Hour of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #1) (8 page)

That sounded like truth...but not all the truth. ―We‘re high enough that the weather here can be rather nasty.‖ He slid a piece forward.

She played a canny game, surrendering pieces reluctantly, but sacrificing where needed.

Aggressive, focused on the goal, much like Alec‘s style. Even his questions didn‘t distract her.

But her answers stayed ambiguous. Worrisome. She tossed them off with a carefree voice, but he could almost hear her mind racing for the best response. As Alec had said, the little human was a puzzle.

He won the game. Barely.

―This was fun.‖ She tucked the checkers into the table slots. ―It was a good way to unwind.

Thank you.‖

―My pleasure.‖

With their empty glasses, she disappeared down the hallway. A minute later, he heard the dishwasher start up. Smart little human—only needed to be shown something once. Did she know how rare that was? He followed her to tell her so.

Across the kitchen, she was hanging up her apron, and then, hands over her head, she stretched. Her close-fitting shirt outlined the tight muscles of her stomach, the jut of her lush breasts, her muscular biceps. The harsh kitchen light acquired a glow as it rested on her skin, emphasizing high cheekbones, full lips, and the long line of her throat.

His pulse picked up, and his hand tightened on the door frame.

Lowering her arms, she touched her side gingerly as if it hurt. Spell broken, he blinked.

What was he thinking? She was human. Inter-relations were not forbidden, but wisdom dictated avoidance, both physical and emotional.

Daonain weren‘t attracted to humans anyway—they didn‘t have the right scent. Normally.

Unfortunately hers was bloody appealing. Not wild as a shifter‘s would be, but clean as the mountain air with a hint of flowers and feminine musk.

He cleared his throat, and she spun around fast, almost cat-like, taking a defensive stance.

Her eyes displayed no fear, just a readiness for battle.

If he‘d moved...but he didn‘t. He leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, waiting.

―Fuck, you‘re quiet,‖ she spat out, easing back.

―Please excuse me for my...silence.‖ He studied her for a moment. Her mouth drooped slightly, her eyes looked weary, and her fingers trembled. ―I should not have kept you up. I fear this evening has been more tiring than you anticipated.‖

She shoved her hands in her jeans pockets. ―I‘m fine. I had the flu last week so I wear out fast. Couple of days and I‘ll be back to normal.‖

―Then you are content with your employment?‖

―Are you sure you and the sheriff are brothers? You don‘t sound at all alike.‖

―Ah. I was raised in the British Isles; Alec joined relatives in the south.‖

She laughed. ―In that case, I‘m surprised you can even communicate with each other.

Speaking of communication‖—she gave him a narrow-eyed look—‖next time, I get to lead the interrogation.‖

He tilted his head. He might well learn more from her questions than her evasive answers.

―Next time we‘ll play chess.‖

* * *

Tony Vidal sat at his desk. Fatigue made him feel as if he weighed several hundred pounds.

His left hand held a pen—and trembled. He laid his right over it, pressing down, willing the shaking to stop as fear knotted his stomach.

Parkinson"s. A slow decline into helplessness. That was not for him—Tony Vidal—who‘d crawled his way up the ladder, leaving dead bodies in his wake. Years ago, he‘d gone from being the Bull‘s most feared enforcer to slitting the drug lord‘s neck and taking his place. Then using his rival‘s little daughter as a lever, he‘d forced Garcia right out of Seattle. Hell, he‘d even given the kid back—a little scarred up, but alive. He‘d been on top for years. People answered to him, money flowed in as the drugs flowed out.

No fucking way would he let himself turn into a drooling idiot and have some ambitious son of a bitch slice his throat. He released his left hand and it lay quiet. He didn‘t shake constantly—

he still had time to find the answers.

The fucking werecats held those answers. He knew it.

He leaned back, remembering the village where he‘d grown up. All the rumors he‘d heard—

people who changed into animals, who never aged, who never got sick. He‘d laughed at the fairy tales…right up to the time he‘d seen one of his teachers transform into a mountain lion.

His family had moved away shortly after, and he hadn‘t thought much about it. Until his diagnosis. Until the doctor had said there was no cure for Parkinson‘s, merely a delay in the inevitable. The sickly curl of fear never left him. But he‘d known what he had to do. Become one of the beasts. Live forever without any sickness.

If he could only find out how to do it.

