Hour of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #1) (12 page)

―Then, I‘ll talk to you after I have Dr. Reinhardt‘s report in hand.‖

―Thank you, sir.‖

Her grin faded as she closed the phone. Once again she‘d dodged telling Wells about the shifters. Dammit, she needed to return to Baghdad where the issues were clear and she knew her ass from a hole in the ground. And where she wasn‘t getting sucked into people‘s lives and lusting after civilians.

But her mission wasn‘t over. She had to find Lachlan‘s grandfather. And be certain the werebeasties posed no danger to normal, unfurry people, or no matter what she‘d promised Lachlan, she‘d turn over the investigation to Wells. Her promise to the American people came first. Hell.

As she scowled, she saw something skitter across a branch, then a tiny face peered down at her. Another of those tree-thingies? She pointed a finger at it. ―Whatever you fuckers are, do not—I repeat—do not follow me to Baghdad.‖

* * *

Joe Thorson squinted against the bright afternoon light as he stepped out of his bookstore.

His twisted knee burned like fire, and the massive purple bruise on his jaw had turned shaving into a hellish exercise.

He deserved every bit of it.

Nodding at Al Baty who waited on the sidewalk, Thorson eased onto the ironwork bench by the display window.

―You look like you got caught in an avalanche.‖ Al took the matching chair. He grinned, fingered his chin. ―The human packs a punch.‖

―Does she,‖ Thorson said in a dry voice.

―At least—‖

―Shut up.‖ His soul felt tattered with humiliation. What had he been thinking to attack a female? No matter the species, it was wrong.

He waited silently as Calum and the human strolled down from the tavern. As they approached, Thorson stood and waited. And watched, noting how Calum‘s eyes darkened, his posture turning protective. Surely the Cosantir hadn‘t formed an attachment to this...human.

Thorson turned his gaze on the female. Pretty enough, he supposed, but lacking—his eyes narrowed—actually, she wasn‘t lacking. She had a werecat‘s grace although not the wild scent of one who‘d run the forests. He could see why she might, possibly, have attracted Calum. Still, any relationship with a human would be as doomed as an air sylph trying to mate a fire salamander.

―Calum,‖ he said, nodding to the Cosantir, then grudgingly tilted his head to the female.

―Miss.‖

She was silent, an unusual trait in a human. One to be appreciated.

―Victoria, this is Albert Baty. He owns the grocery store,‖ Calum said. ―Joe Thorson owns Books.‖

Her gaze was cool, her voice husky. ―Great name for a bookstore.‖ No tedious, pleased to meet you, or how are you niceties from her.

―Have you suggestions for reciprocity?‖ Calum asked. Strictly business was the Cosantir, especially when something raised his ire. He wasn‘t one a shifter wanted to rile up. Although he‘d never wanted the God-given title, he‘d led them with wisdom…and power that had become legendary.

Al stepped forward, his gut leading his chest by a good few inches. He needed to get into the forest more, run some of that flab off. ―First, Miss Waverly, I‘d like to say that I‘m sorry. I was drunk...and stupid.‖

Her eyes narrowed. ―I‘ve dealt with stupid drunks before. Never seen one try to knife a person in the back.‖

Al cringed like a whipped dog. Thorson barely repressed a snarl.

The grocer‘s face turned red enough to match the broken veins in his nose. ―I-I.‖

The woman sighed. ―Do me a favor. If you want to drink, leave the weapons at home.‖

―Yes, miss. I will,‖ Al said.

By Herne, if Al had been in wolf form, his tail would be under his belly. Thorson really needed to rethink his friends, or, at least, avoid submissive werewolves.

Al continued, ―My thought to balance the debt is free meat from the grocery for you as long as you live in Cold Creek.‖

The human‘s eyes widened. She glanced at Calum.

The Cosantir considered, then nodded. ―A fair exchange. Let it be so.‖ He turned to Thorson, his pupils very close to totally black. Not a good sign. He obviously held Thorson to blame for the fight.

―My apologies also, Miss Waverly,‖ Thorson said stiffly. He wouldn‘t—couldn‘t—crawl like his dog of a friend. Not for a human, even a female one.

She tilted her head, studying him. ―Why do you hate me?‖

The question came like a slash to the jugular. Because you"re one of them who killed my boy.

Human. Images of Lachlan flooded his memory. The day the boy arrived, his mother dead, his little face so white. Giggling under a pile of books dislodged when he‘d tried to climb a bookcase. His wonder at his first trawsfur . His body lifeless on a steel table. Killed by humans.

