Healing of the Wolf

by Cherise Sinclair

  “Open your eyes, cariad.”

  He’d called her darling? Her eyes popped open, and she stared up into his silvery gaze. His lips quirked. “I think you’re ready for me now, don’t you?”

  She was far too weak to hit him as he deserved. “You…cat.”

  His resonant chuckle made his chest shake as he lay on her.

  Reaching down, he positioned his cock between her legs and slid in, ever so slowly. Her pussy was swollen from the night’s endeavors—from his endeavors—and she inhaled sharply as he penetrated her. The feeling of stretching, of being taken was amazing, and her eyes closed.

  “Look at me, wolflet.”

  Holding her gaze, he pressed in farther, deeper, his voice lowering to a purr. “By the Gods, you feel magnificent.”

  He filled her, sheathed as completely as possible, and held right there in the most primitive of claiming. Looking into her eyes.

  The world seemed to fade around her as he encompassed her, inside, outside.

  His lips curved. “Put your arms around me and hold on.”

  He began to move, all hot iron, sliding in, filling her completely, then pulling out. Harder and faster. He claimed her lips again, even as the heat rose inside her despite all the times she’d come.

  Her hips lifted, pushing against his, taking him deeper and deeper, until all she could feel was him, his cock, and the glory sweeping through her.

  As everything inside her burst into overwhelming pleasure, and he came inside her in hot spurts, her cries of satisfaction filled the room.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory - morning after full moon

  * * *

  Her legs were so weak that Donal had to help her walk as they went down the stairs. The moon had set—and the evil healer had played with her right up to the last moment. She lost count of how many times she’d come.

  She felt floaty, almost adrift. Tynan, then Donal. The most amazing males she’d ever known had mated with her. Cherished her. It was like the stars in the sky had come down to touch her world.

  “Sweetling?” Donal pulled her to a stop.

  “Uh.” They’d reached the main room of the tavern. The raised blinds showed that dawn had arrived. “Sorry. My thoughts wandered off the trail.”

  “I understand.” He cupped her cheek in one lean hand and bent down to kiss her lightly. “The night’s over. I’ll take you home.”

  She put her hand over his…and got lost in his eyes, the gray of a sunlit fog. Gathering night was over; the moon had set, so why did she want to lead him off to bed again. “That would be—”

  “Margery!” The shout came from near the door, the voice so familiar.

  “Oliver?” She spun.

  It was her littermate. He stood just inside the door, his grin wide as the sky outside.

  They met in the center of the room.

  She hugged him hard enough to make his ribs creak. “You’re here, you’re finally here.”

  “Well, yeah.”

  For a long moment, she held him as the littermate bond warmed with his presence. His face had filled out, no longer gaunt. His stomach wasn’t sunken any longer. He’d gained weight and lost the sour unhappy scent he’d had when first freed from the Scythe. The winter months in the Elder Village had been good for him.

  Finally, she stepped back. “When did you get here?”

  “Me?” He frowned. “What about you? You’re supposed to be in Ailill Ridge.”

  “I left a moon ago. But I asked the Cosantir here to send you word at the Elder Village.”

  “It probably passed me when I was on the trail. I didn’t hurry on the way down.”

  Even as a cub, Oliver had preferred forests to people. He’d loved sharing the wonders he’d found—the incredible intricacy of moss and lichens, how a fallen tree would become a nurse log and raise tree babies, how owls used abandoned woodpecker holes for nesting.

  “But you found me, and you’re here now.” She spotted Donal at the bar with the Cosantir. They were both watching.

  She pulled her brother forward. “Calum, Donal, this is my littermate, Oliver. Oliver, the Cosantir of the North Cascades Territory”—she motioned to Calum, then Donal—“and the healer.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Oliver,” Calum said.

  “Cosantir.” Oliver bowed his head before turning to Donal. “Healer. Good to meet you.”

  “Welcome to Cold Creek. Margery’s been eager to have you here.” Donal smiled at Oliver. “Since we’re neighbors, let me give you two a ride home.”

