Living with a littermate, sharing their mate, having cubs, enjoying fulfilling work. His uncles had shown him what truly mattered in life. What he wanted for himself.
A noise caught his attention.
Donal was escorting a male shifter from the clinic to the front door. He handed the limping shifter over to a female waiting on the porch, turned, and saw Tynan in the kitchen.
“Finished for the day?” Tynan asked.
“For the moment, at least.” Donal rolled down his shirtsleeves and pulled the leather band out of his black hair. “It’s spring. Surging hormones mean stupid shifters having fights, or falling off mountains, or running into trees, or leaping into ice-filled creeks.”
Tynan snorted. “You mean like that time you tried to out-jump another panther and landed in a ravine?”
“For Herne’s sake, I was thirteen.”
“And clumsier than a drunken dwarf on ice.”
Donal thumped an elbow against Tynan’s ribs as he walked past. “Is there anything in this place to eat?”
“I made you a sandwich when I made mine.” Tynan pointed to the fridge. “Why don’t you have a female around to cook for you?”
Even as he said it, he grinned. In the human world, his female officers would have walloped him for such a question.
“More hindrance than help.” Donal opened the fridge and got his sandwich. “Cooking isn’t what I’m after in a female.”
Tynan leaned against the counter and studied his brother.
Healers were called by the Goddess to channel Her energy and heal the Daonain—and females chased the God-called like coyotes after a hare. It really was odd that Donal hadn’t found anyone.
All the years Tynan lived in Seattle, he’d feared Donal would find a mate just for himself. Normally, littermates lived together and shared their female—but normally, one of them wasn’t sent to live in a human city for a decade.
“All right, I’ll bite,” Tynan said. “What are you after in a mate?”
“Wrong question. I don’t want a mate.” Donal sat down at the table with his sandwich and a glass of water. “I simply need females who have an ample amount of power.”
Energy for healing came from the injured and the healer—and a healer could easily drain himself and die. However, shifters who had a mating bond with the healer could offer their energy.
Tynan stared, unsure whether to admire or be appalled by Donal’s reasoning. “Is that why you exhaust yourself mating with so many females during the full moon? To use them as batteries?”
“Judgmental much?” Donal scowled. “Yes, that’s why I mate with multiple females at Gatherings, even when I’m not particularly interested.”
If the female gave off an aroused scent, a male could usually perform. The thought was unappealing. “You’re stronger than most healers. Do you come up short on power a lot?”
“No, but more often in the past year or so.” Donal pushed his plate away. The lines around his silver-gray eyes, the same color as their mother’s who’d also been a healer, deepened.
“What changed?” Tynan opened the window over the sink to let the spring breeze in.
“Human towns are moving closer, and hellhounds come with them. I used to heal mostly clumsy shifters who jumped the wrong ravines or ones who fought over a female. Now, every month or so, I get cahirs savaged by a hellhound. And fucking car accidents. Multiple patients with life-threatening wounds.”
A healer’s energy was finite. “I see the problem.”
“Aye.” Donal’s shoulders sagged. “It’s not only the hellhounds and human technology, brawd. The Scythe are after us. At that compound last fall, I emptied myself healing—and still almost lost people.”
Tynan’s mouth tightened. After passing out, Donal had roused and tried to keep healing. If Tynan hadn’t yanked him away, he would’ve died. “You’re catching a scent of the future in the wind?”
“The world is changing. We have humans in our towns. The Scythe are searching for us. There will be more battles, and I have to be ready.”
When it came to dedication, they were much alike. Tynan’s worst fear was that he’d fail in protecting others.
His littermate dreaded losing someone to death. His healing skills and power were unsurpassed among the Daonain, but he was still only mortal.
“I can follow the logic, Donal, but I question your taste in females. Did you really mate with Sarah last night?”
“She has an adequate pool of energy—and she tends to be around when shifters get hurt, although it sure isn’t because she’s there to help.” Donal looked slightly sour.
Tynan snorted. “The female’s a lookie-loo.”
“A what?”
“Human term for the snoopy onlookers at accident and crime scenes.” The idiots would mess up a crime scene or jam traffic by slowing down to gawk. He frowned at Donal. “Didn’t you mate with Sarah in December. Why again?”
Donal shrugged. “I can pull energy through a mating bond—like drawing water from a well—but the bond thins as time passes. Usually after three or four months it’s gone.”
“So, you rotate through females each Gathering. That must take a lot of the joy out of mating.”
“Aye.” Donal took a bite of the sandwich. After swallowing, he added, “I had a female move in once—not for lifemating. Just a relationship.”
“And?”
“Didn’t work. She wanted more.”
Tynan studied his littermate’s disgruntled expression. “More what?”
“More time, more attention. An injured shifter who’d been gutted by a boar was brought into the clinic. She yelled at me because we were supposed to meet people at the diner for supper.” Donal’s jaw went tight. “Did she think I’d let him die while I ate pizza?”
“She did realize you’re a healer, right?”
“By Herne’s holy prick, yes. She kept telling me how sexy healers were.” Donal rubbed his jaw. “It seems we’re not so sexy when covered in blood and guts.”
Tynan snorted. For someone so perceptive about his patients, Donal could be stupid-blind sometimes. “Someone whose priority is status probably isn’t a good fit for someone whose priority is saving lives.”
“I figured that out. Eventually. I’ll stick to mating the females at the Gatherings.”
Tynan started to speak and stopped. He’d assumed they’d find a mate at some point. Together.
But Donal wasn’t thinking that way.
On the other hand, Donal changed his mind faster than the wind changed on a mountaintop. He didn’t like pizza until Tynan talked him into trying it. Thought flannel shirts were unprofessional—and look at what he wore now.
If they found the right female…
Glancing at the clock, Tynan grabbed his jacket off the chair. “I need to head out.”
Donal rose. “Where to?”
“Calum sent a message he wanted to speak to me.” A small worm of worry crawled into his gut. A Cosantir held the power of life and death over all the shifters in his territory.
Tynan didn’t know the Cosantir here all that well. When a cop in Seattle, he’d had contact with Calum only when shifters visiting the city got lost, arrested, or died.