A long day’s search had yielded no signs of the shifter-soldiers. Calling it quits, he and Gawain met up with Tynan and Donal, changed to human, dressed, and were jogging down the animal trail to where they’d parked their cars.
Leading the group, Owen could hear the rustle of the three shifters behind him.
“Pick it up, Owen,” Donal called from the rear. “We don’t have long before the moon rises, and I want to arrive early enough for the Samhain festivities.”
Owen glanced at the rapidly setting sun and picked up his pace. They’d all prefer to get there in time to chow down on the festival food.
And then there was the Gathering. Although a male’s need wasn’t as strong as a female’s if there were no aroused females within scenting distance, they’d still be fucking uncomfortable to be in a car after the moon rose.
A second later, at an intersection of hiking trails, he caught a whiff of a scent and stopped so suddenly Gawain ran into him.
“Herne’s antlers, brawd, what—” Gawain sniffed. “Darcy?”
Her feminine fragrance hung in the air. What in Herne’s name was she doing here? He pointed toward the vehicles. “You have the better nose. Can you see if she went that way?”
As Gawain jogged down the trail, Tynan joined Owen. “I know that scent. The female we rescued from Seward Park, yes?” His Irish accent was always thicker after he’d shifted from wolf.
“Aye.” Owen lifted his nose to the breeze. No other shifters. No stench of humans. “She’s supposed to be in Cold Creek.”
Had she come all this way as a cougar? If so, she must have traveled all day yesterday. He and Gawain had returned late last night, or they might have known she wasn’t in the lodge.
Gawain returned. “She didn’t take the trail toward the cars.”
“Decided to take matters into her own teeth, did she?” Donal sounded amused. “She didn’t seem the type to leave her littermates’ fates to others.”
Owen crouched to study the marks at the intersection of trails. It appeared she’d been traveling east to west, heading toward the mountain, not toward Cold Creek. “What about her own fate, healer? It’s full moon tonight.”
Silence fell as the others grasped his concern. Tonight was the full moon. Every full-grown Daonain female would go into heat…and be driven inexorably to find males to mate.
A new shifter, unused to the overwhelming need, might—would probably—do something stupid.
Donal frowned. “We’d best find her quickly and see if there’s time to get her back to Cold Creek.”
After a quick sniff, Gawain sighed. “I can’t scent her, so she’s quite a ways off. We should trawsfur if we want to catch up to her.” He motioned toward the area where they’d stashed their clothes before.
Exasperation mingled with fear as Owen led the way back to the massive tree. A female. Alone and out of the God’s territory. What was she thinking? This was the behavior of a careless female, doing what she wanted, no matter the cost.
By the God, he didn’t want her to pay the cost.
*
The sun had disappeared behind South Twin Mountain and its lower neighbors.
In the twilight, her sides heaving with each breath, Darcy halted at a trickling stream with bitingly cold water. After drinking until her stomach rumbled, she sprawled on the mossy bank and absently started washing a bloody scrape on her side.
Her paws hurt. Her muscles ached. She had bruises on bruises mixed with ugly scratches. Poor tired tinker, you’re a mess. The outings she’d had with her mentors hadn’t prepared her for long, grueling travel. All day yesterday. Today, going mostly uphill had been worse.
Disappointment was a heavy weight in her heart. She’d really hoped to feel her brothers and sense their direction in the way Gawain had said. But nothing. She had no idea where her brothers were. She’d failed, totally.
Not long ago, she’d caught the faintest trace of a shifter. A werewolf had urinated on a bush in a cool, moist grotto sometime in the past. No other scent markers remained. Perhaps he’d only been on a training hike. Still, maybe the shifter-soldiers had been here less than a month ago.
Maybe their camp was somewhere near here, perhaps closer to the main highway. Tomorrow she’d work her way south toward Highway 20.
Lifting her nose in the air, she sniffed. Again. The chill air off the mountain glacier held a tang of conifers and a green fragrance from the moss on the bank. And then the compelling wild fragrance of shifters drifted to her.
