Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3) (5 page)

“I’m Ben.” His deep voice held a Texas drawl. “Got a name, girl?”
“Got a nayum, gurl?”

“Emma. Why didn’t he kill me?” she whispered. “I broke the Law.”

“Pretty name, darlin’.” He took a knee beside her. “The Cosantir takes his time before dispensing judgment.”

Should she…could she…run?

She glanced at Ben’s jeans. Clothes would be a handicap if he shifted back to bear. He’d have to remove the jeans first or be tangled up until he could rip them away. She was naked, so she could
trawsfur
to bear and try to escape. Without thinking, she edged slightly away.

Ben’s laugh was the rumble of rocks avalanching down a cliff. “You can’t move fast enough to get away, li’l bear. Not from me and not from Calum. He’s a cat.”

A panther? The chill came from more than the frosted grass under her body. On three legs, she couldn’t escape a panther. Or the grizzly, either. So she’d die. Please, let her at least maintain some dignity.

But fear and pain were tearing at her resolve. Averting her face, she blinked back tears.

With a grunt, Ben settled next to her, his body near enough to impart warmth to her bare body. One big hand curved over her ankle below her wound. His brows drew together as he took in the extent of the damage. “Those are bite marks. What in the Hunter’s lands happened to your leg?”

“Indeed, I have the same question.” The Cosantir’s resonant voice held a faintly clipped British accent, a marked contrast to the bear’s slow drawl. He carried two straight pieces of wood, each covered with a ripped-up T-shirt.

He set one on each side of her broken leg.

“You call that first aid?” Ben protested, although he held the braces in place as Calum secured them with more strips of cloth.

Her whole leg felt submerged in fiery lava. As the bindings tightened, her agony grew. Hands fisted, she fought back scream after scream. Finally, the pain receded enough she could hear the Cosantir.

“I am disinclined to attempt anything other than conveying her to our healer. This”—he indicated her leg—“is as bad a fracture as I’ve ever seen. Anything we do here is liable to make it worse or restart the bleeding.”

“But…” She’d been banished and was to be shunned by all Daonain.

Why were they even speaking to her? She touched the raised parallel scars along her jawline. Didn’t they see the marks? Know what black scars meant? This Cosantir had surely banished people before.

She struggled to sit up.

“Stay put, li’l bear.” Ben set his huge hand on her shoulder, and the warmth of his palm seared her frozen skin.

“Aren’t you going to kill me? I don’t understand.”

The Cosantir rose, his face unreadable. “You broke the Law by raiding human campgrounds. However, I’ve heard no rumors of a shifter, merely speculation about clever bears or vagrant humans.” He paused for a long moment. “There will be consequences, but death will not be one of them.”

Not die? Her breath caught on the influx of hope.

The Cosantir glanced at Ben.

The grizzly shifter’s square jaw went tight. “Brace yourself, darlin’. This is going to hurt.” His hands slid under her body, and he lifted her into the air.

The pain rose to intolerable, and she screamed before blackness took her away.

‡

Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory

Human “Easter Day”

P
lanted in a
folding chair out of the healer’s way, Ben studied his inadequate guest room. He’d done well enough with the preliminary decor. The queen-sized bed was adequate. The Oriental rug over the hardwood floor was a diamond pattern in the same gray-blue as the walls. The cream trim and moldings were crisp and clean. The curtains were a traditional Victorian style in a brown, cream, and blue floral.

However, he’d only provided the minimum necessities. To his eye, the room looked stark and unwelcoming, not nearly good enough for the honey-colored female in the bed. Maybe he could ask Angie to pick up a few things. Making a mental list, Ben watched the healer silently start to examine the female.

About time.

Before the healer’s arrival, Angie, owner of the diner, had shown up. The Cosantir had asked her to give Emma a quick bed bath. When done, the pretty bear had been white and shaking, but had thanked Angie with a heartfelt graciousness.

“Uh-huh.” The healer made an unhappy sound, drawing Ben’s attention to the bed. “You, bear, are about as hydrated as the Sahara at high noon.”

Emma blinked.

Ben regarded her. Why did she seem surprised each time someone spoke to her?

“Malnourished and underweight.”

Ben enjoyed Donal’s blunt commentaries. Inscrutable healers were a pain in the tail. Whatever Donal learned, he shared with his patient, and in Emma’s case, per the Cosantir’s orders, also with Ben.

Donal pulled the sheet to one side and ran his fingers down the bear’s right arm to where two of her fingers were swollen and dark red-purple. “Two fingers busted.”

Her pretty lips curved up. “Is
busted
proper medical terminology?”

Donal smiled for the first time. Light from the delicate, wrought-iron chandelier illuminated the crescent-shaped scar over his right cheekbone—the Mother’s mark designating a healer. Good thing, since Donal preferred jeans, boots, and flannel shirts to the more conservative healer’s attire. “Why confuse my patients with gobbledygook? I bet you knew the diagnosis the first time you tried to move your fingers.”

Her mouth twisted ruefully. “Oh, I did.”

Ben watched the various expressions cross her face—pain, amusement, gratitude. Amazing. He’d seen young females when they were in pain. They’d demand attention and snap at anyone trying to help. Not this one. By the Hunter, she was a mess, underweight and pale, yet the sweetness of her character came through so clearly that all he could see was beauty.

As Donal continued his examination, grumbling over the various scars and scrapes, Ben averted his gaze. Most shifters weren’t body-shy, but the pretty female hadn’t had a choice about Ben’s presence. Since shifters occasionally lost control and
trawsfurred
when hurt, the Cosantir’d ordered him to stay during the exam.

At a gasp of pain, Ben turned back.

