Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3) (33 page)

Of course, someone would have to point her out, since Emma’d never met her.

The thought of Minette’s foul mother had destroyed the quiet of the kitchen. With an annoyed huff, Emma drank the last of her wine and rose.

A glance at her legs lifted her grumpy mood. Earlier, the healer had visited and announced she could give up the leg brace and cane. She could even go on outings into the mountains. Of course, being Donal, he’d scowled and added, “
Short outings.
”

He’d probably have had a heart attack if she’d kissed him…although she’d been sorely tempted.

Grinning, she walked into the chaotic, mesmerizing bedlam she’d only heard in this tavern. People at the tables talked over the music—and each other. Raucous laughter came from males standing two deep around the bar. Pool table balls clicked and thudded. Females giggled, others hooted with laughter. Older males added baritone notes to the raucous song.

The tavern smelled of popcorn and roasted peanuts, of wood smoke and beer, of human perfume and cologne, and the wild fragrance of shifters.

Near the pool table alcove where Rosie was assigned, Ryder and Ben were with a group of other males. At the sound of Ben’s rumbling laugh, Emma’s heart did a disconcerting, syncopated drumbeat.

In the center of the room, Vicki was taking orders. The rightmost third of the room was waiting to order. Time to work. Emma grabbed a tray and signaled she’d cover the fireplace and surroundings. Grinning, Vicki gave her a half-salute. Rosie offered up a raspy cheer.

After several trips to the bar, Emma had only the section near the big windows left to serve. Without thinking, she’d left the table of young shifter females for last. Someday she’d manage to overcome her nervousness around females in her age group.

As she approached, she was blocked by a burly human male. He swaggered away from the table, zipping his leather jacket up over a stained tank top.

“Hey, babe.” He held up a hand in greeting, and the lights from the wall sconces flashed off gaudy rings. His gaze dropped to her breasts, and he grinned. “Want to hook up later tonight?”

Hook up.
Did he mean mate?
Ew.
She’d rather mate with a vile, ugly boggart. From his cocky stance, he thought himself attractive…and obviously couldn’t smell her lack of interest. “No, thank you.”

Sidestepping around him, she reached the table of females, all wolf-shifters. “Can I get drinks for anyone?”

“Well, it’s about time. We’ve been waiting forever,” Sarah snapped. She probably still resented the song delivered at Wesley’s rites. “I’ll take a glass of the house chardonnay if you think you can get it here before closing.”

“Oh, now, don’t be mean.” Candice flipped her red-brown hair over her shoulder. “The way the tables are crowded together, it’s difficult to get through, especially for someone who is…large.”

“And slow,” someone else said under her breath.

Be polite.
Maybe she should be grateful for her mother’s harsh training—except her mother had also made her feel large and slow. “Anyone else need a drink?”

“I’ve heard you’re living in Ben’s house.” The brunette sighed. “Ben is a cahir. And Ryder is to die for.”

True enough.
“Did you want something to drink?” Emma asked her.

“You?
You’re
living with Ben and Ryder?” The stunningly beautiful redhead gave her a top to toe scrutiny.

“Only because she was hurt, and she’s a bear. Calum didn’t want her savaging anyone if she lost control,” Candice said.

“Oh, why you poor dear.” Sympathy dripped from the redhead’s sugary voice. “I’m so glad you’ve healed up well enough to work now.”

“Huh, if you’re working, you can move out of Ben’s house.” The curvy brunette tipped her lips up in a false smile. “When’s the big day?”

Actually, they were correct. The time had come to find her own place. The thought dug a hollow next to her heart. “We haven’t discussed it.”

“Oh, honey, you aren’t staying in hopes of attracting their attention, I hope. I know Ryder. He prefers his females…well, smaller.”

The insult was sharp, sliding soundlessly between her ribs. But it reached her heart. Oh, it did. Emma tightened her fingers on her tray.

The redhead made a sympathetic tsking sound. “He’s probably found other uses for you around the house, but I’d hate for him to take advantage of you.”

