Healing of the Wolf

by Cherise Sinclair

  “That’s not your call. Healer.” She gave him another frown and headed out.

  Donal grinned. “If not for that weak ankle, she’d have stomped out.”

  “She has a temper.” Tynan heard the front door slam. “Although it’s normally used to defend someone else.”

  Donal had drawn a glass of water, and he paused with his hand halfway to his mouth. After a second, he lowered the glass. “You know, you’re right. I’ll try to behave.”

  Because he didn’t want to upset the little banfasa.

  Tynan smiled. It looked as if he and Donal were on the same trail.

  “You’re back early. Did you need me for something?” Donal asked.

  “Both of you, actually.” Tynan motioned toward the door. “Let’s go—"

  “She’ll be back soon enough. She forgot her bag.” Donal grinned, picked up the big leather medical bag, and led the way to the kitchen.

  A minute later, a tap sounded on the front door.

  “Come on in,” Tynan called.

  “It’s me. I left my bag here.” Her footsteps went into the clinic, stopped, then came down the hall. Meggie appeared in the kitchen.

  “Donal, did you take my—” Spotting her bag on a kitchen chair, she shot Donal a quizzical frown.

  “Yes, I’m holding your bag hostage.” Donal smirked, then his tone turned serious. “I wanted a chance to thank you for your help in calming the idiot down and getting the bleeding stopped. Sometimes I don’t have enough hands to control bleeding and do the healing.”

  Her cheeks turned pink. “You’re welcome.”

  “Since that’s done…” Donal grinned. “Tynan—”

  “I’m glad I can help,” Meggie said, then frowned at Donal, “but calling your patient an idiot isn’t good.”

  “Stubborn much?” Donal scowled. “If I have to deal with stupid injuries, there’s a possibility I won’t have the power to deal with someone who really needs me.”

  Tynan gave his brother a sympathetic nod. It was the same with law enforcement. There were only so many hands to go around. It was frustrating to have to deal with disasters that occurred because some idiot troublemaker was dimmer than a cave at midnight.

  “I understand.” Meggie pursed her lips. “But our job is to heal—not to judge. Considering some of the stories Tynan’s told me about you two when you were younger, well, I’d think you’d be more understanding.”

  Tynan snorted. “She’s got us there.”

  “You more than me,” Donal said in a superior voice. “Really, you were the worst—”

  “No, I think you get the gnome-brain prize.” Tynan took advantage of Donal’s insulted surprise to move closer to Meggie. “Like when you heard funny mewing noises and were convinced there were kittens buried in the snow.”

  Meggie’s mouth dropped open. “Someone put kittens out into the snow?”

  Tynan grinned, his silence forcing Donal to reply.

  “As it happened, they weren’t kittens.” Donal shot a glare at Tynan. “It was a wolverine den.”

  “The mother was so fecking mad, she chased us halfway down the mountain.” Tynan wrapped his arms around Meggie, bringing her slowly against his body until her breasts pressed against his chest. Tantalizing them both with the increasing heat. He kissed her, taking his time, before lifting his head. “We survived, though.”

  “I’m very glad you lived.” Her tongue traced a path over his lower lip…and now he was totally hard. He hadn’t released her, and she could undoubtedly feel his erection against her soft pelvis.

  Her eyes grew heavy-lidded. “Are you home early?”

  By the Gods, he did love how she responded to him—to them both.

  With an approving smile, Donal glanced toward the stairs and the big bedroom.

  Tempting. But that wasn’t what he was here to talk about. “I’m home early because tonight is the dark of the moon. There might be a hellhound in the area, which means all the cahirs are patrolling tonight. Shay asked if we’d stay at the lodge with Breanne.”

  “Ah, right. She hates being alone.” Donal looked at Meggie. “I don’t know if she’s mentioned it, but she’s had ugly run-ins with hellhounds.”

  At the grim note in Donal’s voice, Meggie turned pale.

  Tynan set a hand on her shoulder. “I told Shay I’d ask you two.”

  Meggie blinked. “Ask Donal and me?”

  “It’s not my littermate I’m after sleeping with, now is it?” Tynan kissed her again, slower this time. “The lodge has very big beds. In case you were wondering.”