The sheet covered the female’s torso, but not her legs. With the dirt removed, the wound looked even worse. Red lines streaked upward toward her thigh. White bone poked out of the gashed area—and Angie hadn’t attempted to clean away the embedded dirt and leaf debris.

“Happened how long ago?” Donal’s fingers hovered above the wound as he assessed the damage.

“I-I’ve lost track of the days.” She bit her lower lip. “It was the last dark of the moon, whenever that was.”

Donal’s expression turned grim.

Dark of the moon? As a chill crawled up his spine and tensed his muscles, Ben rose.

Startled, Emma stared up at him.

“Darlin’…” Ben gentled his voice. “You never did tell me what bit you.”

“A hellhound.” She shivered visibly. “I know all the old legends, yet somehow, I thought they were a myth. But they’re not. The…creature…was just as bad as the stories say.”

Donal grunted. “No wonder there’s so much damage.”

“By Herne’s Holy Antlers, how are you alive?” This li’l female survived a hellhound? Death would have been the least of what the creature would have done, given the chance. Torture, rape…

Donal cast him a warning glance before saying to Emma, “I need to clean this out before I can heal it. The cream I used will numb some of the pain, but it’ll still hurt like hell.”

She tensed. “Okay.”

Having been on the receiving end of a healer’s digging, Ben knew even this courageous little bear would have trouble holding still. He pulled his chair to the opposite side of the bed from the healer, braced his forearm on Emma’s left leg, and gripped her right knee above the wound. His left hand was free to secure the rest of her.

She took in his preparations and swallowed hard.

“Easy now.” Ben patted her hip. “While Donal pokes at you, why don’t you tell us the whole story?”

Donal filled a massive syringe with sterile saline and padded the bed with a heap of towels. Then he started squirting the fluid into the gaping flesh to flush out the grit.

Ben winced. Against the torn tissues, the forceful stream probably felt like an assault with a fire hose of boiling water.

Emma’s hands fisted. She flinched and unclenched her broken fingers.

“Talk to me, li’l bear.” Ben held her gaze with his. “What happened that night?”

“I-I heard screams from a human campground. There were children there, and I…” She whimpered in pain as Donal used tweezers to extract stubborn debris.

“A human campground? You went to save humans?” Not something most shifters would do unless the humans were friends.

“There were
children
there. I might have run otherwise. But the hellhound went after the cubs, so I attacked.”

“In bear form?” Donal asked, not looking up.

She nodded. “My claws didn’t even penetrate. It had…”

“Armor.” Ben sure had scraped his claws against enough of the fucking demon plating to know how she must have felt. “Bullet-proof, knife-proof, fang-proof.”

“Yes. Very. I hit it hard enough to get its attention away from the children, but it…bit me.” She motioned to her leg.

“Most shifters facing a hellhound are dead within seconds.”

Ben’s comment got a disgusted glare from Donal.
Fine.
He wasn’t a damned diplomat.

The pretty bear actually huffed a bit of a laugh—and then gasped as Donal’s tweezers dug deeper.

Ben pressed down to keep her leg immobile and took her uninjured hand with his free one. “Squeeze, female.” She had a nice strong grip. “How’d you get away?”

“I tried to get free, but nothing worked. Not until I poked it in the eye with a claw.”

“By the God, you did well. I’m impressed.” One-on-one, even a cahir rarely survived against a hellhound. “It ran?”

She nodded. “But the damage was done.”

“I’m going to fix this mess,” Donal said briskly. “But you’ll have a scar. And although I can put the bones in place and start the healing, you’ll need time to recover strength. It’ll be a while before your leg will take weight.”

“What?”

Donal ignored her and kept going. “I’ll give you a brace to wear. Eventually—when I tell you it’s all right—you can walk with a cane. And once the healing is complete, you won’t have even a limp.”

Her face went even paler. “But, I don’t have any… I mean, I can’t stay here.”

“Don’t even think about arguing.” He glanced at Ben. “I want you to hold her knee with one hand and pull on her ankle. Slow and straight until I say stop.”

At the foot of the bed, Ben wrapped his left hand around her thigh and curled his right around her ankle. Slowly, he pulled, grateful for the extra strength given to cahirs.

As Donal placed his hands on each side of her wound, using his power to loosen her knotted muscles, Ben continued the traction. The protruding bone slid beneath the skin.

Donal muttered, “Hold there, Ben.” His fingers worked the outside of her leg, lining up the bones, before he delved inside the wound.

Emma let out a sharp scream and jerked, but Ben didn’t let the leg move. After a second, she regained control and held completely still. Tears streamed down her white face. Brave female.

“Ease up, slowly,” Donal ordered, and Ben complied.

Donal set one hand over the area, eyes closed. “Yes, the pieces are in the right places.” He bent his head, hands on each side of the wound, and the flesh started filling in. Closing.

After several minutes, Donal lifted his head. Sweat moistened his face, and his silvery eyes had lost their glow. “You can let go now, cahir.”

With obvious dissatisfaction, the healer studied the fragile, pink tissue covering the area. There would be scarring, Ben knew. Donal muttered, “I could have done better if I’d seen you right away.”

Emma eyed him and looked away.

Why hadn’t she had anyone to help her? “Ignore Donal, Emma. He can be grumpier than a winter-starved badger.” Ben winked. He pushed the healer down into the empty chair. “Sit. I’ll fetch the leg brace you brought.”

When Donal dropped into the chair, Ben gratefully left the room, needing to settle his nerves. Seeing a female in pain made him want to go on a grizzly rampage.

She’d handled herself better than he had. By the God, she was brave.

She was also a mystery. Why had she been alone in the forest? Why had no one reported her missing? Where were her people?

He rubbed his neck as he trotted down the stairs. Good thing she’d be laid up for a while; he’d have time to find out all about her.

‡