“Oh, I guess a female bard would be a good cub-sitter,” Sarah pointed out.

“And a maid and cook. It’s good you’re learning to cook,” Candice said. “Males love cheap help.”

No. Ryder and Ben weren’t like that. They…weren’t. But the sinking feeling in her stomach said she might be wrong.

“But don’t be unhappy. I’m sure other males might be interested in you.” The redhead smiled at Emma. “We heard about the gory Gathering in Pine Knoll. Obviously your looks appealed to at least a couple of males.”

Who fought and died.

The falsely sympathetic words raked over Emma’s senses cruelly. This conversation was worse than blundering into blackberry bushes and emerging covered in blood.

“You know, when I mated with Ben at the last Gathering,” Sarah said, “I had to insist he take me downstairs and let me go. He’s quite possessive.”

Ben had been with
her
? He’d never mentioned it when they’d been talking about how Wesley died. Emma stiffened. Had he taken Sarah to his home? Enjoyed her in his massive bed? Laughed with her? Tucked her against his side? Rumbled his enjoyment and appreciation? Feeling her lower lip start to quiver, Emma pressed her mouth into a straight line.

“Oh, Ben. He’s so big and strong. I have my eye on him for next Gathering.” The female sitting beside Sarah pushed her curly, blonde hair over her shoulder.

Emma looked around the table. All of the females were pretty. The redhead was spectacular. No male would refuse them.

Standing over them, Emma felt…enormous. And ugly. Realizing her shoulders had started to hunch, she straightened.

Did barmaids have to put up with this kind of sly abuse? Vicki would probably knock them on their asses.

Maybe, someday, Emma would have the courage to get physical. That day had not yet arrived.

But a refusal to be prey could be delivered courteously.
Thank you, Mother for those lessons.
“I am so very sorry. You are quite right—I’m a slow bear. Since the service isn’t meeting your needs, perhaps you should take your orders to the bar.”

Gratifying sputters came from the females.

Emma walked away with her back straight, head held high.

She still felt ugly.

*

After parking his
SUV on the street, Ryder strolled up the sidewalk to the house. A glance at the stars told him the time was around midnight. With the clearing of the sky, the temperature had plummeted. Frost glazed the grass, and the clean scent of glaciers filled the air. After the heat of the tavern, the chill wind was bracing.

He glanced at the dark windows in the main house. In the tower, Ben’s downstairs office and upstairs bedroom windows showed no light. Didn’t look as if anyone was still awake. His littermate had worked a twelve-hour day and would be on the job early tomorrow morning. Even grizzlies wore out eventually.

Ryder didn’t feel tired. Emma’s performance had included several bitterly tragic Daonain tales. Afterward, he, Ben, Quentin, Owen, and Joe had downed a few while dissecting the history behind the stories. Ben had wanted to play a new board game with Minette, so he left early to pick her up. After Quentin and Joe had gone home, Owen had challenged Ryder to a game of chess, which had turned into three.

Good music. Good conversation. Good beer. He hadn’t had so much fun in a decade or more.

Hadn’t had good friends, either.

Years ago, he and Ben hadn’t figured a predominantly shifter village could support a construction company, so formed their construction company in a human town. Their friends there had been human.

During the time with Genevieve, Ryder hadn’t made friends. She threw a screaming fit if he wasn’t dancing constant attendance on her. When they were with others, all conversation revolved around Genevieve. Discussing historic battles would never have happened.

On the fair circuit, he’d enjoyed the humans—some were damned smart—but as in the human towns, he’d had to monitor his words and behavior. Drunken discussions were out.

It was fucking nice to be amongst his people again.

Smiling, he let himself into the house. The various electronics—the glow from the various kitchen devices, a ceiling smoke detector in the foyer, a clock’s digital readout—lent enough light he didn’t turn on the overheads.

The soft strum of a guitar from the great room surprised him. Since the Gathering, Emma had spent her nights with Ben.