  Oliver didn’t speak, letting her make the decision as had been his way when they were cubs.

  Margery hesitated, but her ankle was protesting a long walk. “A ride would be wonderful.”

  Donal set his glass down. “Get some sleep, Cosantir. Healer’s orders.”

  “A shame you probably won’t be able to do the same,” Calum responded. “There will probably be more brawls before the young males settle down.”

  Donal shot him a scowl, then headed out, muttering, “Belligerent, pixie-brained, cox-combs.”

  The Cosantir was laughing as he waved Margery and Oliver after Donal.

  Outside the tavern door, Oliver grabbed a backpack.

  It looked heavy. “Did you carry that all the way from the Elder Village?”

  “No, I traveled as a bear.”

  “Ah.” She remembered his form—a medium-sized black bear, more cute than scary.

  “The Elder Village sent the bag to Ailill Ridge for me. I picked it up there and begged a ride here.”

  She tensed slightly. What had the people in Ailill Ridge said about her?

  “Here we go.” Donal opened the passenger door for her. He ran his hand down her upper arm…and sent tingles chasing after his touch.

  No, behave, Margery. Gathering night was over.

  Oliver took the back seat. “When the grocery clerk at Ailill Ridge told me you were here, there were a couple of shifters listening and getting all pissed-off. Growling, even. What’s with that?”

  Oh Gods, how could she explain?

  Settling into the driver’s seat, Donal gave Margery a glance, then said smoothly, “No banfasa or healer will remain in a town where they’re not treated well. Margery is just the last one to walk away from that territory. Being idiots, they probably feel as if she abandoned them.”

  “Got it.” Oliver snorted. “Sounds like it’s good you left, but, knowing you, you stayed until it was unbearable.”

  “Pretty much, yes.” Margery still felt as if she’d abandoned people who needed her.

  “If the town had disrespected Grandmama,” Oliver said, “she’d have left them with tattered ears and shortened tails.”

  “Oh. You know, you’re right.” The ugly feeling of guilt lifted.

  “I think I’d have liked your granddam,” Donal murmured.

  Margery grinned. “I daresay. She was a cat, too, and like you, she was…” cantankerous, irritable, bristly. “Um, well, you’re a lot alike.”

  Donal gave her an amused look.

  After he parked the car in his driveway, Margery paused with her hand on the door. “Thank you for the ride, Donal.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetling. I’ll tell you what I told Calum—get some sleep today.” Still in the driver’s seat, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His touch made her shiver with longing. “Come over tomorrow, though. I have a couple more shifters to add to your schedule.”

  “I can come over now.”

  “How did I know you’d say that?” he murmured. His gaze lingered on her lips, then with a sigh, he shook his head. “Tomorrow, banfasa.”

  She slipped out of his car and reminded herself that a Gathering mating wasn’t a prelude to a romance; it was merely a sexy time under a full moon.

  The full moon had set.

  She and Donal would work together. And that was all.

  The lack of sleep was catching up to Tynan. He yawned a
s he left the diner after downing a cup of coffee. He was on duty, patrolling Main Street, until Alec relieved him at noon.

  He’d already broken up three brawls.

  After a Gathering, there were always fights between those who’d succeeded in mating and the ones who’d lost out. Having five times more males than females meant some males weren’t chosen. Although females usually mated more than once, some males were chosen several times a night, some never.

  And there were always those who were bad losers.

  A shout and growls caught his attention, and he snorted. Looked like his brawl-count was rising to four.

  He rounded the corner, and there they were, in front of BOOKS. Two males going at it with fists and kicks, battering at each other for all they were worth.

  “Break it up,” he ordered loudly. When they ignored him, he yanked out his baton, expanded it, and whacked one idiot in the meaty part of his thigh hard enough to paralyze the muscle.

  As that male staggered back, the other dumbass swung at Tynan.

  Tynan whipped the baton around and caught the male’s upper arm. A baton was quite useful, really.

  Separating, the combatants rubbed their injuries and cursed him in foul terms.

