“I’ve noticed that.” Bree grinned then tapped her fingers on the table. “Ailill Ridge was going to keep Margery as if she was a slave or something?”
“That’s the impression I got. If I hadn’t stepped in, she’d be on her way there now. Against her wishes.” Tynan jerked his chin toward Shay and Zeb. “I brought her to you since Roger appears to think he owns his pack members.”
“What the fuck is going on in Rainier?” Zeb growled, low and dark.
“They’re getting worse,” Shay agreed. “I’m glad you were there, Tynan. What did Margery have to say about her treatment there?”
“That is my other concern. She didn’t.”
When the three gave him a blank look, he sighed and tried to elaborate. Feck him, but he’d gotten out of the habit of talking about anything other than police work.
But the little wolf needed help.
“I thought at first she didn’t like males, but the problem is deeper.” Tynan tapped the badge on his chest. “When she met Alec, I saw—I think—our uniforms are what the humans call a trigger. She acts like she expects me or Alec to pull our batons and pound her into the ground.”
Zeb ran his gaze over Tynan’s clothes and shook his head. “Your uniform?”
“I saw it too.” Bree nodded. “Whenever she looked at you, her gaze snagged on your weapons or your badge.”
“Those Scythe guards.” Shay’s mouth twisted into a scowl. “They all wore uniforms and carried weapons. On a belt.”
Tynan thought back to the nightmare of the battle. Ear-splitting gunfire and shouting and screams. Thorson’s snarling when a bullet hit his foreleg. The human sniper aiming for the old werecat again. Leaping through the window, glass gashing his sides. Hot metallic blood filling his mouth as he slaughtered the human.
Shaking his head roughly, Tynan tried to dispel the images…and the taste of flesh.
How many times had that ugliness in his past come back to haunt him?
Margery had lived with violence for years—and had never been able to fight back. By the Gods, what nightmares did she suffer through?
He flattened his hands on the table. “The uniforms—or weapons—probably make her think of her Scythe abusers. Can you work with her on getting past it? Any town with humans, any traveling she does—uniforms are everywhere. If she stays in Cold Creek, Alec and I will scare her.”
He scowled at the unpalatable realization.
Because he definitely didn’t want to frighten that little wolf.
A corner of Zeb’s mouth turned up in a bitter smile. “It bites when a female takes one look and flees.”
Zeb would know. The scarred-up beta had terrified more than just females. Yet, despite his lethal appearance, Zeb made as fine a friend as anyone could wish for.
“At least I know now why she reacts so badly,” Tynan said. “Trouble is, a law enforcement officer might well consider her behavior as an indication of guilt.”
“Well, that’s sure the last thing she needs right now.” Bree lifted her chin and gave him a firm nod. “I’ll talk with her.”
“Talking won’t remove what has become instinctual after so many years.” Shay took a sip of his coffee and contemplated Tynan. “It might help for her to get to know someone who wears a uniform at times…and fur the other times.”
Wary of what Shay had in mind, Tynan shook his head. “No, that’s—”
Bree clapped her hands together. “Yes. That’s a great idea.”
“She needs a mentor.” Zeb tilted his head at Tynan. “It’s time you took on some pack duties.”
Oh, fuck.
The alpha and beta must’ve seen he tended to stay on the sidelines. “Margery is terrified of me; I’d be a poor choice for a mentor.”
“If she’d never shifted, I’d agree with you. For a first trawsfur, there must be trust between a mentor and a child,” Shay said quietly. “However, she’s not a child and is months past her first shift. She simply needs additional lessons. You’ve been here long enough to know our mountains—and you’re highly skilled.”
“You stepped in when Roger would have dragged her away. She won’t forget who the good guy is, no matter what you wear.” Bree’s smile faded. “But if you don’t like Margery, we should rethink this.”
Trouble was…he did like her. More than was probably wise. “I like her.” He let out a soft laugh, recalling the moment he knew she had his back.
Shay’s eyebrows rose.
Leaning his elbow on the table, Tynan motioned to the street. “Out there…when I faced-off against Roger and his beta, she was terrified—and she’d already started to swing her bike chain to smack one of them.”
