Hour of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #1) (9 page)

Overhead, the moon fought free of the clouds, illuminating fresh tire tracks. Calum‘s claws unsheathed as anger welled inside him. Although ostensibly owned by a lumber company, this forest belonged to the Daonain. With an effort, he fought his way free of emotions. For now.

Alec‘s muscular shoulder thudded into his, and Calum heard a harshly suppressed snarl as his brother spotted the tracks.

Calum padded silently into the forest, moving parallel to the road. The ruts continued for another mile. Near a small clearing, he caught the scent of humans and the cacophony of odors that accompanied them: deodorant, shaving lotion, leather, laundry soap, bath soap. He paused, letting his nose filter the information.

Two men. From the faint stench of dung and urine, they‘d only arrived a few hours ago. No fire. A cold camp implied they didn‘t want to be found. He flicked an ear at Alec, and his littermate turned, slinking silently to the right of the camp. Calum moved left.

Sitting with his back against a pine tree, the human on watch held a shotgun across his knees. The other man snored in his sleeping bag, black hair poking out through the top. Metal gleamed in the moonlight showing a pile of animal traps for large animals. Rage welled up inside Calum like molten lava. This was his mountain; they were hunting his people.

Why? What did they know?

He pulled power and drew on a Cosantir‘s awareness of his territory. Dev, Rosie, Angie, Ben...seven Daonain total roamed the mountains right now. He needed to drive the intruders away and destroy their traps. But carefully...very carefully.

Having Alec arrest them for trespass and illegal trapping could backfire if the hunters questioned how the sheriff found them in miles of wilderness. The Daonain survived by not drawing any attention.

Alec appeared from the underbrush, anger obvious in his tight muscles and glowing yellow eyes. A tingle, a blur, and he was in human form, hidden from the camp behind brush and trees.

Calum followed suit.

―S‘pose you‘re not gonna let me rip their guts out,‖ Alec growled.

―Regretfully no.‖ Calum fought his own need to shred the hunters into little pieces. ―They might have been hired to set traps without knowing why. Any other ideas?‖

―Actually, yes.‖ Alec leaned against a cedar and scratched his back on the trunk. ―I saw Ben‘s spoor. Fresh.‖

Ben? Recently laid off from his construction job, the shifter was enjoying his vacation in animal form. ―Spook them out of their camp?‖

Alec‘s face had the innocent expression that his friends knew to distrust. ―Every hunter knows how troublesome bears are, especially ones that have learned to scavenge. Why, I‘ve heard bears think any container is filled with goodies.‖

Calum‘s gaze rested on the big cooler...undoubtedly full of food, and the packs and boxes scattered across the clearing. He rubbed his cheek, feeling the harsh scratch of stubble. The night was getting old.

He moved his mind to a Cosantir‘s awareness. Ben was very close. ―You have a wicked soul, brawd.‖

* * *

A cougar snarled nearby.

From the shadows, Alec watched the man with the shotgun startle, his head thumping into the tree he‘d been leaning on.

When the underbrush rustled, Alec grinned. Calum must be rubbing against every bush in the area. A loud snarl, even closer.

The guard jumped to his feet. The other man frantically struggled out of his sleeping bag and snatched up a tranquilizer gun. The two moved out of the clearing quickly and quietly.

Ten minutes later, Ben rampaged through the empty camp. The big bear enjoyed itself, clawing open boxes and backpacks and leaving litter strewn everywhere. Behaving exactly like a normal hungry bear.

Ben had saved the best for last—the three-foot-long ice chest. The bear clawed the cooler open, gouging the hard plastic. After a few slurping noises, Ben straightened. Half of a massive salami jutted from his jaws like a cigar.

Voices approached, and Alec stiffened. The hunters were returning, grumbling all the way.

Calum had managed to lead them quite a ways before losing them.

―Hey! Hey, dammit!‖ The first man stepped into the clearing, holding the thirty-aught-six like he knew how to use it. ―Somebody trashed our camp!‖

Get the hell out of there, Ben.

Ben rose to his full height and let out a roar that halted the hunters in their tracks barely long enough for him to put a rockfall between him and the men. A shotgun blasted, echoing through the mountains. Sparks shot off the granite.

Without speaking, one man moved to check Ben‘s trail while the other hung back, rifle poised at his shoulder.

Alec‘s gut tightened as he watched the way the pair functioned. The quickness of their response, even the hand signals they used, pointed to military experience. And Lachlan had been tortured. The threat to the Daonain might be deadlier than anyone had realized.

