As the little Dogwood villager headed toward the tavern door, Tynan had the oddest desire to go after her.
Which was obviously the last thing she wanted.
Still at the table near the door, Donal watched the petite, curvy female returning from across the room. Unfortunately, not to join him. Shoulders tense, movements stiff, she was headed for the door.
Limping. By the Gods, no shifter should be handicapped in that way. When her injury occurred, there must have been no healer to make it right. Now, it was too late to fix.
When she moved around his table, their gazes met again. Her big hazel-brown eyes held a greenish tint reminiscent of deep summer forests. Lovely eyes. And haunted.
She seemed familiar, but from where? A Gathering, maybe? No. Although he pushed himself to mate with many females, he’d never been so uncouth as to forget someone he’d been with.
They’d never mated. More’s the pity. Perhaps—
Beside him, Sarah deliberately rubbed her breasts over his arm and growled at the little female. A canine warning off another.
“Sarah,” Donal warned and moved far enough to create space between them. Territorial behavior wasn’t permitted at Gatherings, and Sarah had no reason whatsoever to act possessively. As a healer, he would never attach himself to one mate, even if he could find someone who appealed to him and Tynan.
The lovely stranger pulled open the door. For a second, the light from the wall sconce gleamed off the sun-lightened streaks in her rich brown hair, and then she was gone.
Sarah crossed her arms over her breasts and scowled. “Where did that female come from? I never saw her before.”
“She’s from Ailill Ridge, as it happens.” Followed by a big, over-muscled male, Sarah’s sister, Gretchen, sat down at the table. Tall, fair, and blonde, Gretchen was nothing like her sister…except in personality. The Daonain usually birthed males, and more than one female in a litter was exceedingly rare. As a result, the sisters had been thoroughly spoiled.
“Good morning,” Donal said politely. He didn’t know the male. Or Gretchen either, despite her flirting at Gatherings. He saved his time and efforts for local females—the ones who would be available to donate power if an emergency arose.
“Healer, this is Caleb, one of the beta wolves from Rainier’s pack,” Gretchen said. “Caleb, this is Donal, the healer in North Cascades Territory.”
“Good to meet you,” Donal said, getting a nod from the male who was built like a beefy bull.
“So, Gretch”—Sarah pointed toward the door—“who was the female?”
“Margery Lavelle,” Gretchen said. “She’s one of those Dogwood captives.”
Ah, perhaps that was why she seemed familiar. A shame that night was such a haze in his memory.
“She’s the female assigned to Ailill Ridge,” Gretchen said. “More’s the pity.”
Donal frowned. “Why a pity?”
Having treated Darcy, Donal knew something of the horrors the hostages had suffered. If the little stranger was having problems, maybe he could intervene.
“She’s as nasty as a weasel,” Gretchen said. “Like how she pretends she’s a banfasa, only we all think she’s lying.”
A banfasa? Donal stiffened. Although healers and banfasas worked well together in some territories, sometimes, one or the other grew territorial. Although his birth town had lacked a banfasa, he’d run into them later. Like during his apprenticeship. There, the local banfasa, Gil, had not only been incompetent, but he’d hated Healer Quany—all healers, actually. Donal winced, thinking of the damage the banfasa’s lack of skill had caused.
“Gretch, what else?” Sarah leaned forward. “Go on.”
“This week, Caleb almost bled to death because Margery insisted on caring for her friends first.” Gretchen scowled.
Caleb nodded. “Even though Gretchen asked her to see to me first.”
“That’s not good.” Playing favorites was unethical. Wrong.
Gretchen’s mouth twisted, turning her platinum beauty into something hard. “You’d think she’d be good for the town, but she’s always disappearing—like today.”
“Doesn’t she tell Pete or someone when she’s going to be unavailable?” As Cold Creek’s healer, Donal had taught the sheriff’s dispatcher—another Daonain—where to send the injured for first aid when he wasn’t around. Leaving town without warning, especially during a Gathering night, was deplorable. With tempers and testosterone high, a full moon was the worst day of the month for injuries.
“She didn’t talk to Pete,” Caleb said. “Fuck, he’s going to start shredding things.”
Rainier’s Cosantir had the temperament of an annoyed badger.
Gretchen shook her head. “Really, although she knows one end of a bandage from another, she’s not very good at the job. I don’t think she had any real training at all.”
“Of course not.” Sarah shrugged indifferently. “She was in that Scythe place during the years she should have been an apprentice.”
True enough. The poor female. Sympathy softened Donal’s tone. “Tell Pete he can send her up here, and I’ll train her.”
Donal wasn’t about to go to Ailill Ridge. Years ago, looking for a home, he’d paused there, but the town had an unhappy atmosphere. Pete had never forgiven him for walking away.
“You’re so wonderful, Donal. But it wouldn’t work.” Gretchen gave him a sweet smile. “Margery resents the God-called—and says healers are stupid and lazy. She’d never be willing to work with you.”
Donal’s mouth tightened. She sounded more and more like old Gil. How many times had he and Healer Quany needed to fix the incompetent banfasa’s mistakes? Or worse, see scarring that wouldn’t have happened if the banfasa had sent the shifter to a healer. “In that case, I hope Pete can find a different way to train her.”
While help would be nice, it was just as well that no banfasa had decided to live in Cold Creek.
Chapter Four
Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory - day after full moon
Cold Creek was a charming town, Margery decided as she stopped on Main Street’s center island.
With a relieved sigh, she sat on one of the wood-and-iron benches to give her aching ankle a rest. Touring a town on foot was hard work.
Earlier, in the B&B, the owner, Rebecca, had served a great breakfast and lingered to gossip with Heather. The dining room had been filled with shifters who’d come to Cold Creek for the Gathering. Heather knew most of them and had introduced Margery before leaving for her mother’s Elder Village. They’d all been so welcoming.
As Margery walked around downtown, the people she passed greeted her with nods and smiles. It was so different from Ailill Ridge.
Looking around, she smiled. Rather than being all concrete and buildings, the downtown had tall shade trees, antique streetlights, and benches everywhere. Flower beds on the island and sidewalk planters were bright with yellow daffodils and pink hyacinths.
The town was…pretty.
“I want to stay here,” Margery murmured.
Could she? Pete would be angry, but in the note she left, she hadn’t said where she was going. Just that she wouldn’t be back. Even if he knew she was here, what could he do? Surely Cosantirs didn’t chase down shifters who left their territory.