Healing of the Wolf

by Cherise Sinclair

“That’s why the younglings stick so close to her, isn’t it?” Patrin said.

  Donal joined the red-shirted cub, said something that made him laugh, then knelt and started healing the female’s leg wound.

  Meanwhile, Meggie rearranged her red and yellow-shirted cubs.

  When the yellow-shirted one said something, Meggie grinned and hugged him.

  The cub’s face lit.

  Thorson nodded. “Aye, she has a gift, and the clan is the stronger for it.”

  They were. So was Tynan.

  Silently, they watched her tending the injured, dispensing peace and help in equal measures.

  Tynan smiled. Because the three of them had made it through another battle alive and soon, they’d be together.

  As Meggie moved toward the other end of the tent, Thorson gave Tynan a hard stare from under grizzled brows. “You serious about our banfasa?”

  “Joe, you have no idea.”

  Margery woke, stiffened, and lifted her muzzle slightly to sniff the air, catching the stale scents of blood and sweat. No fresh smell of fear. Her ears flicked forward. There was soft breathing all around her, a few whines. Farther away, someone was talking in a low voice. She relaxed. Throbbing all over her body told of battles fought

  With a soft sigh, she let herself sink down into the warmth of the shifters surrounding her. Last night, as the younglings grew exhausted, the adults had tossed blankets into a corner and sent them to sleep there in a puppy pile.

  As the adults in the tent wore out, they’d shifted to animal and joined the pile of sleeping furballs.

  Eventually, she and Donal ended up there, somewhere close to dawn, and later, she vaguely remembered Tynan squirming his way in to join them.

  In fact, the big panther paw resting on her ribs was Donal’s. Contentment filled her at the sight of him, lying on his side in front of her, his hind legs tangled with hers. Tynan was curled around her from behind, his muzzle resting on her nape.

  Her males.

  Not lifemates, of course, but they were hers, no matter what they thought.

  She eyed the angle of the sun against the tent wall. Early morning. The night had been long and ugly. The Daonain had won the fight, but at a cost of lives, of injuries.

  The bodies of the shifters who’d been killed would be taken to Cold Creek and Rainier for the Daonain’s rites of passage—the Return to the Mother.

  The spymaster with the shifter-soldiers’ help had used a portable fingerprinter on the Scythe bodies before trucking away all trace of their presence. He even said he had a way to dispose of corpses. Having met him, she wouldn’t put it past the devious human to own a crematorium or something.

  Most of the shifter-soldiers went with Wells to continue the hunt for the Scythe Colonel. Not Oliver, though. The group he’d escorted hadn’t returned yet. Her chest ached because when his duty was done, he would leave for Canada.

  When a tiny whine escaped her, she felt a wolf paw land on her shoulder, and Tynan took a comforting lick of her ear. Donal’s purr swept over her, and he rubbed his big head against her furry cheek.

  Not alone. I’m not alone.

  Smiling, she breathed in the scents of her males, of her pack, of her clan. And drifted back off to sleep.

  When she woke again, Donal and Tynan were gone, and the puppy pile had diminished. A quick glance showed the tent was almost empty. Donal must have finished healing the injured.

  Rolling up onto her paws, she almost whimpered. Her ribs and shoulders were bruised, and the healed knife wound was still tender. Ow, ow, ow.

  Slowly, carefully, she picked her way out of the pile of sleeping shifters, ignoring the grumbling.

  Hey, she didn’t step on more than a paw or two.

  After shifting to human and washing in the icy stream, she dressed and stretched. The sun had warmed the air, and a breeze swept away the last stench of battle.

  It was a new day.

  Returning to the grounds, she saw shifters leaving, some being helped down the path to the road. The sound of vehicles picking them up came and went.

  A youngling ran past her, carrying a backpack.

  The cubs were back?

  Margery looked around, seeing that the noncombatants had returned.

  “Margery!” Oliver stood by the firepit, drinking from a mug. He handed the cup to Angie, then caught Margery up in a warm hug. “Fuck, I was worried about you all night.”

