Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3) (27 page)

Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory – Beltane’s full moon

A
s Ryder drove
the SUV down the road to the Wild Hunt Tavern on Saturday, he glanced over at Emma. A fiasco with a construction job had kept him on-site for most of the hours since he’d seen Genevieve. He’d welcomed the work. Welcomed not having to deal with anything emotional.

But, he’d stalled enough. Friday morning, he’d told Ben about Genevieve’s presence in town, and his littermate had guarded Minette.

Emma also needed to know.

As it had every time he thought of Minette’s mother, his anger rose again. She wasn’t in town because of any motherly concern. No, Genevieve was hoping for a free ride. From the looks of her house, she hadn’t been doing well. Perhaps, since she’d already fucked just about every single male in Deschutes Territory, she was having trouble finding a male to support her.

A shame she’d been able to find him. But cahirs were fairly well known. Tracking Ben’s location wouldn’t have been difficult. Undoubtedly, she’d now discovered that the cahir was doing well. With her impervious ego, she’d never realized how much Ben had despised her five years ago. She’d figure if she made a play for him, he’d let her do anything she wanted. Even worse, Genevieve might cut a male loose, but in her mind, he was still hers. He didn’t get to move on to a new female.

On Thursday, she’d seen Ryder and Ben kiss Emma.

Not good. Not good at all, because Genevieve could be vicious. Her jealous tantrums had been so unpleasant that Ryder had stopped mating with other females at Gatherings because any female he’d mated at full moon suffered her virulent spite. She’d reduced several to tears.

When he’d told her he was leaving her—and hadn’t been broken-hearted about it—she’d destroyed his reputation in Farway. Made it look as if he was a violent, abusive liar.

No one had come to his defense. His own fault—he hadn’t tried to become part of the town. On first arriving, he’d joined a construction crew and quit after a week, too heart-sore about leaving Ben to continue. Instead, he’d made a business of his own handcrafts, planning to let the local stores sell them. Only, as his obsession with Genevieve died, he’d decided to sell at craft fairs. So when the people in town believed Genevieve and acted as if he was almost feral, he’d simply moved to a different territory.

Their opinion of him hadn’t mattered.

But he cared about Cold Creek, dammit. He wanted the town for his cub. Wanted the town for himself.

After a second, he realized Emma was studying him. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

Amazing. He’d always prided himself on being inscrutable. “You read me well, little bard.”

“It’s not difficult when you look like a boggart stepping in a pile of blessed salt.”

A boggart?
“Ouch.” The disgusting little goblins were not only vicious, but ugly, as well. He tried to rearrange his face into more pleasant lines.

“You’re still glowering,” she pointed out mildly. “Has something happened?”

“Aye. Something you need to know.” He pulled into a parking space, turned the vehicle off, and faced her. “Minette’s mother was in the tavern Thursday.”

“Oh.” Emma tilted her head. “She sounds rather nasty, and I suppose it’s not comfortable having a former lover here, but wouldn’t Minette like to see her?”

What had he told her? Ah. He’d said Genevieve was manipulative and a liar, and how she’d found Minette to be inconvenient. He hadn’t given the little bear enough information. “She wasn’t a good mother. It’s why Minette is afraid of people.”

Emma’s eyes darkened. “She hit the cubling?”

“Aye.”

“And you let her?”

“I didn’t know Minette even existed until right before I got to Cold Creek.” Ryder half smiled. “And when I saw the bruises, I took my cub and left. Genevieve was…angry.”

“Oh.” Emma bit her lip. “That’s not good.”

Quite the understatement. Sires usually only raised cubs alone if their lifemate died. Gather-bred children rarely even knew who’d fathered them. If Minette didn’t look just like Ryder, he wouldn’t know he was her sire. “No, not good. So, if Genevieve shows up, please keep her away from Minette.”

“Got it.” Her jaw lifted with determination. “She won’t get anywhere near Minette.”

He could trust her to guard his cub. The knowledge was heartening—and humbling. “Thank you.”

Her smile was warm as she unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door.

“Hold on, bard.” He leaned forward and curved his fingers over her nape. Her silky hair slid through his fingers.