  She pushed him back, laughing. “You are even sneakier than the werecat.”

  Donal joined them, leaning against Meggie from behind. “The cat thinks this is an excellent idea. We can keep Breanne from worrying too much, have ourselves some fun, and enjoy a big breakfast in the morning.”

  Meggie bit her lip. “If you two were out trying to stop a hellhound, I’d be terrified. Poor Breanne. Yes, we should stay with her tonight.”

  Tynan kissed her forehead. He’d known that would be her answer.

  “It doesn’t seem right to leave Oliver here alone, though,” she said.

  “Bring him along. It’ll do him good to be somewhere other than your house and the forest,” Donal said.

  “It will.” Tynan exchanged a look with his littermate. Meggie’s brother hadn’t done anything since he’d arrived except read, eat, and visit the forest. Rather than improving, he seemed to be cycling downward.”

  “I’ll ask him.” Meggie slipped out from between the two of them. “I have a couple of elderly shifters to see, then I’ll get packed.” She grabbed her bag and was gone before Tynan could say a word.

  Despite the slight limp, her footsteps had a lovely bounce. “She’s happy.”

  Donal nodded. “I’ve never met anyone who was more suited to be a banfasa. Me—I love the healing, the connection to the Mother, and the challenge. The people…perhaps not so much.”

  “For her, it’s all about the people.” She had so much love to give. By the Gods, he was lost because he was hoping she had enough love to extend it to a couple of unworthy males.

  The dark of the moon nights, or as Donal thought of them, hellhound nights, always left him knotted into a ball of tension.

  Breanne wasn’t looking much better. At sundown, she’d cheerfully kissed her cahir mates as they set off to patrol the town. Then had grown increasingly apprehensive.

  By the Gods, waiting was hard. Even now, the cahirs might be fighting against an almost invincible armored monster.

  Breanne might lose her mates.

  Donal would have to try to heal whatever bloody mess the hellhound left.

  He didn’t always win.

  There were nights he wondered if it would be easier to be a cahir than a healer.

  Seeing how Breanne was stewing, Tynan had tactfully gotten everyone into the library room to put together a jigsaw puzzle. The female needed to stay busy.

  With a sigh, Donal leaned back in his chair and looked at the other five around the Wildwood’s big library table. Margery sat between him and Tynan. Bree was next to Oliver. On Oliver’s other side was Silas, his shifter-soldier comrade from another territory who’d rented a room upstairs.

  Earlier, Silas and Oliver had shared a bottle of whisky outside on the patio. As the bottle emptied, Oliver had grown more withdrawn, Silas the opposite.

  The lodge was quiet. The log walls and beams settled with muted creaks from the increasing cold of the evening. With warmth wafting in from the crackling fire in the main room, the library was pleasant.

  Even better was having others close, who also were worrying about the cahirs.

  “Mom loved jigsaw puzzles.” Margery tried to fit a piece into the stovetop portion of the puzzle. “Oliver, remember that impossible one of the ocean and sky. It was all blue and white and nothing else.”

  Eyes slightly glazed, Oliver smiled slightly. “She didn’t stop until she’d finished the wh
ole thing—took her forever.”

  “I prefer the ones with lots of colors. And animals. But Zeb refuses to put together anything with kittens. Or puppies.” Bree pouted. “Especially puppies.”

  The deadliest cahir in the Territory… Donal choked on a laugh. “I’ll bring you a breakfast bunny if you get Zeb to work on a puppy puzzle.”

  Tynan grinned. “There’s a bunny you’ll never have to catch.”

  And isn’t that a shame? Donal picked up a puzzle piece. “Ah, a frying pan. Probably in your kitchen section.” He handed the piece to Margery.

  She fit it into place and grinned. “Ta da!”

  “Probably the most success you’ll have on a stove.” Oliver smiled at his sister, then Donal. “She burned the cake she was baking so bad it set off the smoke detector.”

  “It seems I can’t read a good book and bake at the same time. Who knew?” Margery gave her brother a wicked smirk. “You can cook next week.”

  Her brother looked as if he’d like to dig a hole for his words and bury them deep.

