~Tavic P.O.V.~
Tavic shoved open the heavy door to the Lost Lodge Tavern, picked his favorite table in the back corner, and settled into the chair for some serious pondering.
That had been an odd meeting and an odd woman. Over many years of law-enforcement, he'd arrested a few wife-beaters and interviewed their battered wives. Ms. Breezly's injuries might have come from a fist, but she surely didn't give the impression of an abused woman. That glare she'd given him, for whatever reason, was almost lethal.
Actually, the woman's moods, within the space of ten minutes, had been as winding as a tornado. From being wary of him, to being attracted, to giving him a look like: I'll cut your guts out with a rusty spoon. She might be a foot shorter, but he had a feeling she'd be quite a wildcat in a fight. And in bed.
Now why did he find that so arousing?
"Excuse me, Sheriff, would you care for a beer?"
He looked up into the prettiest blue eyes on the planet and grinned. "Katie, if you fetch me a beer, I'll have to arrest your thirteen-year-old butt and throw you into my jail."
She wrinkled a freckle-covered nose. "I won't bring it—Daddy will, so I guess you still won't have anyone in your jail tonight, huh?"
"Now that was a low blow," he conceded, winning himself a delighted smile before she trotted off to the bar, all legs and bounce like a half-grown cat.
A few minutes later, Tatum set a mug of Guinness and a glass of wine on the table, then took the empty chair. Tavic tilted his head toward his niece as she danced her way between customers. "I envy you sometimes, brawd."
His brother turned to look, and his gray eyes softened. "Indeed. She's a blessing." He sipped his wine, his gaze intent on his daughter. "And makes me afraid in ways I never thought I could fear."
Tavic took a drink of the rich, malty beer before commenting, "You're not the type to shy from leaves blowing in the wind. What's up?"
"I summoned the Danain to meet tonight." Tavic's hand tightened on the mug. Shifter meetings were rarely called. He bowed his head to the God-chosen leader of the shifters in this territory and said formally, "Cosantir, I'll be there."
_______________
That night, Tavic rested one arm on the fireplace mantle as he listened to the debate. Despite the chill of the evening, the tavern felt uncomfortably warm, and the scent of anger and sweat mixed with the wood smoke. Golden light from the brass wall sconces flickered over the people squeezed around the heavy oak tables and lining the back. Seemed like every adult shifter in the Northern Cascades territory had attended.
After Tatum had told them about the outlawed steel-jawed game traps that shifters had found in the forests, and that Thorstin's grandson had been missing for a month, the mood had turned ugly. No surprise there. Danain were predators, after all. The werecats were the worst. A wolf or bear might fight if cornered; a cat would shred an opponent to bloody ribbons just for entertainment.
After Tatum shot down Gary's proposal to attack any human entering the area—Gary was rather excitable—Crystal claimed the floor. Tavic listened for a minute, grinning at his brother's careful lack of expression. Tatum had little patience for stupidity, and Crystal's logic was as convoluted as a house-brownie's tracks on cleaning day.
"We don't know if the trappers are after us specifically or just poaching," Tatum said, cutting Crystal off before she could digress further. He straightened from leaning on the bar, and the power of a Cosantir shimmered around him like heat waves. "If they're looking for us, I'll be happy to oblige them. After that, they won't remember why they were on the mountain at all."
The people laughed, and the level of hostility waned. Tatum reminded them, "We've become lazy about observing the precautions. That needs to stop. Use the tunnels below the tavern. I want no humans to find piles of clothing at the edge of the forest, let alone to see one of you shift. Also, remember—"
The bar door burst open, and Bill Thorstin shoved his way through the crowd to the center of the room. Deep lines and gray bushy brows accented his leathery face. Thin white scars covered his hands and arms—souvenirs of his younger days when he'd fought to win the females at Gatherings. Tears had tracked the dirt on his face.
Dread iced Tavic's blood. What could possibly make the old werecat cry? Landon? He pushed his way to the maddened werecat. To serve and protect. The duty given to a sheriff by the law…and the duty given to a kahir of the clan by the God.
After giving Thorstin a second to recognize his scent, Tavic wrapped an arm around his shoulders. With only a token snarl, the old man allowed the familiarity, yet another sign of his distress.
"What's wrong, Bill?" Tavic kept his tone calm as the raised voices hushed.
"My grandson—Landon," Thorstin's voice was hoarse. "He's dead. Killed in the city."
The noise rose. Males lunging to their feet. Crystal's shrill scream. The Merphy brothers' curses.
