Healing of the Wolf

by Cherise Sinclair

After slowing to lap up some water, she scrambled up to join him on the soft grass.

  What a mess. With every step farther from Donal and Tynan, she felt her chest hurt more. Like it or not, there were bonds between them, and oh, the ties ached like a badger was chewing on them. Leaving everything unresolved was tearing her to pieces.

  Then there was Oliver…

  She’d been following his scent for an hour or so, grateful that as a bear he tended to move far more slowly than a wolf.

  With a sigh, she shifted, pulled off the bag she wore tied to her neck and stomach, and pulled out the ultra-thin clothing. The bag was the same color as her chest and belly fur, the straps thin enough to be hidden beneath her thick ruff. She pulled on bike shorts that held her money and ID in the pocket, an elastic tank top, special slippers that compressed with hard enough soles to finish a hike. Such very light-weight clothing—the humans were good at the oddest things.

  Once dressed, she straightened and gave her silent littermate a frown. “A note? Seriously?”

  His face crumbled. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, Oliver.” She put her arms around him, feeling the tremors in his body, hearing his breathing shudder with unspent tears.

  “I’m sorry, sis,” he whispered. “I couldn’t face you.”

  By the Gods, how many times would the Scythe destroy his life? “Well, you’re stuck now.”

  She pushed him back far enough that she could look at him. “Bro, I only wanted a chance to say goodbye.”

  “You don’t think I’m a coward?”

  “Not hardly.” She shook her head. “Patrin and Fell are intent on getting revenge. That’s not your way. Not how we were raised. But why Canada?”

  “The Scythe are mostly US-based.” He hesitated. “And last night, a Canadian told me their town has a counselor—a shepherd. He said talking through things might help me move on.”

  She blinked. “How did he know…”

  “Know I was having trouble?” Oliver averted his gaze. “I was…drinking. Drunk. And he and his littermate, I guess they were worried. We talked.”

  Bless the Canadians. “You found a destination and a goal.” Her muscles loosened as her worries eased.

  “Yeah.” He glanced at her. “Want to come with me?”

  Surprised, she sat down on the bank.

  He joined her…but not shoulder-to-shoulder like a wolf or a cat would. Not as touchy-feely, bears were often more solitary, but Oliver took it to a whole new level.

  “Bro, I can’t leave. I have a job, friends.” Tynan and Donal…only, she didn’t have them, did she? They weren’t hers, would never be hers.

  All the way on the trail, she’d gone over and over what she should do.

  Because, even if Donal didn’t—couldn’t—love her, she had a feeling Tynan might not agree. The fight showed that. Only, as a banfasa, she knew exactly how Donal must feel.

  How could he risk his patients’ lives?

  So, she’d back away from them if that’s what it took. And she absolutely wouldn’t come between the brothers. She wouldn’t let their feelings toward her turn their love for each other into something ugly. Even if the thought of not having them in her life scorched through her like the worst of burns.

  “You could work in Canada,” Oliver said after a moment.

  She leaned over to give his shoulder an affectionate shove. “Stubborn bear.”

  By the Gods, she was going to miss him.

  As a cloud cut off the warmth of the sun, she brought up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “I’m a wolf. And a social sort of person. I need companions, touch, a pack. You don’t. What are you planning to do when you get to Canada?”

  “Uh.” He shrugged. “Hang out in the forest. Enjoy the quiet. The mountains.”

  “With me beside you all the time?”

  His appalled expression was her answer. And his. “That…wouldn’t be good for you, would it?”

  Her brother did have a good heart. He’d simply lost his trail and needed to find it again. But it wouldn’t be with her.

  Tears burned her eyes. First, Donal’s rejection. Now, having to watch her littermate head north.

  “No. I love being a banfasa—I have a gift for it—and the Mother of All expects me to use my skills and talent. Oliver, you get unhappy when you’re stuck around too many people, and I get the same way if I’m alone too long.”

  He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Are you going to be all right in Cold Creek? Guess you’ll probably end up lifemating Donal and Tynan?” The concern was obvious in his voice.