  “Are you all right?” She held him at arm’s length to give him a quick perusal. Scratched, dirty, tired, but intact.

  “Yeah. A couple of the mercenaries got close, but I decoyed them away and up to the top of a cliff.” He grinned at her. “Bears don’t sneak worth shit, but I can sound like a whole bunch of people.”

  “You didn’t get hurt?”

  “Nah. Owen came up behind them—fuck, but he’s, like, totally silent—and smacked them right off the cliff.”

  Owen was one of Darcy’s mates. A werecat cahir. “Sounds like perfect teamwork.”

  “It worked all right.” His smile said he was feeling better about himself. He gave her the same careful study she’d given him. “You’re all right? Angie said you were in the fighting before the healing tent was set up. That you got hurt.”

  Margery shot her boss a glare that made her laugh. “I got thumped on the head”—a gunshot was a thump, right?—“but Donal put it to rights.”

  Oliver’s sigh was relieved. “It’s good to have a healer at hand.”

  “It is.”

  A noisy family group headed for the firepit, and Margery pulled Oliver out of their way. “So, bro, what are you planning now?”

  “Heading for Canada. I wanted to make sure you were all right and say goodbye before leaving.”

  The bond to him didn’t even hurt—because it was the right choice for him. What he needed to get himself back on the right trail. Pulling in a breath, she found her calm. “I’m glad you waited to see me. I needed a hug before you left.”

  Blinking back tears, she wrapped her arms around him.

  He squeezed her so hard her injured ribs set up a protest—and they both stayed for a moment, feeling the pain of loss.

  “Goodbyes suck,” he muttered and let her go.

  She wiped her eyes. “Yeah. Well. You know my address, my phone number. You call me when you find a place to den.”

  “I will. Yeah.” He pulled in a breath. “Love you, sis.” And then he was walking into the forest—his haven as the moon was for her.

  “Love you, bro,” she whispered.

  After a minute, an arm encircled her waist. “He’s off to Canada, like he said?” Angie asked.

  “He is. It’s good.” Margery heard the quiver in her voice and firmed it up. “He needs to go.”

  “It’s good when someone knows what to do next.” Angie gave her a squeeze, then poured a mug of coffee from the pot on the grill. “You look like you need this, girl.”

  “Thank you.” The scent of the dark brew would wake a hibernating bear.

  As she took a sip, she studied her boss. The lines on Angie’s face were deeper. Brush scratches reddened her face and neck, and she moved…carefully. She’d been in Shay’s wolf pack last night. “How badly did you get hurt?”

  “You’re such a banfasa.” Angie smiled wryly. “A bullet messed up my leg, but Donal mended it. Got some bruises here and there. I’m alive.” Sorrow flickered in her gaze.

  Deep within, Margery could feel the ache of the broken pack bonds. She’d only known those packmates since spring—not for years like Angie. Margery moved closer to share the grief, to comfort, and Angie leaned against her.

  After pulling in a breath, Margery motioned to the shifters walking toward the road. “I take it the festival is over.”

  “Aye. The Cosantirs don’t feel it’s safe to remain.”

  Approaching, Vicki heard and smiled. “It’s always nice when the REMFs are smart.”

  At Angie’s confused look, Margery clued her in. “Rear-echelon
motherfuckers.”

  “Girl,” Angie sputtered. “One of those REMFs is your mate.”

  “Well, that’s true enough.” Vicki grinned. “He’s better than most of them.”

  Margery laughed. “You’re such a fraud.” Then she frowned because, although Vicki was moving well enough, she had dark circles under her eyes and a strained expression. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, fine.”

  Margery crossed her arms over her chest and tried for a Tynan-authoritative frown.

  “You do that well. I’d promote you.” Vicki shook her head, and her smile disappeared. “Okay, though it was fun to play with weapons again, the fighting brought back…stuff. It’ll take a few days for it to die back down—and yes, Angie, Calum and Alec know.”

  “That’s all right, then.” Angie handed Vicki a cup of coffee.

  Vicki took a sip before turning to Margery. “Calum told me what you did last night. Thank you for guarding my back.”