Thorson choked on hatred. His hands closed into fists, tingling with the beginning of trawsfur.

Calum pulled the human back a step and moved in front of her. His eyes, black as night, met Thorson‘s, and power edged his voice. ―No, Joe.‖

The impending change fled; the anger did not. Lips closed over a snarl, Thorson turned his head away and struggled for control. He heard Calum speaking...―lost his grandson.

Grieving...not himself.‖ And hearing, he regained his composure. No one apologized for him.

He turned back to the female. ―I‘m sorry.‖ Her face was whiter than the snow-capped peaks, her eyes shocked. Did grandchildren not die where she came from?

―I… Fucking A, you‘re…‖ She swallowed and raised her voice and her chin both. ―I‘m sorry for your loss, Mr. Thorson.‖

―Thank you.‖ He inhaled, his chest sore from more than the fight. ―Calum. I haven‘t thought of a way to achieve balance. Since you know the fem—ah, lady, have you suggestions?‖

―I have an idea that might serve,‖ Calum said smoothly. The faint smile on his face had the hackles on Thorson‘s neck rising. Last time he‘d seen that smile, Calum had crippled the recipient. ―I would suggest you give Miss Waverly free rein in your bookstore.‖ Calum glanced at Al and added, ―As long as she resides in Cold Creek.‖

The Cosantir had lost his mind. How could free books compensate for Thorson‘s attempt on her life? But by Herne, the female clasped her hands together, and the look on her face could only be described as bliss.

Calum raised an eyebrow at Thorson.

An unfamiliar human underfoot in his domain? The townsfolk he knew were bad enough.

Thorson choked a little, and then spit out the traditional answer. ―The balance is fair. Accepted.‖

Engulfed in the aroma of books, leather, new paper, and a hint of dust, Vic was unable to keep the smile off her face. She‘d begun to wonder if the place was ever open. Bookstore withdrawal—who would suspect such a thing existed? But she‘d get her fix today. The store was even better than she‘d hoped with a great selection of new and used books, including military sci-fi.

Joe Thorson had taken up position behind the small counter, watching her, his expression somewhere between amused and furious. Furious wasn‘t good. This probably wasn‘t the smartest thing she‘d done, entering a pissed-off panther‘s lair.

Then again, this lair had books.

And she didn‘t blame him for attacking her, not after Calum‘s explanation. The old man had to be Lachlan‘s gramps, and if he‘d learned how his grandson had died, it was no wonder he hated humans.

Turning her back on him, but keeping her ears open, she did a quick survey of the place.

Like everything else in this town, the building was old. The counter was by the left wall. The door behind it probably led to a back room. Towering wooden bookshelves created a maze on the hardwood floor. The right wall held a table and ladder-back chairs before a fireplace. Useful, but not very friendly. She noted the two windows framing the fireplace as possible exits.

Wandering around the room, she discovered a shelf of recently released books. Yes! A new Guy Gavriel Kay went under her arm. She thumbed through a Bujold and kept it also. But there was a new Crusie, dammit. No. With a lingering sigh, she forced herself to walk to the counter.

He eyed her and her choices.

―I expected you to take more,‖ he said patronizingly. His voice was sandpaper rough, like someone had crushed his larynx in the past. White lacework scars covered his tanned forearms, so maybe the same person had tried to rip him apart. Considering his personality, quite understandable.

―I limit myself to two books at a time,‖ she said. No need to mention how delaying to pack books had almost gotten her blown up. ―I‘ll be back in a couple days for two more.‖

―I see.‖ He held out a hand. ―Let me put them into the system so my inventory remains correct.‖

He scanned in the barcodes and pushed them across the counter to her.

―Thank you.‖ She gathered them up.

―Balance,‖ he said, his mouth flattening slightly.

Earlier, on the way to town, Calum had explained the balance-reciprocity stuff was a local custom. It sure gave new meaning to the phrase, ‗paybacks are hell‘. But he‘d offered only that in explanation and trying to get information out of him was like pumping a dry well. The man had even more control over his words and expressions than spymaster Wells did.

―See you soon,‖ she said to Thorson.

With a short nod of dismissal, he turned away and bent over the small desk tucked in a corner.

Nice meeting you too, she thought to his back and— oh, God. A picture of Lachlan stood on the desk. The kid stood on a mountain peak, wind ruffling his hair. Laughing. Healthy. The grief that ripped through her stopped her breath.