“Another tough female?” Zeb actually smiled as he glanced at his brother. “We’re keeping her in the pack.”
“Aye.” Shay grinned. “Train her well, Tynan. And we’ll all keep her safe.”
“We will.” Tynan’s vow came out as a deep growling rumble. Because he’d rip the throat out of anyone who tried to harm her.
And wouldn’t think twice about it after.
Chapter Seven
Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory - third quarter moon
* * *
Yesterday’s altercation had been…exciting…if that would be the right word. Terrifying would work, too. But, hadn’t it been amazing when Tynan told Roger he couldn’t take her away?
Uphill past the tavern, Margery spotted the sign for the Wildwood Lodge and turned her bike down the muddy dirt road.
During the almost-fight, the cop had radiated anger, and afterward had been so…nice. Really concerned for her. There’d also been that very odd moment when he and the healer had both been watching her. Looking at her as males look at a female.
She pressed her hand to her stomach, feeling little quivers of heat. Last night, her dreams held the sound of Tynan’s Irish-accented voice, the strength and gentleness of his grip.
One time, she dreamed of keen silvery-gray eyes framed by black lashes.
She was as addlepated as a drunken dwarf.
With a huff of exasperation, she braked in front of the big lodge building.
The leaden gray sky was spitting an icy rain down with the same vindictiveness as a newly wakened pixie would throw acorns and twigs. Bikes and rain were a bad mix, but she didn’t have any other transportation. And hey, she’d wasn’t out of breath. Okay, her ankle hurt, but otherwise, she was in good shape. Last fall, she’d been dying. Her blood had felt like sludge in her veins. Now, she felt as if she could dance.
So this was the Wildwood Lodge. Margery glanced around. The massive two-story log building had a wide covered porch and log railings. Continuing past the lodge, the dirt road narrowed and branched off to small cabins nestled in the forest.
Heather occasionally rented one of the little fishing cabins if she had a craving for something more rustic and quieter than the Victorian B&B downtown.
Margery carried her bike up onto the porch and tapped on the thick wooden door.
Bree’s voice came from inside. “Door’s open. Come on in.”
Margery entered and stood on the wide mat. “I’m pretty wet. Do you have—”
“Just hang everything on the coat rack beside the reception desk.” Bree hurried out from the back of the house and laughed. “You look like a drowned rat.”
Margery grinned. “It’s mostly my hair. I’m actually dry underneath all this.” She pulled off her bulky rain jacket, boots, and finally the rain pants.
“I think you lost three sizes just now.” Bree took the boots and set them out on the covered porch.
“Those were Leo’s clothes. Too big for me, but I love being dry.” After smoothing out her jeans, dark green sweater, and brown-and-green flannel shirt, Margery decided she’d worn exactly the right clothes to the rustic lodge. Thanks to Angie digging through the Cosantir’s stock of clothing, she’d been able to dither over what to wear. It’d made her feel so…female. So normal.
Bree led the way
to the fireplace sitting area. “Come and sit by the fire. I have hot chocolate and the cookies are just out of the oven.”
“I never turn down cookies.” In fact, no Dogwood villager would turn down a dessert—not after eleven years of oatmeal, vegetable soup, and thin stew. Sweets had been nonexistent.
Following Bree, Margery looked around. The downstairs was huge with a reception desk and office in the front left, a book-filled room to the right. In the center, stairs separated the sitting areas on each side. A long dining room had windows overlooking a stream—and probably the kitchen to one side.
The masculinity of oversized leather couches and chairs was softened by colorful throw quilts and pillows. In the glass-fronted fireplace, a fire snapped cheerfully. Margery took a seat on a chair and held out her chilled hands. “Oh, that’s lovely.”
Bree grinned. “Isn’t it though? During the winter, I live on the hearth.” She filled two mugs of hot chocolate from a massive insulated pitcher.
How much liquid did Bree think they would drink? But it was great stuff. Dark chocolate, rich and creamy, and there was a bowl of mini marshmallows just for fun. “You are an amazing hostess.”
