There were pack runs before the full moon and occasionally in-between. Mandatory service hours, but she could choose whether to help with the injured, the elders, or the cubs.
Margery stomped on her first response—the injured. “Cubs. Absolutely.” Hey, it wasn’t a lie. She adored pups.
After covering who to call for help and for transportation, Bree warned about hellhounds, especially during the dark of the moon.
Hellhounds. In Ailill Ridge, there had been a hellhound attack in December. The cahirs had managed to kill it, but not before five shifters had been torn apart. She’d never seen anything as savage as their deaths. At least the two other victims and the cahirs had lived. She’d done her best to sew them up, but there would still be some scarring.
“I think that’s everything.” Bree ran her finger down the checklist on the clipboard and shook her head. “I’m still learning alpha female duties.”
“The one before you didn’t help?”
“Hardly.” Bree scowled. “The pack was a mess when Shay took it over. The alpha had let his crazy-vicious beta prey on females. His—their—behavior warped the pack culture, and we’ve been trying to fix things ever since.”
Maybe this pack had problems, but…
“At least you’re trying.” Roger and his betas weren’t. “Um. Shay said something about a mentor?”
“Your mentor, mmmhmm. He should be here soon to take you for a run.”
Soon? Wait…he?
They’d assigned her a male? “But—”
A knock interrupted her protest, the door opened, and Darcy walked in.
“Darcy!” Margery almost flew across the room—and realized her friend was carrying a baby.
A baby?
Bree barely had time to take the cubling before Darcy grabbed Margery for a hug. “Gods, I’ve missed you.”
At the hard, encompassing hug, tears filled Margery’s eyes, blurring the room. Eventually, she pulled back and wiped her eyes, then realized someone else had entered. “Sorry. I hardly saw Darcy after our escape.”
“Everyone got scattered,” Darcy grumbled. “And the Cosantir told me I couldn’t visit anyone until spring.”
“Well, it’s spring. I heard you have mates now, but…a cub already?” Margery tried to count out the months in her head and came up short.
Darcy laughed
So did a petite, dark-haired female who held two more babies. “The cub isn’t Darcy’s. All three of these are mine.”
Margery did a double take. “I know you, don’t I?”
“From that night at the compound.” The female looked down at the cubs in her arms and at the one Bree had taken. “I’m Vicki, and two of these cubs are alive because you kept them safe from the Scythe. Thank you.”
Uneasy with praise for what she hadn’t thought twice about, Margery moved her shoulders in a small shrug. “No thanks needed. Anyone would have done the same. Cubs are what it’s all about.”
Vicki’s slow smile made her beautiful. “If everyone realized that, the world would be a better place.”
“Hey, if greetings are done, I have cookies.” Carrying the cub, Bree shooed everyone to the sitting area.
Ah-hah, that’s why there’s an entire pitcher of hot chocolate and extra mugs.
When one of the kitlings in Vicki’s arms squeaked and kicked little feet, cub-craving overwhelmed Margery. “Can I hold one? Please?”
“Absolutely. This is Sorcha.”
Sorcha? Heather’s Sorcha? The kitling had fluffy golden hair not much longer than fur, and eyes edging toward green. When Margery cuddled her close, the little girl gave a sigh and fell asleep.
As everyone took the couches and chair, Margery settled onto a mound of soft pillows and blankets by the fireplace. From the human-sized indentations, the blanket-pile was a favorite napping spot.
The females talked about the babies, then all the babies in Cold Creek, before letting the conversation range: the Scythe proving difficult to locate, problems with the wolf pack, a hellhound possibly in the territory, new-shifter antics.
Vicki talked about her fifteen-year-old stepdaughter, Jamie. “The girl’s insane. She and a couple of her werecat friends are leaping around in the tops of trees. Jumping from branch to branch. Making what they call treeways.”
Darcy had escaped the Scythe compound using a path high in the trees. Margery pointed at her. “I bet the younglings are trying to imitate you.”
“Not me, uh-uh.” Darcy’s long black hair rippled with the vehement shake of her head.
“Yes, you.” Vicki snorted. “You’re the kiddies’ new role model, woman.”
Darcy frowned. “Tree trails aren’t safe, especially for clumsy new shifters.”
“No kidding. Last night, I was at the grocery when a mama hunted down Donal. Her pup had missed a branch and broken his arm.” Bree snickered. “You should have heard Donal fuming about suicidal cubs starting on new fads.”
“His language is even more inventive than my old drill sergeant’s.” Vicki grinned. “But he’s fucking good at healing.”
“You’re so lucky to have him. Even a skilled banfasa can’t do—” Recalling herself, Margery shut her mouth.
“Banfasa?” Vicki asked.
“Tynan said a banfasa is like a nurse practitioner and medic,” Bree explained.
“I only met the Dogwood banfasa once,” Darcy said. “She was Margery’s grandmother. People said Margery had been helping in the clinic since the day she learned to walk.”
Margery looked away. Grandmama had died in her clinic, fighting the Scythe.
“That’s why the human nurse practitioner in the Scythe compound grabbed Margery to be her assistant. And why the Scythe let her tend everyone after Phyllis was gone.” Darcy smiled at Margery. “Caring for people is in your blood.”
No, she wasn’t going to get caught in that trap again. “I’m even better at waitressing,” Margery said lightly. “It’s where I belong.”
Vicki eyed her.
Margery looked down at Sorcha. “Hmm. Smells like someone needs her diaper changed.”
“All of them, undoubtedly.” Vicki rose. “Bree, do you have a spot I can use?”
“Sure. C’mon.”
“I’ll help,” Darcy said. “If I get more cookies.”
Margery considered joining them, but if she was going to be running with this mentor person, she’d better rest her ankle. “Have fun. I’m going to take a nap right here, me and the salamanders.”
“You rest, then we’ll dump the pups on you when we come back.” Darcy picked up Sorcha and told the other two females, “Margery is a cubling tranquilizer.”
As their voices drifted away, Margery gave a sigh. The fire was warm, the blanket-mound unbelievably soft, and she had really worked hard at the diner.
She roused somewhat when little bodies were tucked in around her and cuddled them close before clouds of sleep engulfed her again.
Following his littermate into the Wildwood Lodge, Donal saw the females socializing around the fireplace. Not surprising. Breanne loved company and took any excuse to feed someone. In fact, the aroma of something sweet hung in the air.