  Seriously? “You’re standing on Main Street. Your mamas would have their paws over their ears if they heard you.”

  One flushed.

  The other had no shame—or sense. “You dickless dog.” He charged at Tynan. “I’m gonna—”

  Tynan palmed the male’s face and shoved him back, then swung the baton. It thudded against ribs hard enough that the male dropped to his knees. The bones hadn’t broken, but would be sore for days.

  “Nice job, Deputy.” Joe Thorson stood in the doorway of his bookstore. “Want help?”

  “Got it handled, Joe, but thanks.” Tynan leveled a stern look at the two whimpering pups. He’d not seen them before. “In this territory, both the Cosantir and the law forbid fighting in town. Cubs shouldn’t see this kind of violence…or hear language like you used.”

  The two flushed, gazes on the ground.

  “Sorry,” one muttered.

  “Yeah. Won’t happen again,” the other said.

  “Then, go.” Tynan motioned with the baton.

  After a disgruntled exchange of glances, the males rose, heading for opposite sides of the street.

  “Young and stupid.” Thorson growled, although amusement lurked in his eyes. “Can’t say I was much better at that age.”

  “I’ve seen the scars on your arms, Joe. You were far worse.”

  With a hissing laugh, Thorson disappeared into his store.

  Tynan continued his foot patrol.

  At the diner, Angie had mentioned Meggie wasn’t on today and was probably catching up on her sleep.

  More’s the pity. He’d hoped to see her, to assess how she felt about him. Emotions during a Gathering could be as capricious as a leaf blown in the wind. What a shifter thought was undying love under a full moon was often dead and buried by noon the next day.

  Today would be the test as to whether the little wolf’s emotions were ones that would last longer than the waning of the moon.

  Because his feelings were more solid than the mountains behind him.

  He nodded at Bonnie who was trying to get her two cubs moving in the same direction. Unsuccessfully.

  Typical enough. Littermates were bound to head in different directions—unless and until they lifemated a female. Then…their world had a center.

  The thought slowed his pace.

  Although they hadn’t been able to share Meggie last night, Donal must’ve returned to the Gathering at some point. With luck, he’d taken Meggie upstairs.

  Perhaps next time, they could be with her together, as littermates should

  Despite her need for sleep, Margery couldn’t stop smiling. Oliver was back.

  In the guest room, she started to make the bed. “You look healthy.”

  “The upside of living in an Elder village. Those older shifters really enjoy cooking.” He grinned. His shaggy hair was brown and his eyes hazel, the coloring they shared from their mother. Although a few inches short of six feet, he was a bear shifter with big bones and bulk.

  “What did you do all winter?” She fitted the sheet over the mattress corner as he did the same on his side. “Were you the only shifter-soldier in the village?”

  “Nah, Patrin and Fell were there. Two elders worked with us—a shepherd who did a lot of listening and a teacher of the traditions. We talked. Spent time in animal form.”

  Patrin and Fell were Darcy’s littermates, and like Oliver, they undoubtedly needed both teaching and counseling. It was a shame there wasn’t a soulweaver in the area, but like bards, the God-called menders of souls had grown exceedingly rare.

  She added the top sheet and soft blankets. “I bet it was a long winter in such a small place.”

  He shrugged. “It was okay. We did handyman stuff. The elders appreciated the repairs, since after they get snowed in, they don’t get much help. Played board games. Learned Daonain history, traditions, and laws.”

  That had been the Cosantirs’ plan—that the shifter-soldiers would have a chance to merge back into the Daonain culture. Would have counseling from a shepherd and basically a lot of socialization. “Did it help?”

  His smile looked so much like their mother’s that her heart ached. “I guess. I’m more settled. Not on edge all the time. Patrin and Fell are doing better, some, but…yeah, like me, they’re still having trouble.”

  “Darcy said they trained as assassins.”

  He tugged a wrinkle out of the dark green quilt. “Yeah. And they led us. Protected us when they could. Patrin was the one who told the Scythe I’d make a lousy killer, but that I was good at blending in and getting information.”