She’d found them. As her heart set up a jubilant tattoo against her ribs, her nose lifted higher.
Oh, no, no, no.
Not her brothers, but the Cold Creek males on search. The scent was Owen’s. And Gawain’s. Was that Donal? Another male was there—the one from Seattle. Four males—none of them would be happy to see her.
For one second, she considered fleeing. Then her ears caught the sounds moving quickly toward her. They’d already caught her scent and were tracking her.
With an unhappy sigh, she sank back down. As the human hostages would have said, she was so screwed.
First into the clearing was a huge, darkly golden cougar. Owen. Tynan—the wolf—was behind him followed by a sleek, tawny cougar. Donal? Loping easily, Gawain brought up the rear.
All of them shifted at the same time. Four males stared down at her.
“Weren’t you told not to leave the Cosantir’s territory?” Gawain asked, brows together.
Answering questions meant she’d have to trawsfur to human form. She hesitated. After her years among humans, she was beginning to doubt that she’d ever be completely comfortable when naked.
Donal didn’t appear upset, but Tynan and Gawain were annoyed. And Owen…even the air around him was trying to escape his irritation.
There was no escape. She trawsfurred to human and remained on the ground, arranging her legs to shelter her private parts and crossing her arms over her breasts. “No one said I couldn’t leave. I mean, I know it would be bad to be around humans before my control improves. But I only lose control when I’m in human form. So I stayed in cougar form all the way here and avoided any human areas, and even if there were humans around, they’d simply spot an animal that belongs here.”
Owen made a growling sound.
“Darcy, what would happen if you got hurt?” Donal asked quietly. “Branches fall. Cliffs give out. Poachers shoot. There are reasons why Daonain leaving the territories try to travel in pairs.”
Well…he had a point. She opened her mouth to apologize.
Owen studied her and then shook his head.
She flinched at the disappointment in his gaze.
Gawain’s face was grim; Donal’s usual smile was absent. Tynan looked pissed. She’d obviously screwed up really, really badly.
Everything in her cringed, wanting to hide and… She felt the magic and a second later, saw her furry forelegs. Paws. Her tail twitched. She’d trawsfurred. By accident.
Oh, Mother of All. Shamed completely, she shifted to human, wrapped her arms around her waist, and tried to find the words to apologize.
Owen glanced at his brother. “I’ll guard the camp.” And without looking at her again, he walked away, shifting to cougar as he slipped into the underbrush.
Darcy blinked back tears. He couldn’t even stand the sight of her.
Once again, she’d messed up. Bad. Nonetheless, she wasn’t a cub to break down and bawl. “I—” She steadied her voice. “I’m sorry. You’re right—I didn’t allow for the possibility things might go wrong. I didn’t mean to cause trouble or endanger anyone.”
“I know, sweetling.” With a sympathetic nod, Gawain moved away and started picking up firewood.
Donal leaned against a tree, face unreadable.
Tynan, though, still stood over her. Like many shifters of Gaelic heritage, he was tall, big-boned, and broad-shouldered. His long face was clean-shaven with a square chin. His light brown hair was cut military short, reminding her
of the Scythe guards. “Right, do you remember me from Seattle? Tynan, Donal’s littermate.”
“I remember. I hoped to see you in Cold Creek so I could thank you again for the rescue.” Darcy frowned. If Donal was his brother, why didn’t the healer’s house hold this male’s scent?
“I don’t live in the North Cascades Territory.” His voice was beautiful with a lilting Irish accent. “The God sent me to work in the human city.” Shadows flitted across his face, darkening his eyes. The city wasn’t where he wanted to be.
“But…why?” Why would any shifter want to live among humans?
“Why doesn’t matter here.” His expression hardened. “Do you realize what—”
“Brawd,” Donal said. “Pad lightly. Moonrise is in a few minutes.”
Tynan glanced eastward, and his face changed. Through the forest, the foothills could be dimly seen, lit from behind by the rising moon. “Aye and so it is. This was not the Gathering I had planned.”