  “Ah, well, you were pinning down a whole bunch of bad guys—there would have been a whole lot more casualties if you hadn’t.” Mother’s breasts, but the female was braver than anyone Margery had ever known. “It seemed only right I should lend a paw.”

  Vicki bumped her shoulder against Margery’s. “Your fur and fangs are welcome to fight with me anytime, anywhere.”

  A lovely compliment, but Gods, the female thought guns were fun. “Oh, let’s not.”

  Angie snickered and helped Margery out by changing the subject. “Since the festival is shut down here, Calum invited everyone to Cold Creek. We’ll celebrate in a safer area and have our full moon Gathering. Rainier Territory’s also playing host for anyone who wants.”

  Margery felt her jaw tighten. She’d heard about Pete’s blunders. “The Colonel knows there are shifters in Ailill Ridge now.”

  “And Cold Creek, for that matter,” Angie said logically. “But, unlike your Dogwood, our towns have plenty of humans, so a big sweep just can’t happen.”

  “That’s why Calum’s calling for a street party this evening for humans and shifters alike. The businesses will enjoy it, and so will our human townsfolk.”

  Margery smiled at Angie. “We’ll have food from the diner on sidewalk tables?”

  “Exactly.” Angie nodded. “Then the Gathering will be at a lake well up into the mountains.”

  Margery flinched. The Gathering. Donal and Tynan had talked about her staying, but she still had to face the concern that had sent her away. She’d have to watch them mate with other females. Every full moon.

  But…she’d manage.

  Donal and Tynan loved her, and she loved them.

  It was enough. And on that note, she totally needed to go collect hugs and kisses from her mates.

  Needy wolf.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory - full moon

  * * *

  It was a beautiful night for an outdoor Gathering. The cool air ruffled Tynan’s fur as he trotted beside his brother up the forest trail. They were running late. Tynan because he’d had to remove roadblocks from the streets. Donal because a female had sprained her ankle when dancing.

  A lot of the shifters at the festival were returning to their own territories today—the Canadians and ones from Wyoming had left near dawn. Other Daonain had accepted Calum’s invitation to visit the North Cascades Territory.

  Here in Cold Creek, they’d held the ritual to return the fallen shifters to the Mother—and as the bard sang the lost home, those left alive mourned. The broken bonds to his lost packmates still ached inside his chest.

  Then the town had put on a street party to restore the balance. All the residents mingled, reminding shifters that not every human was bad, that kindness crossed species—and that life went on.

  Food and drink and a sunny day. Music from the humans as well as Emma and some visiting bards. Their irresistible music had pulled everyone into the street to dance. On the sidelines, toddlers and small cubs jumped and bounced to the rhythm. In the middle of the street, some of the seniors had shown off intricate dance steps.

  As a precaution, the sheriff had detoured traffic away from the downtown—and no one was allowed past the guards unless they were a shifter or a local. After the Scythe attack, all Daonain territories would heighten security. But that was for the future.

  The longest day of the year was over.

  Tonight, they’d celebrate the full moon—Tynan glanced at Donal—and possibly the next chapter of their lives.

  Anticipation and anxiety created a heady mix in Tynan’s bloodstream. His paws caught the urgency and picked up the pace.

  The sound of cheerful voices drifted through the night air as he and Donal reached the lake. Someone had already lit the two solstice bonfires on the bank, and the firelight danced over the dark water.

  Tynan lifted his nose, sniffing the air, catching the dark, wet scent of the lake and the resinous tang of wood smoke.

  There was also the compelling fragrance of females in heat.

  Because the Gathering would be held here.

  Tonight, rather than restricting the Gathering to single, fertile shifters, the Cosantir also invited the lifemated and those who’d passed beyond their fertile years.

  Because today and tonight were about life.

  Beside Tynan, Donal dropped the bag containing their clothing. The cat hated wearing mini-packs and, instead, he’d carried the bag up the trail like a dead deer.

  “Thanks.” Tynan dug out his black jeans and pulled them on. Good enough. He’d stay barefoot and bare-chested for the night.