Tatum growled low, then snapped, "Silence." The command with a Cosantir's power behind it quieted the room. "Tell us what happened, Bill."
In his usual jeans and white shirt, Thorstin rubbed his face, streaking the dirt. "That shifter detective in Seattle—Dynan O'Malley —just called. Like you asked, he'd watched for Landon in Seattle. He said…" His voice broke. "There was a young man's body in the morgue."
Tavic raised an eyebrow at Tatum, silently requesting permission to continue. Tatum nodded.
"Go on, Bill," Tavic prompted, squeezing his shoulder.
Thorstin shook his head like a confused animal. "The cops haven't identified him, but they're trying, passing out pictures. Dynan emailed me one. It's my Landon." His words dropped like stones into the quiet room.
"Did you go to the morgue in Seattle?" Tavic asked quietly despite the unease fingering the back of his neck. An autopsy wouldn't show the magic that created a shifter, but carelessness would. If Thorstin's actions exposed the shifters, he'd be declared an enemy of the Danain…and as a kahir, Tavic would have to kill him.
"I never went near the station."
Relief loosened Tavic's grip, and he pulled in a hard breath. "By the God, I'm sorry, Bill. Sorry for Landon, sorry for you, that you can never—"
"Never put claim to him or bury him. I know, dammit." Thorstin stared at the floor.
Tatum said, "I'll call Dynan for more information, but for now—has he discovered how Landon died?"
Thorstin's head snapped up, his eyes burning with fury. Against his fingertips, Tavic felt the tingle of imminent transfur. He shook the old man's arm. "Control yourself. We need answers, not claws."
When Thorstin growled, Tavic tensed, preparing to fight a berserk cougar. After a moment, Thorstin sucked in a breath, and the tingling receded, disappeared. As the wildness left his body, his eyes showed his shame. The old guy probably hadn't lost control like that since he was a cub. "Sorry, my friend," he said softly.
"It's all right," Tavic answered, equally softly. "Tell us what you know."
Sorrow deepened the lines in Bill's face, and he had to clear his throat. "He looked starved. Ribs showing. Dynan said he was jaundiced from liver shutdown."
"Metal-induced?" Tavic asked.
"Yes." The man's fingers curled, shaping claws.
Tavic shared the need to slash and rend. The pain of that kind of death… Instead, he squeezed the tight shoulder under his hand. "Stay with me here, Bill."
A heavy breath. "He had burn marks, cuts, bruises. He'd been beaten. Tortured. Some of the cuts were in square patterns on his skin."
"Wire cage," Tatum growled. His eyes had turned black with a Cosantir's rage. "That would explain the liver failure, too."
"They kept my boy in a cage!" The words burst from Thorstin. "They tortured him, starved him." He moaned, "A cage, Cosantir, a cage …"
"They will pay," Tatum said quietly. "Was Landon penned up when they found him?"
Thorstin shuddered, staring at the floor, and Tavic knew the man couldn't bear much more. He needed the forest, to feel the trees and grass and scent of freedom, to have the Mother's love around him. "Dynan thinks Landon escaped," Bill said. "But too late. A man found my boy and a female on his doorstep and took them in, then called 911."
"Did—"
"When the police and ambulance arrived, Landon was dead. The female ran out through the back door."
"Hell," Tavic muttered.
Finally, Thorstin looked up at their leader. The old man had known Tatum and Tavic since they were boys sneaking reads of comic books in his store, but he showed no memory of that now. As close as he was to changing, he probably only saw the black eyes and the aura of power. "Cosantir, please. I need—"
"We can manage here, Bill," Tatum said. "Purge your grief on the mountain. Tavic, go with."
As Thorstin stumbled toward the exit, hands reached out to him—carefully—to stroke in shared sorrow and friendship.
Tavic led him into the cool, silent cave like a child. Without speaking, they stripped, Tavic lending a hand as Thorstin fumbled. Then, Tavic called the magic. As the wildness enveloped him, his mind sank like a stone, deep into animal instincts. There was only now, and the sorrow at the youngster's loss was buried under the wave of scents and sounds. And this was why Thorstin needed the forest. His grief would return when he returned to human form, but…less.
As his paws hit the earth, Tavic felt the touch of the Mother as Her love flowed into him. Raising his head, he sniffed the air. Already in cougar form, Thorstin stood in the doorway. Tavic butted his shoulder affectionately and led the way out of the tunnel.
The light of a pale, cold moon shone down outside the cave, and the scent of the pine needles under their paws rose around them. Tavic looked back to see the gleam of cat eyes and then sprang forward into the dark forest. Bill followed.