Eventide of the Bear (The Wild Hunt Legacy #3) (7 page)

From his sire’s side, Ryder’s heritage was French and, oddly enough, African American. Either the Fae’s Wild Hunt had ventured farther afield than commonly believed, or a dying Daonain had Death Gifted one of Ryder’s ancestors with shifter blood. Whatever the original cause, Ryder was dark-eyed with light, saddle-brown skin.

Even their personalities were different. Ben preferred things neat—kept his hair short. Was clean-shaven. His littermate didn’t give a fuck about his appearance; he’d tie his shoulder-length black hair back if it got in his way. His jaw was dark with stubble.

Ben had a slow Texas drawl—and he enjoyed talking.

Ryder’s speech showed his years in Idaho, and the cat would sooner claw a person than talk to him. But when Ryder did speak, people listened. He was damn smart.

Although brothers, they were as different as mountain and valley. Yet at one time, they’d run the trails as a pair. He flinched at the painful thought. Like a rose bush, even the loveliest memories could hide thorns.

Silently—no surprise there—Ryder gave his daughter a drink from the covered glass he’d called a
sippy
cup.

Such a tiny cub. They’d had to place a box on the chair to give her a seat high enough for the table. She couldn’t be older than about four.

Ben took a sip of beer. “She got a name?”

Ryder nodded. “This is Minette.” When Ben lifted his eyebrows at the French name, he nodded again. “Yes, Genevieve’s one and only. Apparently, Minette’s womb-mates were stillborn.”

“Ah, hell, I’m sorry.” Ryder’s cub. If he and Ben had mated the same female—as did most littermates—Minette would’ve been Ben’s daughter, no matter whose sperm had done the deed. Anger and grief roiled inside him, eroding his delight at her existence. “Did Genevieve come to Cold Creek with you?”

“No. Genevieve and I weren’t together even a year.” Ryder stared at the table for a moment. “It’s just me and Minette.

Ben relaxed. He’d despised Genevieve, hadn’t been able to see what had drawn Ryder. Well, okay, he understood her appeal. Pure, slinky sex. Her personality, however, was as irritating as fangs scraping on concrete. The female was lazy, wanted to be provided with a life of ease, and demanded attention stay on her. She was more self-centered than any female he’d ever met, even the one he’d mated last Gathering.

As Minette tilted her drink, and a sucking noise broke the silence. With a flinch, she set it down, shoulders curving inward.

Why?

When her timid eyes met Ben’s, he smiled slightly. “Drink, lass. Apple juice is my favorite, too.”

After a second, she timidly reached for the glass again.

She was scared.

As his protective instincts fired up, he worked to keep the anger from his face, because he was probably the one scaring her. Because she didn’t know him.

Ryder’s fault.

She would have been an adorable baby. A cute toddler. He’d have loved watching her grow. His anger flared to life again.

Moving to the counter where the cub couldn’t hear them, he motioned Ryder over. “So, the reason you left me was because Genevieve was pregnant?”

His brother looked as if he’d bitten into a rabbit’s bitter gall bladder. “I left because I was obsessed. Didn’t think I’d survive life without her. And you’d said you’d never lifemate.”

Ben winced. He did carry some responsibility for their breach.

Five years past, he’d returned to Texas and, with crap luck, bumped into his father—well, the male who’d raised him. Although Ben had known his mother had died in childbirth, this time his sire bluntly said Ben’s large size had killed her. Torn her apart. Moreover, he’d predicted Ben’s offspring would do the same.

By the God, to hear that he’d killed his mother? To think a cub of his would kill a female carrying it? He’d resolved his seed would spill on unfertile ground, and he’d live without taking a female as a mate. He would never cause another female’s death.

Being a complete idiot, he hadn’t considered what effect his declaration would have on his littermate.

When Ryder pulled a knife from his belt sheath to cut up an apple, Ben’s heart tugged. They’d been separated at five—and when they’d reunited at twenty, it seemed a miracle their brother-bond was still strong and whole. He’d given Ryder the knife after their first barroom brawl when they’d fought side-by-side as if they’d never been apart.

