Hour of the Lion

Epilogue

A month later.

Coffee. Need more coffee. Vic yawned, squinting at the mid-morning sun. She’d started work well before dawn. Alec had better take her off this fucking morning shift before she strangled him and left his body on the mountain for the coyotes. No-too classy. For the vultures.

As she cracked open the door to the bookstore, she reached up to quiet the bell before it rang. She liked practicing her stalking skills on Thorson; the old werecat was nearly impossible to sneak up on.

No one was in sight, but voices came from the sitting area. One was Thorson. The other was…Wells? When had Wells arrived in town?

Oh hell. She smoothed her hair back, scowled at her dusty boots. Sloppy, she’d gotten sloppy. With a frown, she pulled at her khaki uniform, trying to smooth the wrinkles Alec had created earlier when he’d locked them both in his jail cell and pretended to interrogate her as a spy.

She grinned, remembering the clothespins he’d used to torture her. Nipple torture. The man was completely warped. Good thing the jail had a shower in the back, or she’d have smelled like sex all day. She silently finished straightening her clothes, and then edged around the rear shelves for some recon.

Wells and Thorson sat in the comfortable chairs by the crackling fire. Each wore a scowl, but that was normal when the two of them got together.

Wells picked up his coffee, motioned to Thorson with the cup. “I’ve been thinking. It would be appropriate for you to perform that Death Gift ritual, and make me a shifter when you die. Considering your advanced age, that shouldn’t be long now.”

Thorson eyed him over the rim of his mug before taking a loud sip. “You annoy me, and you’ll go tits-up first.”

“I’m not planning to die until I see my grandchildren. Hopefully sometime this century.” Wells frowned slightly as he stared into the fire. "The Sergeant said you shifters can take a long time, and that she’s in no hurry.”

“We leave that in the hands of the Mother.” Thorson turned his head and winked at Vic.

Shit, he’d heard her. Damn werecat.

He turned back to Wells and said casually, “She’ll name the first-born after me, of course.”

Wells stiffened. “I doubt that. You’re merely a token grandfather whereas I am her-”

The bookstore door slammed open, the bell jangling wildly.

“MomVee, are you in here?” Jamie ran between the shelves, spotted Vic, and wrapped her in a signature-Jamie hug.

“Is something wrong?” Vic lay her cheek against the soft hair. My cub.

“Yes. No. Not really.” Jamie giggled.

Vic relaxed. “What then?”

“Daddy says there’s probably going to be a fight, and since you’re on duty, can you come and keep the bast-um, the bad guys from misbehaving.” She whispered to Vic, “Daddy called them bastards, but I’m not supposed to say that.”

“Do you need our help, Sergeant?” Wells asked, starting to rise.

“Nah, I can get it.” Vic grinned at Thorson and tossed Wells a mock salute. It was good to be needed. Even better to be loved.

As she reached the door, she heard Jamie whisper to the men, “Daddy said Uncle Alec got more kisses than him this morning, and he needed MomVee at the bar so he could get his share.”

Vic was laughing as she stepped out into the bright morning sunshine.