  The question was like being stabbed through the heart. “Eh, who knows the future? I love them, though.” That answer she could give without any hedging. “And I love Cold Creek—the people, the town.”

  “Okay. Guess that’ll do.”

  It would have to. She pulled in a breath. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Yeah. I’ll miss y—” He stopped abruptly, and his nose lifted. He sniffed.

  All the color drained from his face.

  Before she could speak, he scrambled up the nearest tree. With his dark green shirt and brown shorts, he disappeared into the canopy.

  A sniff of the air brought her nothing much. Perhaps a faint hint of something nonorganic. As a bear, Oliver’s nose was better than hers. What had he smelled?

  Unable to sit, she paced until he dropped down. “What is it?”

  His voice was low, almost panicked. “Humans—a whole fuckload of them. Armed and wearing camo.”

  Her breathing stopped. “No.”

  “They have to be Scythe, sis.” Oliver pulled in a breath. “They’re moving in a line. Toward us.”

  “Oh Gods, they must have found out about the festival.” So many Daonain, all in one place.

  “Yeah.” Oliver pointed east. “They probably used a back road, then hiking trails for this bunch. Bet they’ll send another attack up the main road—and time it so they all arrive together. Envelop the festival from two sides.”

  Margery yanked off her clothes, jamming them into the bag. “We have to warn everyone.”

  “No. If we go back, we can’t escape before they attack.”

  The stench of his fear woke her own terrors. Revived her memories of that night they attacked Dogwood. Killing and killing. Shoving children into trucks. Blood everywhere. Screams. Fires. Chills ran up her arms as she fought against her churning stomach.

  “We must warn them.” She forced the words out, trying to convince herself. “There are cubs. Young ones. Mothers.”

  Young Athol who’d just learned to shift. Vicki’s Sorcha, Artair, and Toren. Emma’s adorable Minette. Bonnie’s feisty cubs.

  No, she would never let the Scythe have them, no matter what it took. “I’m going back.”

  She secured the bag to her chest, trawsfurred—and hesitated.

  Despite the fear in his eyes, Oliver nodded. “We’ll warn them together.”

  Brother at her side, Margery tore through the forest as the sun edged toward the west.

  The forest creek to the west of the festival grounds had turned into a cub play area. And Heather had managed to steal Sorcha away from her mama. Smiling, she flicked droplets of the icy water onto her favorite cubling’s bare legs.

  Around seven months now, the little girl squealed her laughter, hands waving and feet kicking.

  A quiet chuckle came from the intimidating human standing beside Heather—something rarely heard from Wells. Sorcha’s littermate, Artair, was fast asleep against the spymaster’s shoulder.

  On Heather’s other side, Joe Thorson held his namesake, Toren, between his legs. Sitting proudly, the cub beat on the grass with a wooden rattle, then waved it at the tree fairies swinging from the nearby branches.

  Pixies adored cubs, no matter the species.

  A cool breeze off the mountains made Heather shiver. “Well, my sweet lass, I think it’s time you put on some clothing.” Dressing the kit in a dark green romper, she blew a noisy ras
pberry on the little round tummy before doing up the snaps.

  Sorcha had the greatest laugh.

  As Heather lifted her for more kisses, love filled her heart. Thank you, Vicki, for sharing with me. Even if it made the lack of her own pups so much harder.

  Maybe, someday, the Great Mother would bless her.

  Thorson said in his raspy voice, “Toren, time to leave.”

  Hearing his name, Toren clapped his hands—his newest skill—and gurgled happily.

  The sun was hovering over the treetops as if reluctant to leave. Summer Solstice was tomorrow—the longest day in the year—and sunset wasn’t until a smidge after nine pm. Heather nodded at Thorson. “The Cosantirs’ meeting should be done soon.”

  Heather grinned, thinking of when Vicki’d been told about the plans for today. “Another fucking meeting? For fuck’s sake, Calum.”