Her eyes widened as he touched his lips to hers, and lured in by her scent, he deepened the kiss. Her mouth opened under his, and he gently teased her into responding, feeling the resistance melt out of her.

But when he tried to move closer, the seat belt stopped him. Restored to his senses—more’s the pity—he chuckled and lifted his head to look into meltingly sweet brown eyes.

She stared at him, obviously bemused, and he kissed her lightly. Damn, she was cute. The way she responded to him made him exert more control than he’d needed for many a year. “I’d blame the impending Gathering for sparking my hormones, but, little bear, even if it was dark of the moon, I’d still have kissed you.”

Her response was a small huff. “Oh.” She shook her head, as if to settle her senses and looked at him cautiously. He might have been worried, but the open door wafted him her scent.

Interested
.

Good enough. “Tonight at the Gathering, Ben and I will find you.”
Will have you.
At the assurance in his voice, she flushed the prettiest peach color.

“Um…right.” She bit her lower lip. As worry and fear tinged her scent, his heart almost broke.

“Emma.” He ran a finger over her dented lower lip. “We’ll be careful with you. If there’s anything you don’t like, just say no. Even if you decide you don’t want us.”

“Just say no.”
Emma stared at Ryder in surprise. “I can refuse something? At a Gathering?”

His puzzled look was…reassuring. “Of course. Or any other time. Mating is supposed to be fun for all parties—or what’s the point?” His brows drew together. “How many Gatherings have you attended?”

Unable to deal with further questions, she pretended not to hear the question, shut the door, and hurried to the tavern.

Rather than pressing her, he started the SUV and drove away, lifting his hand in a quick wave.

All right then. He wasn’t angry.

She didn’t want him angry—because everything in her tingled at the thought of being with him and Ben.

Tonight. The Gathering would start when the moon rose and would stop when it set.

In the tavern, Calum’s teenaged daughter was picking out songs on the jukebox. After greeting her, Emma walked down the back hall and through the portal room with its well-hidden door to the caves below.

The cave was cool and dark. Small cubbyholes were filled with clothing from the shifters who’d changed to their animal forms and were roaming the forests.

But she needed to stay human. Outside the cave, she paused to listen, then followed a trail toward the sound of people.

“Hey, Emma.” Bree stood on the south side of the sunny clearing where a table had been formed from split logs lashed together and set on stumps. Over her head, a tree fairy swayed on a branch as it suspiciously monitored the activity.

“How can I help?” Emma asked. A half dozen people were bustling about, all looking as if they knew what they were doing. “The territory I came from didn’t have official Beltane celebrations. Did you say families and children will attend this Gathering? Not just single males and females?”

“You got it. Those wanting to mate will move farther into the forest, and the families will remain here. Actually, most of those with children leave before it gets too late. And everyone comes to the breakfast feast in the morning.”

“Our Cosantir is both traditional and innovative.” Shay came up behind Breanne, wrapped an arm around her waist, and stole a cookie from the plate she’d just set out. “Some territories celebrate Beltane during the day, some make a slightly bigger Gathering, some celebrate traditionally like Cold Creek. So far no Daonain community has assigned Beltane to a set calendar day. Only the humans would have such gall.”

Bree grinned. “Hey, I always thought May Day had a nice ring to it.” She nodded to the wood being stacked in the two fire pits. “I don’t think humans know about having two bonfires though.”

“Although blessings come to those leaping a Belfire,” Shay said, “the less athletic types prefer the blessings found from between the two fires.”

Walking between the Belfires.
Emma hugged herself. This was living inside one of the ancient songs. Bless Calum for following the old ways.

Even more wonderful, she’d have friends here to help if she got scared during the Gathering. That was so, so heartening.

“We have a few hours before the meeting. Why don’t you help with gathering”—Bree glanced at Emma’s brace—“Hmm. Actually, could you make bouquets for the tables? We already have flowers.”

“Emma, I’m glad you’re here. Bree, the area for the dancing and fiddler is set up.” Vicki stole one of Bree’s cookies and easily dodged the baker’s punitive hand-slap. She took a big bite. “Fuck, you can cook.”