She opened her mouth to tell the old man about his grandson, how fucking brave he‘d been, how—

No. I can"t. Lachlan‘s grandfather would have to wait until she finished investigating. She‘d sidestepped telling Wells about these...creatures and now the burden was on her to be certain they didn‘t present a danger to the rest of the world, or at least to the United States citizens she‘d promised to protect.

Joe Thorson was obviously a shifter. A really unhappy, vengeful werecat. If she revealed information about Lachlan‘s murder, the old guy would probably try to kill her again. Once was plenty for that dance.

As isolated as the town was, if they kicked her out—or killed her—getting another agent in place would be very difficult. She was here. Investigation first, then Lachlan‘s grandfather.

He glanced up from his paperwork, eyebrows raised.

She gave him a curt nod and left.

She finished her two books in three days and headed back to the bookstore, zipping up her new fleece-lined, jean jacket. At least she‘d gotten in some shopping after seeing the base doctor yesterday. Reinhardt thought her knee was healed, but wouldn‘t commit himself until the lab and x-ray reports came in. Perhaps that was good—she needed time to finish up here.

Leaves crackled under her boots. The last few days had been brisk and dry, and she‘d hiked the forests by day and snooped around the town at night. Without any results. Damn sneaky furballs.

As she reached downtown, she noticed an awful lot of people around. Had she missed a parade or something? She nodded at Angie, the owner of the diner and smiled at Warren from the hardware store.

When she spotted Calum and Alec across the street, all the blood in her veins carbonated and fizzed like a dropped Pepsi. Dammit. The bastards had haunted her dreams. Alec‘s lazy grin, Calum‘s penetrating gaze. Alec‘s leisurely stride almost concealing a powerful fighter‘s movements. Calum‘s silent prowl.

She wasn‘t the only one attracted to the men either. Women flirted them up in the tavern and—Vic frowned as a frigid-looking blonde stopped to talk with them and trailed a hand across Calum‘s chest. Who the hell did she think she was?

Another woman with huge breasts stared at the two men assessingly, as if she wanted to pull out each guy‘s dick and weigh it on a scale. Maybe Vic should inform her that, having rubbed against Alec‘s package, she would vouch for him in the size department.

When Vic‘s gaze shifted to Calum‘s crotch, she caught herself. You"re losing it, Sergeant.

Scowling, she crossed the street to Books. ―Afternoon,‖ she greeted Thorson.

He sat on a stool behind the tall counter, head bent over an open book. ―To you,‖ he rumbled, not looking up.

Vic headed for the science fiction shelves. A SF craving could be worse than needing chocolate and harder to satisfy. But only a few minutes later, she was back at the front.

―Hey!‖ She shoved the new Honor Harrington book under his nose. ―I‘ve waited months for this release.‖

The corner of his mouth rose an infinitesimal degree. ―Then this is your happy day.

Congratulations.‖

He took the two books for the barcode scanner.

―Speaking of happy days...‖ Vic leaned an arm on the counter and frowned out the window.

―What‘s with all the strangers in town? Is something going on?‖

From the sudden stillness in his face, she had her answer. Definitely something. He gave a token glance at the street. ―Just city folks here to look at the leaves.‖

―Oh, well, that explains it,‖ Vic said politely and took her books.

―Enjoy your reading,‖ he said, equally politely.

Vic managed to suppress the urge to shake him until his secrets spilled out like coins from a vending machine. This place was getting to her. Overseas, everyone was against her and she knew it. Here... Here, she‘d gotten sucked into their lives. Jamie‘s hugs, Calum‘s hand wrapped around her arm, Alec‘s teasing. What if the two men were shifters? Hell, they probably were shifters. She didn‘t know whether to go forward or to pull back.

I don‘t want to pull back.

As she stepped out the door, she saw Alec and Calum talking with yet another woman. Vic‘s free hand closed into a fist. The hefty blonde wouldn‘t look nearly so pretty with her nose squashed all over her face.

The visual was satisfying; the urge was not. Vic sighed and shook her head. Neither man was stamped with a ―property of Vic‖ sign.

―I hope you‘ll honor me tonight,‖ said a man‘s voice.

Vic turned. Three Yuppies wandered down the sidewalk, one man on each side of a butt-ugly brunette, another guy a step behind. The men were focused totally on the woman.