whatever is on the menu for the day.” Angie removed the cover of the casserole and inhaled. “A venison and cheesy noodle casserole. Very nice. I’d think either of those brothers could teach you.”

“Ryder taught me to make breakfast. But he’s overseeing all the construction work while Ben recovers.” She grinned. “And if I asked Ben to teach me, he’d try to do everything himself so I wouldn’t get tired.”

“You know him well.” The soft voice behind her made Emma turn so quickly she almost lost her balance.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” The female was short and fair-skinned. Her golden hair held streaks ranging from platinum to light brown. Her blue eyes held a smile. “I’m Bree.”

“Emma.”

“I was with the pack and heard what you said.” Bree nodded to the left at a group of females. Shifters. Of course, they’d heard her conversation with Angie. Unfortunately, Emma could hear their whispers in turn.

“Gawky bear can’t even cook,” a slender female with red-brown hair whispered to the other.

“Probably too busy singing instead of being a female.” The brunette smirked. “After all, what male would have her?”

Emma’s stomach tightened at the familiar sensation of being reviled.

To her surprise, Bree set her hands on her hips and gave the females a…
look
.

The two females went silent.

“Emma?” Just past the pack, Ben stood with several males. He was watching her, his thick brows drawn together. Worrying about her.

Pushing her unhappiness away, she offered him an easy wave and saw his shoulders relax. His eyes crinkled and his gaze stayed on her, a long look that turned warm and warmer, and awakened slow flutters low in her belly. The world around her faded until all she could see was the intense blue of his eyes and the hunger simmering there.

“Ben, it’s good to see you.” The shrill voice broke their link. Three of the pack females had walked over to Ben, surrounding him and offering commiserating pats over his wounded shoulder and offers to help do…anything…he might need.

Emma turned away.

They were all smaller. Prettier. Thinner. He probably preferred fragile females. She watched him smile down at them, all big cahir male. Easy-going. Strong. Brave. Caring.

Her hands closed into fists.

What if he brought one of them home? The taste was bitter in her mouth. It wasn’t her home, after all. Ryder would probably be delighted to share a female with his littermate.

As the female with red-brown hair stroked Ben’s muscular arm, a worm of jealousy ate holes in Emma’s heart.
Jealousy?
How in the world could she be jealous?

Was this what came with love? No…

Yet, every time she looked at the females around Ben, she wanted to…to pull their hair. Drag them away. Knock them deep into the forest. A low growl escaped her.

“Hey,” Bree said softly. “It’s just the typical fluttering of females around unmated cahirs. Nothing meaningful.”

“It’s not—he’s not mine. Or interested. Or anything,” Emma said hastily.

“Uh-huh.” Bree’s blue eyes were sympathetic. “Anyway, I heard you and Angie talking. I make all the diner’s desserts, so when you want to learn to make treats for your guys, you come to me.”

“Really?” Emma whispered, stunned into incoherence; Bree’s words offered lessons, but her smile offered friendship. “Thank you.” She turned to Angie as well. “Thank you both. I’d love any lessons you have time for.”

“Awesome. Angie and I both enjoy company when we’re cooking.”

“Hey, Emma.” Vicki, the black-haired female mated to Alec and Calum, approached.

Watching her, Emma sniffed the air.

Vicki frowned. “What? Did I forget deodorant?”

“Sorry. It’s just…your posture looks like you’re ready for battle, only you don’t smell angry or afraid.”

“The bard is pretty observant.” Bree pointed her finger at Vicki and laughed. At Emma’s confused stare, she added, “Vicki was in the military—a soldier.”

“A Marine. Not a soldier,” Vicki muttered.

“But no Daonain joins the army,” Emma protested. The metal alone would make them ill.

“Not the fucking army.” Vicki was interrupted by Angie’s laugh.

“She was born human. She received the Death Gift and wound up being a werecat,” Angie explained.

“Really.” Oh…wonderful. Such a transformation would—should—be a
story.
It was a tale crying out to be told. Maybe even turned into a song. “Can I talk to you about it sometime?”