  Dressed the same, Donal grinned. “We ready?”

  Tynan did a quick check of his pockets. “We are.” In the growing moonlight, his need for a female—for one incredibly special female—simmered like bubbles in his veins.

  Where was she?

  He spotted Heather moving around the groups as if looking for someone.

  Warren raised a hand in greeting.

  Breanne, Shay, and Zeb were surrounded by other lifemated members of the pack.

  And there was Meggie, near the lake, looking out over the peaceful water. When a male strutted toward her, Tynan and Donal growled and stalked forward.

  Near her, Calum was talking to two other Cosantirs. He spoke to the randy male, sending him off, then looked directly at Tynan and Donal.

  And grinned.

  “The Cosantir is poking his whiskers in again,” Donal muttered.

  “I’m happy with the results.” Tynan headed straight for Meggie.

  Tradition said rituals at Gatherings were done in full view of the clan. He’d have it no other way.

  * * *

  Donal strode beside his littermate as unexpected anxiety crept into his gut like mice into the pantry.

  Maybe this wasn’t the right time. Margery would be exhausted. Stressed. What if she had reconsidered? Planned to take off and join Oliver?

  He huffed a breath. “We should have done this before. Last week or something.”

  Tynan gave him a disbelieving look. “You were the one who told her there would be no lifemating.”

  “Well, that was stupid. You should have punched me.”

  “I did.”

  Donal huffed and touched his bruised cheek. “Good point.”

  Damn wolf.

  As Donal turned his gaze to Margery, anticipation like bright sunlight wiped out his shadowy worries.

  By the Gods, she was beautiful, as peaceful as the lake. The moonlight lit her face, rippled over her rich brown hair. Her thin, tight tank top stretched over her full breasts in a way that dried his mouth.

  He couldn’t imagine a time when her body didn’t send lust right through him. Or when her presence didn’t fill him with happiness.

  She saw them approaching, and the flash of pleasure in her eyes lifted his heart. Then worry tensed her face. Why would she worry?

  No, he knew why she was worried. She didn’t believe they wanted her, so she
’d be bracing herself to keep to the Gathering traditions. No jealousy or being territorial.

  It was good they could remove that worry for her.

  If she said yes.

  Surely, she’d say yes.

  As they reached her, Donal breathed in her light floral scent, then took a knee in front of her. Tynan followed suit. Their shoulders rubbed as they looked up at their female. Ours.

  Her eyes widened. “What are you…”

  Tynan took the bracelets from his pocket and handed one to Donal.

  Donal set the bracelet in his palm and held it up so the silver moon discs, from crescent to full to crescent, gleamed in the moonlight. He could feel the Mother’s blessing that Gawain, the blademage, had called down upon the bracelets.

  Tynan smiled and opened his palm, displaying his bracelet there.

  Margery stopped breathing.

  * * *

  Hands over her chest, Margery could feel her heart pounding as she tried to breathe, as love swept over her, overwhelmed her.

  Donal and Tynan were kneeling in front of her. Holding lifemating bracelets.

  Here. In front of everyone.

  Tynan smiled slowly, as strong and stable as the mountain behind him. “Margery Lavelle, we are here to tell you that we love you and would have you as our lifemate in this life and all our lives to come.”

  “We love you, Margery Lavelle. And we know you love us. We belong together.” Donal’s smile flashed, quicksilver as his personality. “Banfasa, healer, cop—we’re perfect for one another. Be our lifemate.” His dark brows drew together. “Don’t even think about refusing.”

  Tynan’s amused snort was her undoing, and she burst into laughter—as did everyone around them.

  Then, as she’d come to expect, the entire clan jumped in to offer advice.

  “Say yes, banfasa.”

  “Take the bracelets, Margery. Say yes.” Was that Bree?

  “They need you, girl.” That was Angie’s voice.

  “Don’t make them wait, or the healer will get his tail in a twist.”

  “Yes, yes, yes. That’s the right answer.”

  The voices around her faded as she fell into the love in her males’ eyes. Her own eyes filled with tears.