“Cat.” Tynan eyed his littermate. “Did you do your shouting inside, or did you upset our new neighbor?”
“What new neighbor?” Donal sat up, glanced to the right as if he could see the adjacent house that held three males, their mate and cublings. His gaze turned left. “Old Leo’s house? Someone’s living in that stench-filled cave?”
“I don’t know if she’s actually living there.”
“A female?”
“Aye. One of the Dogwood villagers.” A female who didn’t seem to like him—and worse, might even be afraid of him. The knowledge hurt somewhere deep inside him. His job was to defend the pack, not frighten little females. “She looks interesting.”
“Interesting, eh?” Donal grinned. “I’m feeling the need for a cold draft, oh, my brother, along with the latest rumors.”
“Fecking feline.” Cats reveled in gossip. “Right then, let’s go get a beer. I’m sure the Cosantir will know what’s going on. If he doesn’t, Angie will.”
An hour later, they’d learned that Angie was out of town…and that Calum hadn’t heard about the new shifter moving into the vacant house.
Or into his territory.
Chapter Five
Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory - waning gibbous moon
“Margery, don’t leave yet,” Angie called.
On her way out of the diner, Margery stopped in the doorway. Her first shift as a waitress had gone well. She wasn’t fast—yet—but she hadn’t messed up any orders. It’d been a good morning. “Sure, boss. What’s up?”
A line appeared between Angie’s blonde eyebrows. “We need to visit the Wild Hunt.”
“The tavern?” Like tiny ants, anxiety prickled over Margery’s nerves. “Why?”
“The Cosantir called to ask about you.” Angie motioned Margery out the door and headed down Main Street, slowing her pace to accommodate Margery’s limping gait. “I can’t believe you didn’t speak with Calum about moving here.”
Dread tightened Margery’s stomach as they walked. Was she supposed to have gotten permission? Silently, she considered her conversations with Heather about moving to the North Cascades. No, Heather hadn’t said anything about getting permission from the Cosantir.
“Angie.” Up the hill, they turned off the road into the parking lot. The big log tavern seemed darker than normal. Ominous. “Am I in trouble?”
Hand on the tavern door, Angie glanced back. “No, no, girl, don’t look like that. The Cosantir’s not going to claw you. You didn’t break the law. It’s simply tradition to introduce yourself to a Cosantir before moving to his territory.”
“Oh.” Margery let out a relieved sigh. “Is he angry that you’re letting me use the house?”
“No, not at all. He gave me charge of that problem.” Angie pulled open the door and waved her through.
Into chaos.
Screaming cublings. Bleeding cublings. A lushly curved female was trying to calm things. A younger slender female dashed from the back, carrying a first aid box. Skidding on a patch of blood, she fell. The box rolled across the floor.
“By the Mother’s breasts.” Angie pushed Margery farther inside so she could enter.
After a second of shock, Margery pulled in a slow calming breath.
“No matter what, dear child, keep it together. If the nurse panics, so will the patient.” Phyllis, the Scythe nurse, had repeated that advice over and over until the understanding was buried deep.
Moving forward, Margery grabbed the dropped first-aid kit while doing a quick visual survey. The injured were all children. Two had deep parallel slashes on the torsos and were bleeding heavily. Looked like werecat damage. There was a slashed thigh. Another had a scraped arm. A cut over a boy’s eye was trickling blood—as head wounds would do. All cubs were conscious and breathing with no obvious broken bones.
“Well, then.” She used a volume loud enough to get attention without scaring the cubs more. She turned to the big-boned female with honey-colored hair who stood in the center of the children. “Can you put pressure on the one with a scraped forehead?”
“Can do.” The blonde took the gauze packages from Margery and turned to the little dark-haired child.
“Angie, can you check on that cub?” Margery pointed to a youngling with a cut thigh.
“Got it.”
Dropping down between the boy and girl with torso slashes, Margery smiled at them. “Hi there. Let’s get you fixed up, shall we?” As she pulled more gauze from the box, she stroked the quieter cub’s back in a comforting movement.
He stopped crying, big blue eyes full of tears.
Unbuttoning his ripped-up shirt, she smiled. “I have a job for you. Take a big breath and say fart really loud.”
As he giggled and yelled, “Fart,” she quickly pulled the fragments of his shirt from the wounds.
She stared at the torn flesh and long ugly gashes.
What kind of a werecat would hurt a cubling? With an effort, she pushed her anger aside.
“That was nice and loud. Good job.” She laid the gauze over the wounds and applied pressure.
Behind her, the girl started to scream.
A quick look showed the pup hysterically shoving away the hands of the young adult who pleaded, “Robena, please.”
Tiny Robena wasn’t hearing any of it.
“Hey there.” Margery put a reassuring hand on the dismayed adult’s shoulder. “I’m Margery. How about we trade places?”
“Nia.” Nia’s gaze swept over Margery’s calm patient, and she gave a shaky laugh. “Please, yes. I’ll take Kinnon.”
They switched, and Nia settled beside the sweet little boy who was asking if he should yell fart again.
Young males, old males—they were all alike.
Robena couldn’t be more than four, reminding Margery of when the captives were that age.
“Come here, sweetling.” Ignoring the ear-piercing screams, Margery gently drew the flailing little girl into her arms. So light, so young. Oh, childling.
First calm her, then deal with the blood.
“Shhh, I have you, lambkin. Shhh.” In her mind, she settled at her still mountain lake, breathing in cool, moist air, feeling the peace grow deep—deep enough to share with the tiny soul in her lap.
After a second of struggling, the cubling quieted and nestled closer. “Hurts,” she whispered, her cheek against Margery’s breasts.
“I know. I’m going to fix it.” Margery reached for more gauze, covered the ugly cuts on the girl’s belly, and pressed firmly enough to slow the bleeding.
Before she could do anything else, a big warm hand covered hers.
“Let’s see what we’ve got here.” At the sound of a male’s smooth, deep voice, Margery looked up into silver-blue eyes.
Black hair, lean face. The healer.
Donal gave her an unreadable look, before his gaze shifted to the pup in her arms. His smile lightened his eyes, and his voice changed to a smoky croon. “I’m going to fix you all up, Robena. As the scratches go away, it’ll feel all sparkly inside. Like stardust.”