“Now there’s a light I haven’t seen in an eon or two.” The voice was rougher than a gravel avalanche. An old shifter, face scarred from numerous fights, approached.

“Emma, this is Joe Thorson. He owns the town’s bookstore.” Vicki rubbed her shoulder against the male’s in a friendly feline greeting. “What light, Joe?”

“The shining curiosity of a bard who’s caught the scent of a new story. I’ve missed seeing that.” The shifter gave her a respectful nod. “We’re pleased to have you in Cold Creek, bard. Songs and stories are the strongest fibers in the tapestry of life—without them, the strands holding us together start to fray.”

His gruff welcome made her eyes sting. Unable to speak, she bowed her head in acknowledgement.

He barked a laugh. “A shy bard. There’s a marvel.”

“She is…” Angie paused, her gaze following the Cosantir as he walked across the meadow toward the trees. “Time for the ritual.”

Emma’s stomach dropped, but she silently followed the others through the forest into a small clearing. Fresh dirt marked a new grave.

The Cosantir, clad all in black, spoke first. “Daonain, we are here to mark the passing of Wesley Tremblay, a werecat shifter. Who among us remembers this lad?”

Shay spoke up from the crowd. “He was a young cahir, still new in his powers, here to learn to kill hellhounds.”

“Down from the Tongass Territory. They will mourn his loss.” Zeb’s rough voice came out even harsher.

“A good-hearted lad, brave and strong. Trying to prove his worth.” Ben’s grief and lingering guilt shadowed his deep voice.

She wished she was close enough to put an arm around him; wished they were close enough friends she’d dare to offer comfort in public.

“He had a sense of humor and loved practical jokes,” Owen added.

“He picked me flowers,” one female said. “He missed his family.”

“He ate more like a bear than a cat,” Angie said. “The boy could inhale an entire chicken without taking a breath.”

Laughter rippled around the clearing before more people spoke, telling their memories of the male, shaping a sense of the hole left by his loss.

Finally, no more spoke.

In the silence, the Cosantir said, “Our young cahir has returned to the Mother.” He lifted his voice. “Wesley, may you refresh your spirit in the Summerlands. Know that you will be missed by your people until you return to us again. The clan mourns.”

The chorus of voices returned like the wind in the trees, “The clan mourns.”

After a slow breath, Calum looked around at the crowd. For her.

This was her moment if she chose to take it. The master bard had said she had a talent for composing, so perhaps…perhaps she could do the young cahir justice.

Yet a song of her own making would reveal her own realities, her insecurities before this community. Baring her soul had never gone well for her in the past. But Cold Creek had welcomed her. They were hurting. A song would give them closure.

The Cosantir’s eyes were still dark with the presence of Herne as his gaze met hers. She felt his grief and her own need to offer something to mark this sad passing of a youth taken before his time. Under the God’s silent call, she could only answer.

The first notes were ascending into the air before she realized she’d begun.

In the thrall of the song, stillness surrounded her, and she could feel each and every person in the clearing. She touched the depth of their loss, shared their sadness, and their emotions filled her voice as she sang the song of Wesley, the brave young cahir who had wanted only to protect.

All day, she’d turned the story over in her mind, swimming in the currents of the river of life, blending together what people had told her. Her duty as a bard was to look beneath the water’s surface, all the way to the murky bottom, and return with treasures others might overlook.

And now, she slipped into minor chords for the dark of the moon. Note by note, word by word, Emma steered her audience into the night, the darkness, the fear. Into the drive to protect, the desire to be a heroic member of the team.

She pitched her voice higher, soaring into the scream of the female in the house and her exhortations to kill, then dropped lower for his surging instincts to prove himself worthy of a potential mate. She laid out how his nature had lured him into error and shattered his hard-won control.

Her hands slapped together with the barking pistol—her audience flinched back—and her arms dropped to her sides as she sang for young Wesley, the despairing knowledge of his failure, of his task left undone.

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