The bond hadn’t seemed such a miracle when Ryder had walked away. Ben rubbed his chest as if he could ease the pain of the damaged bond embedded in his soul.

After Ryder handed Minette a couple of apple pieces and returned, Ben cleared his throat. “But your obsession with Genevieve faded?”

“All too soon. She didn’t want me. Any male who would support and worship her would have done as well. When the newness wore off, she started playing jealousy games and hooking up with different males, even—” Ryder broke off, then continued after a pause. “I left after a Gathering where she goaded a bunch of males into a fight. I’d guess she became pregnant then.”

“How’d you find out about the cub?”

Ryder handed his child another apple slice to keep her occupied. “A friend living in Deschutes Territory visited Farway, saw Minette, and told me to have a look.”

One look would be all it would take. Minette’s big eyes and fair skin were Genevieve’s, but the nose, high cheekbones, curved upper lip and plump lower lip, and pointed chin created a delicate caricature of Ryder. No doubt of her parentage existed. “Hard to imagine Genevieve watching over a newborn.”

“She lived with a couple of rich wolves when Minette was a baby, but apparently, last year, she got bored.” He glanced at Minette to make sure she wasn’t paying attention and added, “Sampled every male in the area, and not just during Gatherings. They booted her out.”

Ben wasn’t surprised. Actually, it was remarkable the promiscuous female had remained with the two wolves so long. They must have been damned wealthy. “Genevieve let you take her cub?”

Genevieve wasn’t the type to surrender anything she had her paw on—even an unwanted child.

“I didn’t ask permission.” Ryder’s jaw tightened. “Without the wolves to rein her in, Genevieve… She lacks mothering skills,” Ryder said lightly, although his face was stony, and one hand fisted. He pointed to a small scar over the child’s cheekbone. “Harold said Minette stopped talking when she was alone with her mother.”

A growl escaped Ben. How could anyone hurt a cub, let alone one with the biggest, most vulnerable eyes in the world?

“When I showed up, Genevieve was fucking a male in the living room. The cub’s bedroom had no furniture, just a pile of blankets. Minette was hiding out in the backyard in a tiny burrow.”

Ryder’s anger had always been slow to rise, Ben remembered, and often would loosen his tongue…as it did now.

“So, I picked Minette up and carried her out, and I started looking for you. I hoped you’d…” Ryder’s voice trailed off.

Forgive him.
Ben closed his eyes for a moment. His anger wasn’t gone, but it was manageable. He didn’t have it in his heart to turn away a child, especially his littermate’s. “I’ve got a big house. There’s room for you and the cub.”

The tightness in Ryder’s face lessened. “Thanks.”

“Got to say, the upstairs is a mess, so we’ll have to get the rooms finished and some furniture.”

“Can do.” The cat’s slow smile appeared. “I’m good with wood.”

Understatement of the year. Ryder was the finest woodworker Ben had ever met.

“So…” Ben leaned against the table and attempted another smile. “Want a sandwich to go with the apple slices, Minette?”

She stared at him for a second and popped her thumb into her mouth.

Ryder said, “Appreciate it.”

From the cub’s scrawny appearance, she’d missed more than a few meals with her shrew of a mother. Ben assembled hearty beef and cheddar sandwiches, checking with Ryder for preferences on mayonnaise and mustard. “Here you go.”

Then he made some for himself and Emma, setting her sandwich, potato chips, and a glass of milk onto a tray. At Ryder’s curious glance, he explained. “Got a werebear in the bedroom next to mine. The Cosantir requested I keep her until she’s healthy.”

“Wounded? Does she pose a threat?” Ryder glanced at his cub.

“Not at all. Emma’s a nice female; she’d never hurt a cub.” Another understatement there. “She…” He broke off. Ryder might be relieved to know she’d attacked a hellhound to save a human child, but the Cosantir might not want Emma’s history shared, since he hadn’t rendered his judgment about her. “Having someone around to run food up and assist her when I’m at work would be a relief.”