  Her poor friend had wanted to spend the day outside. Instead, she’d been stuck in a meeting with Wells and the shifter-soldiers. And now, the various Cosantirs, their mates, and their cahirs were using the meeting tent. Calum was there as well as Pete from Rainier Territory. There were Cosantirs from Gifford to the south, Colville to the east, and Garibaldi over the border in Canada. It wasn’t often the guardians left their territories, so they’d welcomed the chance to discuss common problems—the increasing human threat, the Scythe’s attempts to find them, human laws that might affect them. New ways of evasion. Technology and precautions.

  Ryder who had mad skills with computers had been drafted to speak with them.

  Heather knew the Daonain must become more tech savvy. Being the CEO of a software company, she had a head start, but she’d always been an outlier when it came to liking computers. Too many shifters, like her Cosantir, Pete, refused to acknowledge the changes in the world. They believed the Daonain could simply hide in the forests if threatened. Even worse, they used human technology like phones without understanding the dangers.

  Such shortsightedness endangered everyone—including the cubs. A cold shiver ran up her spine, and she held Sorcha closer.

  Resettling Artair on his shoulder, Wells did a quick survey of the surrounding forest. The man never let down his guard. Was that because he was in the midst of shifters or because he’d been a spy for too many years?

  Eyes narrowing, he tilted his head to hear better.

  Heather listened. Even in this form, her ears were better than a human’s.

  From the north, an animal was approaching at a fast pace. More than one. New shifters playing nip-the-tail?

  No, there was a desperate urgency to the sound.

  A chocolate-brown wolf shot out of the underbrush and sprang across the creek. The female stopped in front of Wells, hind leg raised slightly.

  “Margery?” Heather stared. Her friend’s muzzle was covered in froth, her sides heaving with her breathing.

  “You’re Oliver’s sister.” Wells’ face darkened. “What’s wrong?”

  Margery shifted and knelt at his feet, gasping for air. “The Scythe. They’re coming. Many of them—dark camouflaged clothing, weapons.”

  A bear charged out between two trees, splashed through the creek, and trawsfurred into a young male. Kneeling beside Margery, the resemblance was plain.

  Oliver spat out between breaths, “A long line. Got night-vision goggles. Gear doesn’t match—maybe mercenaries. Coming slow, about two hours out. Probably move on us after dark.”

  Wells turned his head to the south. “If they’re smart, they’ll bracket us with an attack from the road.”

  “Wells, give me Artair.” Heather held out her free arm. “Go warn the Cosantirs while they’re all together.”

  Placing the cub into her arms, Wells said, “Oliver, come with me. I’ll warn the Cosantirs while you round up the shifter-soldiers. Send Patrin and Fell to the meeting tent.”

  “Yes, sir.” Oliver pushed to his feet, staggered sideways a step, then yanked the mini pack off his back. He pulled out shorts and put them on. “Sis.”

  Margery’s lips quivered as she smiled at him. “Be safe, bro.”

  “You, too.”

  Oliver sped after Wells, who’d already headed for the festival grounds.

  Thorson turned toward Heather. “We need to send the cubs somewhere safe.”

  “Yes.” Heather’s gaze met Margery’s, and she saw the same determination there. Time to get moving. Get a head start.

  No Scythe soldier was going to get anywhere near the little ones.

  Tynan didn’t want to be stuck in the fecking Cosantirs’ meeting. By the Gods, he needed to go after Meggie, not listen to Ryder talk about computers.

  Earlier, Angie had grabbed him and told him about Meggie and her littermate. Had handed him Oliver’s note that said he’d headed to Canada.

  Meggie had gone after him.

  Tynan rubbed his chest, feeling as if she’d had taken a knife and stabbed him.

  Before he could grab Donal and follow her, his brother was called to deal with a clawing. Stupid young males.

  Then Alec dragged Tynan into the Cosantirs’ meeting, saying, “You’re a deputy and a pack beta. You’re part of the shield that protects the Daonain.”

  So here he was, listening to the idiot Rainier Cosantir say he had no idea humans could eavesdrop on cell phone conversations or that a human might notice the flyer he’d posted in the grocery store about the festival.

  That thick gobshite had put a target on his town and on this festival.

  Appalled, the others in the meeting—except for Pete’s own people—were shouting at the idiot.