The run from the parking lot through the rain and into the Wild Hunt left Vic drenched. As icy water trickled down her neck, she turned to scowl at the downpour. In the last two weeks, the season had definitely settled into a cold wet autumn. The desert was looking better and better.

After all, what were a few grenades and IEDs between buddies?

―Raining out there?‖

She glanced around as Alec left his friends and moved close enough that his appealing scent tantalized her: clean clothes, a hint of aftershave, and musky male.

Mmmmh If she swayed any nearer, her breasts would rub his chest. No, Vic. She retreated a step and leaned against the doorframe. If she didn‘t keep her distance, her clothes would start to steam from the heat growing between them. Jesus, maybe she should go back outside, have a cold rain shower. ―Uh, yeah, it‘s pouring like a son-of-a-bitch.‖

―Must be. You‘re soaked, darlin‘.‖ His smile could brighten the gloomiest day. Dammit.

―You‘re pretty early. You didn‘t walk here, did you?‖

―Hardly.‖ She watched a wave of rain advance across the parking lot like strafing fire. In the west, the setting sun had turned the dark clouds a sullen red. ―And it‘s Friday—I start early on Friday and Saturdays.‖

―Gonna be a long shift.‖ He lifted a strand of her hair, frowned as water dripped onto the floor. ―Calum has some towels in the kitchen. Dry off before you catch your death.‖

―Yes, Daddy.‖

― Daddy?‖ His gaze moved down her body like a warm hand and returned to where the wet fabric molded to her breasts.

Her breath caught as everything inside loosened.

He rested his palm on the doorframe over her head and leaned in. As he inhaled, his nostrils flared. ―Vixen,‖ he murmured, so close his breath warmed her cheek.

She should stop this... His lips were tantalizingly near. At the heat in his dark green eyes, she felt her skin flush. Sensitize. She was caught, every cell inside her longing for his touch. Her face turned up, and she brushed her lips against his.

He froze. The muscles in his jaw hardened into granite, and he took a step away. ―I‘m a fool…and I‘m sorry, Vicki.‖ He turned and walked out in the rain, muttering, ―Herne help me.‖

Trying to tell herself she was relieved, Vic watched him cross the parking lot with his long-limbed, easy gait, and her lust felt as if it radiated outward in hot waves. How the hell did he make her feel like this? Like she‘d give anything to wrap a fist in his shirt and pull that lean body down on top of her. She could almost feel his weight on her, the way he‘d take her mouth, tease her into kissing him back, then—

Holy fuck-doodle. If she didn‘t get her act together, she‘d melt right here in the doorway.

She shook her head, sending water splatting against the floor. At least, she was warmer than when she‘d come in. A lot warmer.

And an idiot. Just because she felt as if he was a friend—a teammate. Like many of the soldiers she‘d fought with, he held the same dedication to duty. Add in that warped sense of humor and...that body? Hell, how could she resist?

With a curse, she slammed the door shut, pleased to see customers jump at the noise. As she made her way across the sparsely filled room, a table of uniformed forest service workers watched her. One younger guy muttered, ―Looks like Alec‘s caught himself a female.‖

A gray-haired, darkly tanned man answered, ―She‘s easy prey.‖

Prey? The asshole thought of her as prey? She slowed, considered knocking a chair-leg off the old goat‘s chair, let him land on his ass. But hell, they were just men—another term for clueless—and they hadn‘t been speaking to her.

She veered toward the hallway and caught another fragment: ―…strangely appealing, anyway.‖ That was more like it. Why their voices were so loud, she didn‘t know. Come to think of it, the entire room seemed awfully loud, like a TV with the volume turned to high. Her hearing felt as sensitive as after a night downing shots of tequila. Only she hadn‘t been drinking.

―Hey, Vicki!‖ Jamie slammed the dishwasher closed and ran across the kitchen to bestow a hug.

Thank God her ribs had healed. ―Ah …‖ Dammit, she‘d know what to do with a teammate‘s one-armed embrace, but this was a girl. A baby. After a second, she lifted one hand and patted the kid awkwardly.

―Jeez, Vicki,‖ Jamie frowned up into Vic‘s face. ―When somebody hugs you, you hug them back.‖

―Oh. Okay.‖ Wrapping her arms around the skinny shoulders, she could only marvel at a child so well loved, who would know that lack of a hug wasn‘t from dislike, but from inexperience. She blinked rapidly against the prickling in her eyes and held the girl a moment longer to be sure the tears didn‘t show.