“You got it.”

“Thanks. I’m going to take this upstairs and then join you.”

As Ben climbed the stairs, he felt his tension ease. Just thinking of Emma had a calming effect. Sure she was a lovely bear with those lush curves and big, brown eyes, but she was also quietly intelligent, fun to talk with, and simply…peaceful.

*

That evening, Emma
decided she’d go insane—maybe feral—if she was trapped in the bedroom another day. Now, how could she tell Ben she felt caged in his pretty room?

He’d been so good to her.

The bedside table held an empty plate and glass from the lunch that Ben had apparently left when she was sleeping earlier.

Her excessive exhaustion should ease soon. The healer had warned her the extensive healing would knock her off her paws for a few days. Tomorrow she could put some weight on her leg.

Partial weight
, Donal’d said, and he’d given her permission to leave her room, as well.

Thank the Mother.

As she gazed at the dark windows, her healing leg throbbed in counterpoint to her unhappy thoughts. In the wilderness, she’d hated the long, dark evenings. Those were the times she’d felt most alone, when everything she’d lost would come back to haunt her. Knowing she deserved to be miserable had made the loneliness even worse.

The murmur of voices came from the hallway, startling her. She stared at the closed bedroom door. Although most male Daonain shared a house with their littermates and eventually a mate, she’d gotten the impression Ben lived alone, but the male speaking had a deep voice with a resonant timbre similar to Ben’s.

Footsteps, light enough to be a child’s, came from the shared bathroom.

Why hadn’t Ben mentioned his brother, mate, and cubs when they’d talked over the past days? She’d thought they were starting to be friends. Emma tried to shrug off the feeling of hurt.

It would be nice to meet more people. Surely, Ben would have a wonderful mate and littermates.

Don’t descend into feeling envious, bear.
But it was difficult not to.

Her mother had been her only family. Being Gather-bred, Emma didn’t know her father, and her mother had handed off Emma’s two male littermates to an infertile shifter family passing through town. She’d only kept Emma because a female cub increased the status of a family. But her mother hadn’t loved her.

Now, Emma had to accept she’d never have a family.

It hurt to give up those dreams, but she had to be honest with herself. She was a big, ungainly bear, and the only time males had wanted her had been because of the hormonal influence of a full moon Gathering. Now…no male would want a female who’d been banished—a punishment saved for only the most heinous of crimes.

Even if the Goddess had forgiven her, she doubted Cedrick or anyone in the Mt. Hood area would forget. As her mother had said, just because a person “didn’t mean to” fixed nothing. A person was responsible for the results of her actions.

Emma hadn’t meant any harm, but harm she’d done. How could she whine that she wouldn’t get a family? Two males were dead because she’d looked at one with longing and had let him kiss her.

No, she’d be grateful for what she had now—for being alive, for a chance to return to the clan again.

The door to Emma’s room from the bathroom opened a crack.

A little girl, possibly three or four years old, peeked in. Her loose brown hair brushed her shoulders. Her curious eyes held the colors of a late summer forest, dark green and brown.

Absolutely adorable.

The girl spotted Emma and stiffened.

Emma smiled at her. Children were open and straightforward, and wonderful. “Hi there.”

Eyes wide, the girl stared and slid her thumb into her mouth.

The habit was familiar. Emma’d also sucked her thumb as a cub…until her mother noticed. When she hadn’t stopped quickly enough, her mother had clawed her thumb so mercilessly that any touch hurt. By the time the gashes healed, she no longer had the habit—just the scars.

Hopefully this cubling would be allowed the harmless comfort.

“Minette?”

The child disappeared back into the shared bathroom.

“Minette?” The lean, muscled man in a black leather jacket and boots who appeared in the doorway took Emma’s breath away. She’d never seen any male so striking. His features said he was Ben’s brother, although he was a few inches shorter and not as big-boned. Midnight-black, wavy hair reached his shoulders; black stubble outlined a chiseled jaw. His expression was cool…and cynical.