He drummed his fingers on the desk. What was Swane doing all this time, diddling himself?

Worthless bastard—Vidal didn‘t have forever to wait. He punched in Swane‘s number.

―Yeah,‖ Swane answered.

―What‘s going on?‖

―The fire investigator could tell it was arson, and they found what was left of the old woman‘s body in the basement, but the investigation‘s stalled. We‘re clear,‖ Swane said smugly.

―What do you want me to do now?‖

Vidal scowled. Dumb fuck. However, the ex-mercenary could be trusted to carry out orders without screwing up…if the sadistic asshole didn‘t get carried away like he had with the kid.

―Find me another creature.‖

―Like how? The traps where we caught Beastie-boy are empty. And a few are gone. Want me to move them to a new spot?‖

―Let me think.‖ Walking over to the huge bay windows, Vidal stared out at the drizzling rain. For some reason, the place where he‘d grown up had turned into a ghost town, but the rumors had mentioned other places with werecreatures. One was somewhere in the mountains northeast of Seattle—he‘d remembered that because his uncle lived in Seattle. He knew they were up there. Catching the boy proved that. ―Leave some traps where we got the kid. Then find the closest town and set traps around it—stay off the hiking trails though. If you need to hire someone, tell them you‘ve been contracted to trap a mountain lion.‖

―Got it.‖

―Call me in another day.‖ Vidal shut the phone off and scowled at the open folder on his desk. He picked up the driver‘s license lying on top. Victoria Morgan. The bitch was pretty. And clever. She‘d disappeared fucking thoroughly. But her ID had led him to the Marines, and then he‘d called in favors to get the rest of the information. She worked in a covert unit under an Agency big shot. No wonder she‘d slid through their fingers so easily.

The CIA. Nothing he wanted to fuck with. But she‘d seen him and Swane.

He didn‘t want to kill her though—not right away. If the cunt was alive, he‘d find out whether the bite had turned her into a werecreature. Besides, the kid might have talked to her, even told her where the creatures hid.

If she had any information... Well, Swane enjoyed women. By the time he finished, she‘d be begging to tell them all she knew.

* * *

As Vic stepped out onto her porch, she took a long breath of moist air, heady with the fragrance of fallen leaves and snow from the mountains. Did snow have a smell? Her coffee supply was running low, so she‘d decided to walk into town like everyone else did around here.

Her knee would tolerate an easy stroll.

As she walked down the steps, she glanced at the tree in the front yard. A quiver of uneasiness wiggled in her guts like a worm. She‘d watched the branches for the past week, and no more little hands had poked out of the foliage. But sometimes the leaves rustled—against the wind.

As if shapeshifters weren‘t enough to deal with. Scowling, she stared up. Another couple of weeks and maybe her ribs wouldn‘t kill her when she climbed up there. Then she‘d examine every fucking inch of that tree.

And she‘d take her Glock with her.

Nothing showed. Each day, yellowing leaves drifted down to cover the lawn, but plenty remained. More than enough to hide a squirrel or something. Something.

She glared. Two weeks ago, she‘d have laughed at anyone talking about…nonexistent creatures. Now? ―You know, little bastard, if I knew what you were, I might leave out food for you to eat. Squirrels like nuts, right?‖ Or maybe it was a rat—in that case, all bets were off.

―Maybe I should get a rat trap instead.‖ She slapped the tree trunk.

As she walked away, something hit between her shoulder blades. ―What the hell?‖ She spun, looked around. An unshelled walnut rocked back and forth on the ground.

A walnut? The tree was an oak. The day was calm with no wind, and she stood several feet out from under the canopy. A chill inched up her vertebrae as she had a visual of a squirrel winding up for a pitch. Nah.

Well, whatever-it-was would have to wait until she healed up a little more. Giving the tree branches her best I‘ll-be-back stare, she sauntered away.

The tavern had closed an hour earlier. As Calum walked Victoria to the door, he smiled at the disgruntled look on her face. Although she‘d won the first chess game last week, he had recouped and was now ahead in games. But so far, she‘d stymied him in another way—he still had no idea why she‘d come to Cold Creek. Nonetheless he thoroughly enjoyed the verbal sparring. The little human had a keen mind and a delightfully wry sense of humor.