Gathering? Absently, Darcy combed the tangles from her hair. That was some sort of moon celebration, wasn’t it? “It’s a full moon tonight?” When she was a cub, her mother had always left the house on full moon night to go to a “grown-up party”. Did Cold Creek have similar celebrations?
More guilt piled on her shoulders. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you miss the party.”
Gawain dropped the firewood into a pile and studied her. “The party?”
“You don’t need to stay for me. I promise I’ll head back to Cold Creek. If you hurry, you might still get in some fun.”
The way the three guys stared at her was disconcerting.
Tynan’s brows drew together. “If all the males leave you here, what will you do tonight?”
She sputtered. “I told you, I’ll head back to the territory.”
“I mean when you come into heat, how will you—”
“May the Mother save me, she’s as uninformed as Breanne was. Raised human. I bet Darcy’s never experienced a full moon heat.” Donal narrowed his eyes at her. “You lived in a shifter village until you were twelve, right? What were you told happens at these…parties?”
An edgy discomfort stole over Darcy. She was obviously missing something. “Um, one of my brothers was…” This felt like a betrayal. “As a cub, Fell loved sharing secrets…with everyone.”
“You mean he shared information about the Daonain?”
“Unfortunately. We grew up in a mostly human town, and after some close calls, my mother stopped talking about our Daonain heritage. When we neared the age of first trawsfur, she moved us to an all shifter village, so it wouldn’t matter if Fell talked about shifting. But then the Scythe got us.”
“And you learned nothing more.” Donal rubbed his eyes. “This is bad.”
Such a doomsayer. Darcy scowled. “Just tell me. Why is a Gathering party so important and what’s a full moon heat?”
“Gods help us.” Gawain sat beside her. When he captured her hand, the warmth of his concern relaxed the uncomfortable knot in her belly. “Under a full moon, adult female shifters come into heat—which is an overwhelming compulsion to mate. Over the course of the night, each female mates with the males who please her.” He smiled slightly. “We males strive—and occasionally fight—to be chosen by the females we want.”
Wait, wait, wait. Darcy loved being a cougar, but this…this was carrying animal instincts way too far. As panic welled, she said slowly, “You said males as in more than one? In a single night?”
“Aye, catling. More than one.”
Donal moved to sit on a log a short distance away. “Myth says the Fae shapeshifters who made up the Wild Hunt didn’t go into heat. But some of them interbred with humans, and their mixed race descendants acquired the quirk.”
Some quirk. “You’re saying I’m going to have an urge to mate a bunch of males? Like whoever is around me?” Like these males? Outraged, Darcy stared at Donal. “I hardly know you. Any of you.”
“When the heat hits, you won’t care how well you know a male, Darcy.” Tynan sat in the grass and leaned against the log beside his brother. “Mating multiple males under a full moon is not only biology, but tradition and law, as well. The Daonain are too few. With our severe lack of females, our race can’t afford monogamy.”
Law? “A female has to do this forever?”
“Until past childbearing. Of course, if a female falls in love and lifemates, she’ll have no interest in any males other than her mates.” Gawain smiled. “For whatever reason—maybe because of the Mother’s approval—lifematings have the highest blessing of cublings.”
Darcy scowled down at where Gawain’s hand engulfed hers. In captivity, a smart person avoided thinking about the past. Or about how Daonain litters always had two or three males to one female—or no female—and the implications of that lopsided ratio.
She inhaled slowly. If she’d learned nothing else in prìosan, it was to choose her battles wisely. Fighting biology, tradition, and law would be stupid. But oh, she didn’t want to do this—any of it. “Okay, so what happens next?”
The males exchanged relieved glances. They’d been afraid she’d go into hysterics, hadn’t they?
Gawain squeezed her hand in approval. “When you want to mate—and you will—simply choose a male. After you finish mating, you’ll return here. If another male appeals to you, you pick him. If you’re not interested, nothing happens.”
“Nothing?” She gave him a suspicious look. “In prìosan, a human man…used…a female from my village.” Fenella had been raped. The word wouldn’t come out. “Fenella didn’t want him, and he hurt her badly.”