Pleased his littermate had slid past her defenses, Ryder’d been content to wait. She was a shy little bear. He wasn’t about to do anything to distress her—she was worth a long, slow hunt.

But why wasn’t she with Ben now? In a mournful minor key, the haunting tune indicated a little bard might be unhappy.

With a feline’s soundless stalk, Ryder entered the room. The only illumination came from the fireplace where a golden salamander basked in the red coals of a dying fire.

On the sectional, Emma was curled around her guitar as if she’d suffered a blow to the gut. With her face turned toward the black forest beyond the windows, she looked…sad. Lonely.

The little bear should never look so lost.

“What happened?” His voice came out gruff.

She startled. “Oh. Hi.”

He removed the guitar from her lap and sat close enough his thigh rubbed against her soft hip.

Her eyes widened…but he could detect no scent of fear.
Progress
.

“Emma?” he prompted.

“Um. Nothing. Nothing happened.”

He took her hands, feeling calluses on the fingertips from her playing. “Try again, little bear.”

“Enough, Ryder. I’m just in a bad mood.” Her laugh was bitter. “No need to sit with me or try to be nice when you undoubtedly want your bed.”

“Good to know.” He studied her silently. This wasn’t the Emma he knew—not that he knew her well. But he’d never seen her grumpy without a reason. Something had created a storm in her sunny personality. When? During her performance, she’d glowed with delight in the music and the audience. Soon after, he’d seen her laughing and chatting as she served drinks.

But when she’d moved farther away, he’d become immersed in the discussion at his table. “What happened at the tavern?”

“Nothing.” Yet the twitch of her fingers said he was on the right trail.

He considered the possibilities. Had something happened with her friends? Unlikely. With the tough old barmaid, Rosie? Be a hell of a fight, but, no, Rosie appreciated Emma’s music and was grateful for her help afterward.

Maybe a customer had been rude?

A disturbing memory nagged until it came clear. On his way out of the tavern, he’d seen Genevieve. Seated with a group of females, she was in Emma’s section. The trail held a disturbing scent, especially since Genevieve had already mentioned Emma once. The shrew would have gone for her. Yeah. “What did she say to you?”

“What? Who?”

“Genevieve.” At the bard’s confused stare, he prompted, “Redhead, pretty, at the tavern. Sitting with Candice.”

Her amber eyes widened. “She was Genevieve?”

“Oh, yeah. And she’s well-known for sinking her teeth into anyone who provokes her jealousy.”

Damned if the little bear didn’t look even more surprised. “Why in the world would she be jealous of me?”

She didn’t know. Her lack of pretension was more compelling than any flirtatiousness. “Because you’re beautiful, Emma. Because I like you. Because I want you.”

His direct stare let her know exactly what he meant by
want
.

Her lips formed the word
oh,
and he had to grin. By the God, she was lovable. He pulled her onto his lap, so her legs dangled off his left side and his right arm braced her back.

Her ass was a warm circle on his thighs. Perfect.

“Ryder.” With her gasp, her breasts strained against her shirt in a carnal invitation. “I’m too heavy. I’ll squish you.”

“Mmm, I’d say you’re just the right weight. Right size.” He pulled her closer, until her hip rubbed his rapidly thickening cock, until he could touch his lips to hers. Then her claim caught up with him, and he frowned. “She said you’re too heavy?”

The stiffness in her shoulders said yes.

“What else? She wouldn’t stop at one insult.”

Emma’s attempted laugh sounded like a sneeze. “It’s nothing.” Her gaze wouldn’t meet his.

He rubbed her cheek with his, marking her with his scent, inhaling hers. He nipped her earlobe. “Talk, bard.”

Her fragrance changed, deepened with arousal. “Ryder.”

“I can torture the information out of you,” he whispered in her ear. And wouldn’t he fucking enjoy that?

When her breathing actually halted, he grinned and teased her ear with his teeth.

“Oh, fine,” she huffed. “She simply said you preferred smaller women, and how you and Ben were probably using me for other things around the house. A cub-sitter and maid were suggested.”