Free Hour of the Lion (The Wild Hunt Legacy #1) by Cherise Sinclair Page B

women. By the time he finished, she‘d be begging to tell them all she knew.
    * * *
    As Vic stepped out onto her porch, she took a long breath of moist air, heady with the fragrance of fallen leaves and snow from the mountains. Did snow have a smell? Her coffee supply was running low, so she‘d decided to walk into town like everyone else did around here.
    Her knee would tolerate an easy stroll.
    As she walked down the steps, she glanced at the tree in the front yard. A quiver of uneasiness wiggled in her guts like a worm. She‘d watched the branches for the past week, and no more little hands had poked out of the foliage. But sometimes the leaves rustled—against the wind.
    As if shapeshifters weren‘t enough to deal with. Scowling, she stared up. Another couple of weeks and maybe her ribs wouldn‘t kill her when she climbed up there. Then she‘d examine every fucking inch of that tree.
    And she‘d take her Glock with her.
    Nothing showed. Each day, yellowing leaves drifted down to cover the lawn, but plenty remained. More than enough to hide a squirrel or something. Something.
    She glared. Two weeks ago, she‘d have laughed at anyone talking about…nonexistent creatures. Now? ―You know, little bastard, if I knew what you were, I might leave out food for you to eat. Squirrels like nuts, right?‖ Or maybe it was a rat—in that case, all bets were off.
    ―Maybe I should get a rat trap instead.‖ She slapped the tree trunk.
    As she walked away, something hit between her shoulder blades. ―What the hell?‖ She spun, looked around. An unshelled walnut rocked back and forth on the ground.
    A walnut? The tree was an oak. The day was calm with no wind, and she stood several feet out from under the canopy. A chill inched up her vertebrae as she had a visual of a squirrel winding up for a pitch. Nah.
    Well, whatever-it-was would have to wait until she healed up a little more. Giving the tree branches her best I‘ll-be-back stare, she sauntered away.
Chapter Five
    The tavern had closed an hour earlier. As Calum walked Victoria to the door, he smiled at the disgruntled look on her face. Although she‘d won the first chess game last week, he had recouped and was now ahead in games. But so far, she‘d stymied him in another way—he still had no idea why she‘d come to Cold Creek. Nonetheless he thoroughly enjoyed the verbal sparring. The little human had a keen mind and a delightfully wry sense of humor.
    After opening the door, he let her out into the night. ―Are you sure—‖
    ―You always ask that. I can walk myself home, thank you very much.‖
    ―As you wish.‖ In spite of his better judgment, he moved closer, noting the first faint whiff of female arousal and the dusky rose color that tinged her cheek. Why did this feisty human have to be so appealing? With an effort, he stepped back and smiled down into eyes the amber-brown of sherried Scotch whiskey. ―Having witnessed you in a fight, I should be more concerned for your opponents.‖
    ―Now you‘re talking smart.‖ As she left, she touched her fingertips to her temple in a jaunty salute.
    A salute? Uneasiness raised his hackles. Daonain stayed far away from anything having to do with the military. After all, if the government ever learned of their existence, the probable outcome would be genocide for the shifters.
    As Calum watched the human cross the parking lot, he smiled. The way her round ass moved in those tight jeans...truly, a less soldier-like movement he couldn‘t imagine. He‘d like to bend her over, take her hips in a hard grip… Arousal purred to life inside him.
    He took a slow breath to calm himself and scented Alec. His brother appeared, detouring to the edge of the lot to speak with Victoria. They chatted briefly, and then Alec ran a finger down her long hair, tucking a loose strand behind her ear. The scent of interest and arousal—from both of them—drifted downwind to Calum.
    That was damned odd. Shifters weren‘t interested