“Hostessing is my thing.” Bree plopped some marshmallows in her mug. “I used to be a Seattle chef. Now, I bake pastries for Angie’s diner, make the breakfasts here—as well as provide food for the lodge’s patio parties.”
“That seems like…”
“Coming down in the world?” Bree stretched her feet out toward the fire. “In a way. In the city, I had status, but what I really wanted was to belong. To have a family. Here, I have Zeb and Shay, a wolf pack for family, and a community of shifters. I’ve never been so happy.” Contentment radiated from her like warmth from the fireplace.
“I’m glad for you.” A bit of envy was to be expected…because Margery would never have all that. At least not the mates. Males liked beauty, not scarred cripples. She’d settle for somewhere to belong and acceptance. “So, tell me, what does a new pack female need to know?”
Bree lifted a clipboard and waggled her eyebrows. “I have a list.”
She actually did.
There were pack runs before the full moon and occasionally in-between. Mandatory service hours, but she could choose whether to help with the injured, the elders, or the cubs.
Margery stomped on her first response—the injured. “Cubs. Absolutely.” Hey, it wasn’t a lie. She adored pups.
After covering who to call for help and for transportation, Bree warned about hellhounds, especially during the dark of the moon.
Hellhounds. In Ailill Ridge, there had been a hellhound attack in December. The cahirs had managed to kill it, but not before five shifters had been torn apart. She’d never seen anything as savage as their deaths. At least the two other victims and the cahirs had lived. She’d done her best to sew them up, but there would still be some scarring.
“I think that’s everything.” Bree ran her finger down the checklist on the clipboard and shook her head. “I’m still learning alpha female duties.”
“The one before you didn’t help?”
“Hardly.” Bree scowled. “The pack was a mess when Shay took it over. The alpha had let his crazy-vicious beta prey on females. His—their—behavior warped the pack culture, and we’ve been trying to fix things ever since.”
Maybe this pack had problems, but…
“At least you’re trying.” Roger and his betas weren’t. “Um. Shay said something about a mentor?”
“Your mentor, mmmhmm. He should be here soon to take you for a run.”
Soon? Wait…he?
They’d assigned her a male? “But—”
A knock interrupted her protest, the door opened, and Darcy walked in.
“Darcy!” Margery almost flew across the room—and realized her friend was carrying a baby.
A baby?
Bree barely had time to take the cubling before Darcy grabbed Margery for a hug. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”
At the hard, encompassing hug, tears filled Margery’s eyes, blurring the room. Eventually, she pulled back and wiped her eyes, then realized someone else had entered. “Sorry. I hardly saw Darcy after our escape.”
“Everyone got scattered,” Darcy grumbled. “And the Cosantir told me I couldn’t visit anyone until spring.”
“Well, it’s spring. I heard you have mates now, but…a cub already?” Margery tried to count out the months in her head and came up short.
Darcy laughed
So did a petite, dark-haired female who held two more babies. “The cub isn’t Darcy’s. All three of these are mine.”
Margery did a double take. “I know you, don’t I?”
“From that night at the compound.” The female looked down at the cubs in her arms and at the one Bree had taken. “I’m Vicki, and two of these cubs are alive because you kept them safe from the Scythe. Thank you.”
Uneasy with praise for what she hadn’t thought twice about, Margery moved her shoulders in a small shrug. “No thanks needed. Anyone would have done the same. Cubs are what it’s all about.”
Vicki’s slow smile made her beautiful. “If everyone realized that, the world would be a better place.”
“Hey, if greetings are done, I have cookies.” Carrying the cub, Bree shooed everyone to the sitting area.
Ah-hah, that’s why there’s an entire pitcher of hot chocolate and extra mugs.
When one of the kitlings in Vicki’s arms squeaked and kicked little feet, cub-craving overwhelmed Margery. “Can I hold one? Please?”
“Absolutely. This is Sorcha.”
