Hour of the Lion by Cherise Sinclair (reading a book txt) 📕

that slight smile came and went on his face. "You look tired, Victoria. Take this weekend off from work." He ran a finger down her cheek, leaving heat in its wake. "Sleep well, little female."

Using all her willpower, Vic stepped away from him and into her house. After closing her front door, she leaned back against it. Fuck, what a night. Her body hummed with arousal from Calum, and yet her insides ached wonderfully from how Alec had taken her.

And she still had jitters from having a knife to her throat. She held her hands out, watched them tremble. God, she hadn‘t been so close to death since she‘d been caught in that firefight in Baghdad.

Quite the evening, hey? A party, sex— great sex!— almost getting her throat slit, and for a grand finale, getting her hormones boosted sky-high from the wrong brother. There"s nothing like an exciting, event-filled life.

She scowled, remembering how she‘d gotten caught skulking. If Wells ever heard, he‘d rip her a new asshole, even though Calum‘s being able to scent her didn‘t seem fair. Surely that broke one of the spy rules or something.

Shaking her head, she crossed the living room to the fireplace. As she built a comforting fire, she couldn‘t stop thinking of all the unanswered questions she had. Like where had the shifters come from? Was this some mutation thing or what? As sparks shot up the chimney, one flame blazed higher, swirling in a unique dance. And… are those eyes?

Jesus! She jumped back, shivering despite the heat.

Bush-thingies, tree-thingies. Now fire-thingies? I"m only here to check out shifters, dammit.

She frowned. Maybe she should return to Thorson‘s house and see if she could hear something.

The way Calum had hustled her out like a five-year-old being sent to bed told her they planned to talk more.

Or I"ll just stay here. Someday, maybe, she‘d forget the deadly look in Calum‘s eyes when he caught her spying on them. She touched her throat, tracing the thin scabbed line where Alec‘s knife had cut.

Alec. He‘d been hurt, thinking that she‘d used him. God, as if anyone could. She closed her eyes as warmth flooded through her. Great sex was a cold term for what they‘d shared, how he‘d held her and watched her with those dark, dark green eyes. He‘d seen her, past the smart mouth and tough attitude to the needy person inside—and he hadn‘t taken advantage. No, he‘d grown even more tender and insistent about giving her pleasure.

She rubbed her stomach. Yeah, her thoughts made her guts hurt—she glanced down and her hand stilled. She wasn‘t rubbing her abdomen, but her chest. Over her heart. God, get a grip. And needy? My ass.

She jumped to her feet, paced across the room. So anyway, they hadn‘t killed her. She‘d fulfilled her oath to Lachlan by talking with Thorson. She was healed. Tomorrow she‘d call Doc Reinhardt and kick his ass until he‘d okayed her return to duty.

Staying was...not a good idea. She‘d gotten far too involved with these kitty-cat brothers.

Caving in to Calum‘s firm grip and demanding kiss. Swept away by Alec‘s hands on her body, his smooth voice murmuring to her, his eyes so intent—she shoved that memory aside. It had been great sex—nothing more.

Instead think how Wells would ream her out if he heard she‘d laid a local. It"s time to blow this pop-stand.

*

Calum had left with the female, and Alec had gone to sit on the porch, leaving Thorson by himself. He tried to wrap his mind around the dangers to the clan, but his thoughts pulled away to follow their own path. Resting his elbows on his knees, he watched a salamander curvet in the blazing fire. It danced upward into the chimney before diving into the coals in a flurry of sparks.

One ember landed, bright on the cold stone of the hearth, then its glow faded to dull black.

Lachlan hadn‘t been alone when he died, and he‘d had comfort from the human. Oh, she hadn‘t said as much, but as she‘d tried to recall Lachlan‘s words, she‘d curved her arms as if around a person. Yes, the boy had been held and comforted at the end.

It eased his grief to know that. And even at the end, the boy had thought of his old grandfather with worry. With love.

Lachlan hadn‘t told the female, "Call Gramps." He‘d deliberately sent a human to Cold Creek, a Daonain-inhabited town. Why?

Thorson looked up as Calum and Alec walked into the living room, deep in a discussion already. That the Cosantir and the head cahir would include him in their plans was a gift, an acknowledgment of his grief and need. Silently, he rose and served each a beer.

"Two men at the house. One in a suit—but she called him a thug—and one was ex-military." After a smile of thanks for the drink, Alec dropped onto the couch. "Remember those trappers we drove away? Looked like they‘d had military training. The one with a shaved head was probably Swane."

The wind gusted the windows and the house creaked, settling even as Thorson settled his old bones in his favorite chair.

Calum took the seat opposite. "The man tried to create more shifters with Lachlan, for whatever reason, and failed. Now he‘s lost the one shifter he had."

"So they‘re trying to catch another," Alec said flatly. "The poachers arrived after Vicki and Lachlan escaped. And they were a hell of a lot closer to Cold Creek than the ones we found before."

"It doesn‘t sound as if Lachlan gave them any information, but his belongings…or logic…directed them here. Now I wish we‘d questioned them, rather than driving them off,"

Calum said. "Even if I had to gut their memories afterwards."

Thorson heard his regret and guilt. "You couldn‘t know if they were guilty or not." He shook his head. "You were correct in what you did, Cosantir."

"He‘s right, Calum," Alec said.

Bitter lines around his mouth, Calum stared at the fire for a minute, and then scrubbed his face with his