After opening the door, he let her out into the night. ―Are you sure—‖

―You always ask that. I can walk myself home, thank you very much.‖

―As you wish.‖ In spite of his better judgment, he moved closer, noting the first faint whiff of female arousal and the dusky rose color that tinged her cheek. Why did this feisty human have to be so appealing? With an effort, he stepped back and smiled down into eyes the amber-brown of sherried Scotch whiskey. ―Having witnessed you in a fight, I should be more concerned for your opponents.‖

―Now you‘re talking smart.‖ As she left, she touched her fingertips to her temple in a jaunty salute.

A salute? Uneasiness raised his hackles. Daonain stayed far away from anything having to do with the military. After all, if the government ever learned of their existence, the probable outcome would be genocide for the shifters.

As Calum watched the human cross the parking lot, he smiled. The way her round ass moved in those tight jeans...truly, a less soldier-like movement he couldn‘t imagine. He‘d like to bend her over, take her hips in a hard grip… Arousal purred to life inside him.

He took a slow breath to calm himself and scented Alec. His brother appeared, detouring to the edge of the lot to speak with Victoria. They chatted briefly, and then Alec ran a finger down her long hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. The scent of interest and arousal—from both of them—drifted downwind to Calum.

That was damned odd. Shifters weren‘t interested in humans any more than a dog wanted to breed with a cat. Even if that wasn‘t true, a Daonain couldn‘t afford to get involved with a human.

By the time Alec approached, Calum still hadn‘t figured out what to say. How could he lecture his brother when he himself felt the same? ―She‘s a pretty human, isn‘t she?‖

Alec turned, his eyes on Victoria‘s slim figure as she disappeared into the night. ―Way too pretty, and a sore trial to my restraint. Why does she have to smell so good?‖ His upper lip lifted as he sniffed the air. ―Smells like she‘s testing your control too, eh, brawd? A shame she‘s a human. It‘s been a while since we shared.‖

―It has.‖ Nothing felt as right as pleasing a woman with his littermate beside him.

As Calum flicked off the last lights in the bar, Alec went down the hallway and unlocked the heavy portal door.

The small sitting room was tidy enough. Alec fingered long gashes on one couch. ―Who clawed this up?‖

―Rebecca‘s daughter, Lindsey, when she shifted early. Brawd, am I getting old or do our children have initial trawsfur younger these days?‖

―According to the news, puberty arrives earlier for humans; apparently Daonain aren‘t any different.‖ Alec paused, and then grinned. ―But yes, you‘re getting old.‖

―Bugger you,‖ Calum said mildly. He opened the closet door.

Alec stepped in. Behind the hanging garments, he pressed two panels at once, moved his hands, and did two more. At the almost inaudible click, he shouldered open the door to the cave with a grunt of effort. No human would be able to open it by himself.

Calum followed, breathing in the cold, damp air that smelled of dirt and minerals.

Downstairs in the cave, he stripped and tucked his clothing into the carved-out niches. The urgency, the need to trawsfur, tightened within him. With a sigh of relief, he opened the portal in his mind. Wildness blew into his soul like wind through an open door. Magic coursed across his skin, sank deep into his bones, tingling, changing him. He let himself drop forward and landed on his front paws.

Alec was still undressing, as easygoing in this as he was in all things. Calum yawned, curling his lip back and exposing his fangs in a not-so-subtle hint.

His brother only grinned. ―With your type A personality, you‘ll probably have a heart attack before you reach seventy.‖

As air from outside wafted into the cave from the three tunnels, Calum caught the heady scent of a rabbit and the end of his tail twitched. With an effort, he kept his mind from sinking too deeply into the wildness. They had things to do before they could hunt.

Finally, Alec shifted. He rumbled in satisfaction and shoved his golden-furred head into Calum‘s shoulder. Typical Alec affection, Calum thought, as the love he felt for his brother mingled with feline acceptance of a littermate.

Calum rose to his hind legs, grabbing Alec with his front paws. They tussled until, with his distinctive chirp of enjoyment, Alec sprang down the left tunnel. Calum followed, then took the lead as they ran up the mountain to one of the few roads in their forest domain. It was unmarred by tracks; no vehicle had passed since the last rain. They moved to check the next road.

The waning moon had risen in the black sky before they reached the most distant road. After this, they could hunt, and Calum‘s anticipation rose when his ears caught the scrabble of a shrew in the brush.