“Humans.” Tynan almost spat the word. “Be easy, lass. A Daonain male’s response—and erection—is set off by a female’s arousal. If you’re not aroused, neither is he.”
“Oh.” Her erratic heartbeat smoothed to an even rhythm. “That helps, Tynan. Thank you.”
She didn’t have to choose any of them, did she? But, oh Gods, then the poor males would just…sit. The Gathering in Cold Creek would have lots of females. Guilt sliced across her spirit. “I’m making you miss the Gathering. I’m really sorry.” Because I’m not planning to participate.
“Catling, we’ve all missed Gatherings before, for one reason or another.” Gawain massaged her cold fingers as if to rub her guilt away. “If you don’t want to do anything more than talk, we’ll simply have a pleasant evening by the campfire. I’m fond of talking with you.”
His honest, steady blue eyes met hers. And when he smiled and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, she could only smile back.
After the little cat had relaxed and started to talk with Donal, Gawain wandered away to collect wood for the fire Tynan was building. The cop shifter wore a magicked blade similar to Gawain’s, but also carried a pen-sized ferrocerium fire starter rod in the sheath. Good thing since this was going to be a long cold night. In animal form, they’d have been comfortable, but flirting, choosing, and mating were done in the human form. Since no one had clothing, a fire was a necessity.
Strolling through the trees, Owen appeared with an armload of firewood.
“Are you through acting like a bee-stung badger?” Gawain asked. “You almost had her crying.”
Owen flinched. “I know.” He dumped the stack of wood into Gawain’s arms.
“Thanks.” Gawain shifted the awkward mess to a better balance. “I assume you were listening.” In feline form, Owen would have been able to hear every word.
“Aye and looked, too. Her paws are raw, fur’s bloodied. She was just trying her best to save her friends and family—and she sure doesn’t understand the dangers, let alone what the Cosantir might do. We should have explained better.” Owen scrubbed his face. “I owe her an apology.”
Owen had the temper of a moose, but his sense of fairness was as reliable as moonrise and moonset. “’Fraid so. Are you going to rejoin us?”
“Eventually. I’ll pretend to guard the camp for a while yet.”
“Why?” They both knew there was no need for a sentry, not this far into the wilderness.
Owen glanced toward the stream. “Her emotions are already a tangle—I’m not a good choice for her first mating.”
“Heh—you’re assuming she’d pick you at all.”
His littermate snorted…with good reason. Like starving wolves, females in heat pursued all the God-chosen—cahirs, Cosantirs, healers, and blademages. Then Owen grinned. “Or she might well decide she hates the God-touched. In which case, Tynan will have her favors, and you’ll have an aching dick.”
Gawain laughed and felt the stretch of the Goddess’s scar on his cheekbone. “Cantankerous cat.”
“Lethargic lion.”
Gawain paused for the next voice to chime in—but no, Edwyn had returned to the Mother. There would never again be a childish, three-part insult-fest. With an effort, he pushed the ache of loss away. One brother was gone, but he had Owen back again.
Owen slapped his arm and motioned toward the clearing. “Go on, brawd. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Later then.” Gawain headed back. A shame they wouldn’t be together later. It had been decades since he’d shared a female with his littermate, and he’d been looking forward to the Cold Creek Gathering. But tonight wouldn’t be the time—not with a new female to tend.
Yet, as he walked away, he felt closer to Owen than he had since Edwyn’s death.
In the clearing, Tynan had built a fire in the hollow area left by an aged, fallen tree. The massive root ball served to reflect the warmth of the flames to the three around it.
Although a log had been dragged over, Darcy was sitting in the grass with Tynan and Donal sprawled on each side of her. She looked better. Donal had apparently healed her deeper cuts and scrapes.
As Gawain dumped his firewood into the nearby pile, Darcy jumped. Her face was flushed, her lips redder than normal.
Even as a needy hum started to simmer in his blood, he noticed the heavy circle of the moon rising above the forests. “How are you doing, catling?”
A shiver shook her, and goosebumps rose on her skin. “Um…”
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