When the kid released her and looked up with a smile, the brightness in her face dimmed.

Vic got another hug—a very gentle one.

―Jesus, all this mushy stuff,‖ Vic muttered. Pity. She‘d just been pitied by a fucking baby.

She stepped away and noticed her clothes had left the kid wet. ―I need to dry off before I flood the place.‖ Crap, that sounded like she was planning to cry. "I mean—‖

But Jamie had trotted over to the shelves and snagged a towel.

―Thanks, kid.‖

―We get to work together today.‖ Jamie perched on a stool by the sink and beamed. ―I‘m working ‘til six tonight, Daddy said, since you‘ll be here to make sure nobody...‖ She frowned.

―Um...nobody makes some advances.‖

Didn‘t that just sound like Calum? ―Nobody makes an advance.‖

―Yeah. That‘s it.‖

After tossing the towel on the washing machine, Vic pulled her shirt away from her chest.

The dampness made it too tight...and too cold. Glancing down at her tits, she groaned. Alec had not only seen her nipples, but must have been able to count every crinkle around them. No way could she serve tables like this.

―Very attractive, however I‘m not running a brothel,‖ Calum said in a dry voice.

Vic jumped. Now she knew how her buddies had felt when she‘d snuck up on them. Then his words registered. He found her breasts attractive? Her cheeks heated, and she turned her face away. God, two men in one day had made her blush. Worse—were making her hornier than an off-duty soldier in Taiwan. What was the world coming to?

―My clothes are soaked. Do you have any suggestions?‖ she asked, trying for an even voice.

―I have a sweater in the office. Jamie, please go and take orders for drinks. Tell people I‘ll be out in a minute after I finish dressing our waitress.‖ His gray eyes glinted as his gaze ran over Vic‘s body, all too much like his brother‘s had.

And having Calum look at her breasts turned her on just as quickly.

Dammit, now she was wet inside as well as out. With a huff of exasperation and desire, she crossed her arms over her chest and surprised a rare grin out of Calum. The flash of white teeth in that tanned face sure didn‘t do her hormones any favors.

Jamie trotted out the door, already singing along with Waylon Jennings on the jukebox.

Calum didn‘t move. Although his grin had faded, the crease along one lean cheek remained, making her want to run her fingers over his face. Over everything. The bulge in his black jeans showed he was equally interested. Bad idea, Sergeant. She bit her lip. ―Sweater? Remember?‖

―I do. You remain here while I find it.‖ As he left the kitchen, his voice trailed back to her,

―Your company right now would be an appallingly bad idea.‖

Without her permission, her feet started after him. No, Sergeant. She stopped. She was here to investigate stuff, not to scratch an itch. Or two. Mmm, two men. Alec‘s kisses, Calum‘s hands.

No no no. She thumped her head against the wall hard enough to pound that idea right out of her brain.

* * *

At a lull later that night, Calum glanced around the room, feeling the glow of satisfaction.

The tavern, gathering home of the Daonain since it first opened in eighteen eighty, was thriving under his care. Not only shifters liked the Wild Hunt, but OtherFolk and even humans enjoyed the warmth of companionship here.

Most of them. He eyed a table with three human females. Two were pleasantly drunk and soaking up attention from the human males. The third female nervously watched a couple of older shifters seated nearby.

Calum frowned. Only yesterday, Thorson had returned from the mountain where he‘d gone to ease his grief. Tonight, he was single-mindedly trying to get intoxicated. Unfortunately, his drinking companion was Albert Baty, another human-hater. Sober or alone, the men posed no problem. Put them together, and their anger merged and increased.

After Rosie had gone off duty earlier, Calum had served the men himself so Victoria would have no reason to go near them.

Other customers had also required special service. He glanced at the corner table by the kitchen door and saw the dwarves‘ glasses were empty. Already. With a sigh, Calum built two more black and tans and carried them over. The satisfaction that the discriminating local dwarf population found his beer good was offset by the danger of having them frequent his bar, especially on busy nights.

Like many magical beings, the dwarves generated a you-can"t-see-me aura. The RESERVED placard on the table and the slightly antagonistic waves coming from them repelled most humans...unless they were very drunk, like the old rancher last week who‘d plopped himself down on Gramlor‘s lap.