  Bless Patrin. Being a killer would’ve damaged Oliver irreparably.

  Blinking back tears, she smiled. “You blend in, hmm? Considering we look alike, that’s not what a female wants to hear.”

  He led the way out of the room. “Sis, you’re not gorgeous, sorry. But you are pretty. And, you know—nice.”

  “Nice, huh.” How bland was that? Is that how Donal and Tynan thought of her?

  “Smart, kind, brave. That stuff.” He flushed. “The Elders sent us to the closest villages for Gatherings. After a few times, we’d learned that beauty can hide an empty heart.”

  Oh. She had no words. Not only because he was being super sweet, but…this was her brother talking. Her brother had attended Gatherings. Had mated with females.

  In the kitchen, he started opening and closing cupboards. Evaluating the food situation. Such a bear.

  An adult bear. She gave herself a shake. “I forgot that time passed for you, too. Part of me still thinks of you as the kid you were when the Scythe took us. Then you talk about attending Gatherings.”

  “We’re from the same litter,” he pointed out.

  “I know, I know.” She shook her head. “Sometimes I feel a lot older than I really am.”

  He nodded, his eyes holding a sadness that would probably never go away. “Violence, being treated like animals, killing. That shit changes things. Patrin says other shifters our age seem like younglings.”

  Opening the fridge, Margery pulled out the leftover roast beef and a loaf of bread. When Oliver’s eyes lit, she started making sandwiches. “Most of the time, I feel old—and then I trip over a tradition everyone else knows and feel like I’m five.”

  The haunted look disappeared from his eyes as he snickered. “Oh, yeah. Like I didn’t remember shit about lifemating stuff. It’s not as if Mom or Grandmama had lifemates. So…I was trying to flirt with a pretty female. And two big werecats saw me trying to get her interest. Turned out they were her new lifemates.”

  “Uh-oh. Nice ones?”

  “Not. Hardly. They bashed me into the wall, ready to tear my throat out. Thank fuck an elder stepped in and explained I was still learning the traditions.”
>
  Margery felt her breath shudder. The males could have hurt Oliver badly. “I heard new lifemates were unstable, but wow.”

  “Yeah.” He drank some lemonade, then grinned. “Do you remember when we were seven, and you asked the Howatt littermates to wait for you so you could be their lifemate?”

  “They were so nice. They didn’t even laugh.” Her mood darkened. The Howatt brothers had died on the street the day the Scythe attacked.

  Oliver saw her face and looked away. Picking up the sandwich, he moved out of the kitchen. “So, you’re going to work as a banfasa like Grandmama?”

  “Maybe. Probably. I have a job as a waitress, but the healer has work for me to do, too. With older shifters and pregnant ones as well as the ones with injuries that take a while to heal.”

  “Sounds boring,” Oliver said.

  “Not to me.” She settled into a chair in the living room. “I don’t like all the bloody stuff the healers are so good at. I’d rather do therapy to help someone recover their strength, make sure a pregnant shifter is eating right for the unborn cub. I’m good at that.”

  “You’re good at all of it.” Oliver sat on the couch. “Grandmama was really proud of you.”

  Tears prickled her eyes. “Thanks.” Earning her grandmother’s praise had been difficult—but very rewarding. They’d planned to be partners when Margery was an adult.

  Many plans for the future had died the day of the Scythe attack.

  “So…have you figured out what you want to do?” she asked.

  “Not really.” He scowled. “The human spymaster who helped get us out—his name is Wells—said something about us helping him kill off the rest of the Scythe. At least that’s what he mentioned before we got sent to the Elder Villages.”

  His worried expression unsettled her. “I don’t like that idea.”

  “Me, neither. Guess we’ll hear soon enough now that it’s spring.”

  “It doesn’t seem right. The Scythe are human; Wells is human. He should have to deal with them, not our people.”

  “Wishful thinking never gets a person very far.”

  His bitter tone broke Margery’s heart. “You’re here now, though. And you’ll have to let me pamper you.”