  “Learn to use a timer.” Bree, the best cook in town, grinned. “It’s the only reason I don’t burn everything I make.”

  Tynan ran his knuckles over Margery’s cheek. “Little wolf, I’ll buy you a timer if you’ll make us that shortbread again. It was delicious.”

  Silas snorted. “The things males will say to get a female to fu—”

  Donal leaned across him, thumping their shoulders together hard enough that the offensive sentence ended in a grunt. Gormless pixie-bait. Donal smiled pleasantly. “Sorry. I saw a piece I wanted.”

  After a glare, Silas bent his attention to the puzzle.

  Breanne winked at Donal and changed the subject. “Have you heard about the Summer Solstice festival the Cosantirs are planning?”

  “Cosantirs. Plural?” Tynan frowned. “I’m missing something.”

  “This summer, the solstice and full moon occur on the same day, which is pretty rare. Some of the Pacific Northwest Cosantirs want a multi-territory festival. A chance for shifters from different territories to mingle…and to mate at the Gathering.”

  Tynan grinned. “And each Cosantir hopes to lure new shifters into his area?”

  “Shay says Cosantirs are as greedy as flower fairies in a rose garden,” Bree said.

  “Have they decided where this festival will be held?” Donal asked.

  “Someplace between the North Cascades Territory and Rainier Territory. Still in the God’s forest but not claimed by a Cosantir.”

  Margery bit her lip, her shoulders hunching forward. “Are we required to go to the festival?”

  “No.” Bree gave her a sympathetic look. “Although it sounds like fun. Some crafts people will bring their stuff. Apparently, bards love festivals, so they’ll come. Singing, dancing. And howling. They want it to last a couple of nights to make it worth the drive.”

  Why would the little banfasa be reluctant? She loved people. Donal tilted his head, puzzling it out. Ah, could she be worried she’d run into the Rainier shifters? Probably.

  Damned if he’d let her fall into the trap of being afraid to leave Cold Creek. He took her hand. “Calum will probably request that we attend the festival.”

  His reminder that she was needed seemed to do the job, pulling her away from thoughts of Rainier where she’d been treated so badly. Her gaze cleared.

  “Why would the Cosantir request Margery if she doesn’t want to go?” Oliver asked, frowning.

  “Because she’s our banfasa.” Tynan gave her a smile. “No matter how effective the Cosantirs and cahirs are, brawling and accidents will occur.”

  A clatter outside drew everyone’s attention.

  “Someone ignoring the sundown curfew?” Oliver asked.

  Tynan rose. “I’ll check. If it’s a shifter, I’ll stuff them back into their cabin.”

  “We have a couple of humans renting cabins,” Bree stood, as well. “It’s probably them.”

  Donal patted Margery’s shoulder. “Back in a bit, wolflet.” If there was trouble, he needed to be at his brother’s side.

  The noise turned out to have come from a drunk human in one of the cabins. That was a relief. Since the scent of Daonain was all over the area—and hellhounds preferred Daonain blood—the humans were safe enough after dark.

  Shifters weren’t safe at all on the dark of the moon. As they re-entered the lodge, Donal was bloody pleased to close the heavy door behind them.

  Bree glanced at him and Tynan. “I’m going to swing by the kitchen and get drinks and snacks. Any requests?”

  “Whatever you have is great.” Tynan patted his stomach. “I haven’t found anything you make that I don’t love.”

  Tynan’s compliment put a bounce in her step.

  “Very clever, wolf.” Donal punched his brother’s arm. “Don’t think your smooth-talking will get you extra cookies.”

  At the sound of shouting from the library room, Tynan’s smug grin faded. “What in the Hunter’s forests…?”

  That was the shifter-soldier’s shouting. “You come here to be all comfortable—and left the town with no one who knows scat about healing. My brother almost died, you lazy fucking bitch.”

  “I’m sorry your brother was hurt.” Margery’s voice was calm—but Donal could hear the tremor of fear.

  Rushing into the library after Tynan, Donal felt fury well up inside.

  The big shifter-soldier loomed over Margery, one meaty hand on each shoulder, punctuating each word with a shake.