  Tynan shook his head. While they yelled, he’d go make sure the festival was safe. Instinctively setting a hand on his firearm, Tynan headed for the door. He’d ask Patrin and Fell to post the shifter-soldiers as sentries until something better could—

  Blocking the exit, Wells stepped into the tent. “Cosantirs, you’re going to be under attack. Probably at dark.” The spymaster’s loud voice stilled the arguing shifters. “The Scythe are on the way.”

  Everyone jumped to their feet, yelling.

  “Silence.” Calum’s voice slashed through the noise like claws across a snout.

  “Do we have time to get our people out?” one of the Cosantirs asked.

  “Doubtful,” Wells answered. “The road will be watched—possibly blocked. In animal form, the fastest shifters might escape the approaching line.”

  Calum motioned Wells forward. “Spymaster, you know our skills, our numbers. Show us what we’re up against and make us a plan.”

  Beside the poster board, Ryder ripped off the paper he’d been using and handed Wells the colored markers.

  Using black, Wells drew a circle for the festival grounds, then a double line for the blacktop road to the south. Dashes marked the footpath from the road to the grounds.

  “This is where the Scythe were spotted.” A line of red Xs crossed the forest to the north. “Their mismatched gear implies we might be facing mercenaries. If the Colonel is keeping this quiet, he won’t pull from the normal Scythe resources.”

  Wells traced his finger from the grounds, around the side of the Xs, and back down. “We can send wolves to attack these soldiers from the rear. Quietly.”

  Calum pointed to Shay. “Shay, take charge of all the wolf packs. The other alphas will take orders from you.”

  The Rainier pack leader, Roger, opened his mouth to object.

  Calum’s eyes were turning dark, the mark of the God, and Roger sat back quickly.

  Wells made green Xs behind the northern line of Scythe. “Wolves, get behind them. Don’t wait for dark. Night-vision goggles are highly effective, which means the shadowy time before the goggles are useful will be your best choice. With thermal vision, it’s difficult to tell friend from foe, so if they’re carrying that technology, we’ll hope they save it for clean-up.”

  “If the wolves take out the attackers, everyone at the festival should be fine.” Pete’s face was pale.

 
“No, you won’t be fine.” Wells gave the Rainier Cosantir a look that Tynan recognized from his new shifter days—one that said the elder would be surprised if this idiot could find his way out the forest on a wide trail at high noon. “When capture is the objective, forces attack from all sides to prevent any escape.”

  “The road,” Zeb muttered.

  Wells nodded and drew red Xs along the road to the south. “An almost unused road means they can block it without attracting much attention. As soon as it’s dark, they’ll attack from the road and the north to bracket you.”

  Tynan frowned. “Won’t they try to coordinate in some way?”

  “Good question. I have a jammer on the Hummer that’ll wipe out any communications tech in the immediate vicinity. I’ll set it off before it gets dark.” Wells gave him a thin smile.

  The spymaster had parked his big Hummer on the shoulder of the road…right at the end of the footpath. He’d left only enough room for one person at a time to get past his vehicle.

  The human’s paranoia was justified, now wasn’t it?

  Wells ran his finger along the depiction of the road. “The south roadside is a steep drop to the river. Very little parking—so they might even disembark troops right on the road.”

  Calum frowned. “We need to get younglings away.”

  “Yes.” Wells motioned to the left and right of the festival grounds. “Take those too old and too young to fight out of here. East and west. Find hiding places that will block thermal scanning.”

  Ben walked up to the map and tapped the northeast section. “Partway around this rise is an exposed cliff with caves. Good hiding for the least mobile shifters.”

  Shay rose and pointed to the southwest. “The pack ran that area last night. Looked like it had a landslide a while back. There are uprooted trees, hollowed-out areas, and overhangs. It’s rough terrain, and good hiding for agile youngsters and their protectors.”

  Calum studied the map. “All right, then. Pregnant females, new mothers, anyone who can’t move well, and the youngest cubs to the east. Ben, take who you need to get them there along with Donal. Once they’re situated, return with the healer. Go now.”

  “Your will, Cosantir,” Ben said.