Breanne grinned. “And you can swear. Good thing the Daonain don’t have priests, or you’d be doing penance constantly.”

“Can’t you see a priest here during Beltane? He’d have a heart attack.” Vicki waved her hand.

Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight,

Or he would call it a sin;

But we have been out in the woods all night,

A-conjuring Summer in!

“Nice. What’s the poem from?” Bree handed over another cookie in appreciation.

“Kipling, of course. The only poet a military person bothers to memorize. I’m off to fetch a load of blankets. See you two later.” Vicki saluted them with her cookie and headed down the trail.

Almost two hours later, the bonfires were ready to be lit in the fire pits, with extra wood stacked to the side. Buckets of sand and water were there as well, although it had rained last night.

The banquet tables were beautified. Non-refrigerated food had been set out and covered. Tubs were ready for ice and drinks.

Most of the people had gone to the tavern where Calum was serving a lunch to the Beltane gang. Feeling too nervous to eat, Emma kept working.

In the numerous tiny clearings and niches in the underbrush, she’d hung blankets on low branches. Shifters who wanted a more comfortable mating than in the sparse grass would have blankets available.

With her last blanket dispensed, she stretched, feeling the slow ache of her leg. She’d been on her feet too much.

But this had been one of the final tasks until meeting time.

As she stepped out onto the trail, she bumped into a male.

He grabbed her arms to steady her. His scent, his size too familiar.

Emma’s happy glow shattered into a million pieces. “Gawain.”

His icy blue stare burned into her. “Emma Cavanaugh. What are you—”

Before he could finish the sentence, she turned.

And ran.

Despite her brace and her injured leg, she fled up the trail, away from the tavern, away from the people. Straight up the slope where the trail plunged into deep forest. Fear buzzed in her ears like a broken beehive.

“Emma.
Wait
,” he called.

She slowed slightly—and her brace caught on a broken branch, holding her. Trapping her.

“Emma!”

No, no, no.
Panic roared in her blood. She tore at her brace until the straps came loose, threw it aside, and her clothes, too.

In her mind, she opened the door to the wild…and stepped through. The hum of magic ran over her skin with a thousand tiny prickles, followed by the warmth of the Mother’s love in her unmistakable caress. The overwhelming dread paused for a second.

What was she doing? Running? How stupid was that?

Then she saw again Gawain’s blue eyes. The first male she’d ever mated with at her first Gathering that had ended in blood and death. CeeCee’s yell echoed in her ears:
The rich bear-bitch made them fight over her.

Andre and Gary had fought and died.
Because of me.

Gawain was here, in Cold Creek. What would Ben say when he knew? Or Ryder who already thought females were suspect? She imagined the two males she loved looking at her with disgust. Cedrick’s pronouncement of banishment was like acid in her ears.

Footsteps sounded behind her. Running toward her.
Chasing
her.

Bear instincts took over.
Flee.

And she ran. Up the slope, veering onto one fork, then choosing another. Miles passed under her paws, miles between her and Cold Creek.

Hours passed.

Her panic retreated slowly. Far too slowly. The descending sun rested on the mountain peaks when she finally regained control of her bear.

Sides heaving with her breathing, she stopped. Her head hung with exhaustion.

What had she done? As her fear disappeared, shame took its place.

Shifting to human, she stared at her back trail in dismay. How far had she come? She sniffed and caught nothing but the scent of the forest—no wood smoke, cooked food, gasoline, machinery. No stench of civilization.

She was nowhere near Cold Creek.

Looking back, she knew Gawain had been as surprised to see her as she’d been to see him. He’d probably come to Cold Creek for the full moon. To ensure a diverse gene pool, non-mated males were encouraged to visit distant Gatherings.

Her legs had turned as brittle as toothpicks. A fallen tree trunk provided her a seat.

Everyone would wonder why she ran. And Gawain would tell them how she’d incited Gary and Andre to fight. How the Cosantir of the Mt. Hood Territory had banished her. Cold Creek was small. Every shifter would know by morning.

She stared at the dirt under her bare feet, remembering the stares that night, and the hatred on Cedrick’s face. The banishment and the guilt. By the God, the Gathering had happened three years ago. She hadn’t done anything wrong since.