  “Silas, you’re getting carried away.” Offering an ineffective protest, Oliver was just beginning to stand.

  Growling, Tynan grabbed Silas and threw him across the room. He hit the wall hard and dropped to his knees.

  Not enough. Not nearly enough. Donal slammed his fist into his palm and glanced at Tynan.

  Tynan nodded, then pointed to himself.

  No way the wolf would deal out all the punishment. Donal pointed one finger to himself, held up the second finger and pointed to Tynan. One punch each.

  After a narrow-eyed stare, Tynan nodded.

  As Silas regained his feet, Donal walked over and punched him in the gut so hard he folded in half.

  Gasping, the boggart spat out, “What the fuck!”

  “No decent shifter pushes females around. I know you shifter-soldiers missed out on some of our traditions, but this is one you should take to heart,” Donal told him.

  Silas slowly straightened, his face purple. “You stinking—”

  Tynan’s short jab to the ribs slammed Silas back into the wall. There he stayed. His breathing sounded like sobs.

  Worried, Donal took a step forward.

  “Nothing’s busted, healer.” Tynan grabbed Silas’s shirt front and yanked him forward. “The pain in your ribs will remind you to be polite to females. Now get your tail out of here.”

  Hand on his side, Silas stomped out of the room. A second later, the lodge’s front door slammed hard enough to shake the pictures on the wall.

  Instead of going upstairs to his room, the weasel-tempered asshole had gone outside…on a dark of the moon night.

  Shaking his head at the idiocy, Donal turned to Margery. She was standing, spine straight, hands in fists. Tough little female, but so pale. This was the last thing she needed, more violence from males.

  Scowling, Tynan turned to Oliver. “You let someone put their hands on your sister?”

  “He was just upset—wasn’t hurting her.” Oliver flushed. “His littermate managed to survive the Scythe and then almost died because he busted his leg and there was no one—”

  “That’s not Margery’s fault,” Donal snapped.

  Oliver swallowed. His voice cracked as he said, “I know how it feels to lose my brother.”

  The Scythe had killed Margery’s other littermate. Donal’s own heart ached at the thought.

  “Wasn’t hurting her?” Tynan repeated Oliver’s words, then shoved the male in Donal’s direction. “Does it f
eel good when someone bigger pushes you around?”

  “She spent years being beaten up by the Scythe. And you let another big man treat her like that?” Donal pushed Oliver away, hard. The male staggered.

  How much had he had to drink?

  “A brother gifted with a sister should do his utmost to protect her,” Tynan snapped, and the scorn in his expression made Oliver turn dark red.

  Oliver pulled in a breath, scrubbed his hands over his face, then faced his sister. “They’re right. I’m sorry, sis.”

  Without waiting for her response, he fled like a coyote caught stealing a cougar’s kill. His footsteps sounded, going up the stairs.

  Donal shook his head, feeling soiled. “That male is—”

  “Is my littermate.”

  Margery’s fist in Donal’s gut sent a blast of pain through him.

  Then she swung at Tynan who didn’t try to dodge and took the punch on his jaw. “You had no right to—”

  “You didn’t run after your brother to comfort him,” Donal pointed out softly.

  “And embarrass him further?” Her bottom lip quivered. “How could you? After all he’s lived through.”

  Tynan frowned. “Lass, you lived through worse. He should have stood up for you. Protected you.”

  She took a step back. “I… Oliver isn’t one to get into a fight. Orson and I always protected him.”

  By the Gods, what a mess. Donal took a step toward her. “That was when you were cubs, sweetheart.”

  Which might be part of the reason Oliver hadn’t jumped in. He didn’t see himself as a protector. It’d been Margery’s job—and how fucked up was that?

  “You’re not cubs now. He’s bigger, stronger, and trained to fight.” Tynan’s voice was very level.

  “Even if he wasn’t…” Donal shook his head. “Margery, as Daonain, we protect our females—”

  She ran out of the library room, fleeing much as her brother had.

  Well…Donal rubbed his gut where her fist had impacted. Not quite like her brother.

  * * *

  That did not go well. Tynan pulled in a breath, feeling like someone—a little wolf—had taken a bite out of his heart.