Sorcha? Heather’s Sorcha? The kitling had fluffy golden hair not much longer than fur, and eyes edging toward green. When Margery cuddled her close, the little girl gave a sigh and fell asleep.
As everyone took the couches and chair, Margery settled onto a mound of soft pillows and blankets by the fireplace. From the human-sized indentations, the blanket-pile was a favorite napping spot.
The females talked about the babies, then all the babies in Cold Creek, before letting the conversation range: the Scythe proving difficult to locate, problems with the wolf pack, a hellhound possibly in the territory, new-shifter antics.
Vicki talked about her fifteen-year-old stepdaughter, Jamie. “The girl’s insane. She and a couple of her werecat friends are leaping around in the tops of trees. Jumping from branch to branch. Making what they call treeways.”
Darcy had escaped the Scythe compound using a path high in the trees. Margery pointed at her. “I bet the younglings are trying to imitate you.”
“Not me, uh-uh.” Darcy’s long black hair rippled with the vehement shake of her head.
“Yes, you.” Vicki snorted. “You’re the kiddies’ new role model, woman.”
Darcy frowned. “Tree trails aren’t safe, especially for clumsy new shifters.”
“No kidding. Last night, I was at the grocery when a mama hunted down Donal. Her pup had missed a branch and broken his arm.” Bree snickered. “You should have heard Donal fuming about suicidal cubs starting on new fads.”
“His language is even more inventive than my old drill sergeant’s.” Vicki grinned. “But he’s fucking good at healing.”
“You’re so lucky to have him. Even a skilled banfasa can’t do—” Recalling herself, Margery shut her mouth.
“Banfasa?” Vicki asked.
“Tynan said a banfasa is like a nurse practitioner and medic,” Bree explained.
“I only met the Dogwood banfasa once,” Darcy said. “She was Margery’s grandmother. People said Margery had been helping in the clinic since the day she learned to walk.”
Margery looked away. Grandmama had died in her clinic, fighting the Scythe.
“That’s why the human nurse practitioner in the Scythe compound grabbed Margery to be her assistant. And why the Scythe let her tend everyone after Phyllis was gone.” Darcy smiled at Margery. “Caring for people is in your blood.”
No, she wasn’t g
oing to get caught in that trap again. “I’m even better at waitressing,” Margery said lightly. “It’s where I belong.”
Vicki eyed her.
Margery looked down at Sorcha. “Hmm. Smells like someone needs her diaper changed.”
“All of them, undoubtedly.” Vicki rose. “Bree, do you have a spot I can use?”
“Sure. C’mon.”
“I’ll help,” Darcy said. “If I get more cookies.”
Margery considered joining them, but if she was going to be running with this mentor person, she’d better rest her ankle. “Have fun. I’m going to take a nap right here, me and the salamanders.”
“You rest, then we’ll dump the pups on you when we come back.” Darcy picked up Sorcha and told the other two females, “Margery is a cubling tranquilizer.”
As their voices drifted away, Margery gave a sigh. The fire was warm, the blanket-mound unbelievably soft, and she had really worked hard at the diner.
She roused somewhat when little bodies were tucked in around her and cuddled them close before clouds of sleep engulfed her again.
* * *
Following his littermate into the Wildwood Lodge, Donal saw the females socializing around the fireplace. Not surprising. Breanne loved company and took any excuse to feed someone. In fact, the aroma of something sweet hung in the air.
Cookies? The day’s looking up.
Until he saw the black-haired, troublemaker named Darcy. He snarled. “You.”
She blinked, all innocence, although her lips quirked. “Me?”
“You’re a menace, you are. Trees are for perching and sunning, not for leaping around as if the Gods had made a freeway system in the canopy.”
“Sorry, Donal.” Her innocent look wouldn’t fool a pup, let alone a healer.
He growled under his breath.
Tynan had the temerity to chuckle. “Be warned, Darcy. He’s grumpier than a badger today.”
Even the Cosantir’s mate was grinning. Catching his glare, Vicki held up a hand. “We’re not heartless, Donal, really. But Tynan wouldn’t be laughing if someone had died.”
Healing of the Wolf Page 10
