Cookies? The day’s looking up.
Until he saw the black-haired, troublemaker named Darcy. He snarled. “You.”
She blinked, all innocence, although her lips quirked. “Me?”
“You’re a menace, you are. Trees are for perching and sunning, not for leaping around as if the Gods had made a freeway system in the canopy.”
“Sorry, Donal.” Her innocent look wouldn’t fool a pup, let alone a healer.
He growled under his breath.
Tynan had the temerity to chuckle. “Be warned, Darcy. He’s grumpier than a badger today.”
Even the Cosantir’s mate was grinning. Catching his glare, Vicki held up a hand. “We’re not heartless, Donal, really. But Tynan wouldn’t be laughing if someone had died.”
Bree, the sweetest of females, looked worried. “Did someone else get hurt?”
Donal sat beside her—the only nice one of the bunch. “I was the one who wanted to die.” He leaned back, letting the peace of the lodge ease his irritation. “The cub with a broken bone wasn’t a problem. Brave lad. But the next one… Idiot wolf pup. Lacking real claws, he slid all the way down the trunk and got scraped from chin to crotch. And he didn’t stop yelling, even after I’d healed every scratch. By Herne’s hairy balls, my ears are still ringing.”
The heartless females in the room gave him no sympathy. Even Breanne had her hand over her mouth and was chortling like a drunken pixie.
“Poor Donal.” Darcy grinned before asking, “Doesn’t Margery live next door to you? Next time you have a screamer, get her.”
Donal had no intention of opening that can of worms, but Tynan tilted his head. “Why’s that, Darcy?”
“She can calm nearly anyone down, especially cubs.” Darcy gestured toward a mass of blankets and pillows by the hearth.
After a second, Donal realized Margery was nestled deep in the pile, curled around Vicki’s cubs, all of them sound asleep. Artair had his tiny hand wrapped around one of her fingers; Toren had gripped a strand of her wavy brown hair.
“There’s a pretty sight,” Tynan said softly.
Aye, it is.
Donal frowned. The slashed-up younglings at the tavern had clung to her in the same way. Interesting. If she was as heartless and self-centered as Gretchen and Caleb had said, why were the young so drawn to her?
“She’d try to calm the Scythe guards that way. Sometimes, it worked.” Darcy’s expression turned bleak. “If they were hitting one of the younger children, she’d always try.”
Tynan’s voice had an edge. “And if she didn’t succeed?”
“Then she got bruises and welts right along with the original victim.”
Yet she hadn’t stopped intervening after the first time she failed?
Intrigued, Donal studied the banfasa. Hair the brown of warm pecan, light golden skin. Sturdy bones. Scars on the backs of her hands and arms.
So many scars. He frowned. The long scar on her face bothered him every time he saw it. If he’d been there, he could have prevented that.
She was sleeping as soundly as the cubs. “She looks exhausted.”
“She had an evening shift at the diner last night, then worked the morning and lunch hours for a waitress who had a problem.” Breanne pointed at Donal. “The waitress’s child broke an arm climbing a tree, and some bossy healer told her to stay home to keep the child quiet.”
Everyone broke into laughter.
“Margery is cuddling all three babies.” Tynan turned a dark gaze on Vicki. “I had to charm you for weeks before you let me hold even one of your cubs.”
“Margery can have them anytime she wants. They’re alive because of her.”
“What?” Donal frowned.
The hardened ex-military female’s voice was shaky. “At the Scythe compound, we tried to sneak to the garage. I was in panther form, so the other females carried the babies. Margery had Artair, but Sorcha started crying. Margery took her to quiet—”
Darcy grinned and raised her eyebrows. “See?”
“You’re right. Sorcha calmed down the second Margery had her.”
Donal’s gut was tight. There was more to the story. “But there was trouble?”
“A guard heard.” Vicki’s hands fisted. “He grabbed for Sorcha, and Margery kicked him away. The fucking asshole swung a cane at Artair, but Margery twisted. Took the blows instead.”
“Damn.” Tynan’s soft curse echoed what Donal felt.
Damn, indeed. That night still troubled Donal’s dreams. How could anyone, human or shifter, harm a cubling?
Bree eyed Vicki. “How long did that guard live?”
Vicki smiled, but her eyes were cold. She’d been in the human military and was now a werecat. Undoubtedly, the guard had died messily under her claws.
Well fucking done.
The door of the lodge swung open with a thud, and Shay walked in. “You’re having a party without me?”
The noise roused Margery, and she sat up, yawning. Blinked sleepily at Shay and Donal. Saw Tynan and froze. Face pale, she moved to put her body between him and the pups.
By the Gods, what is she doing?
Tynan noticed—of course he did. The cop never missed anything. His jaw went tight.
And his eyes soft.
Too soft. Donal stiffened. Sure, it was obvious that Margery was brave. Good with cubs. That didn’t make her trustworthy. The Rainier Territory shifters had painted a picture of an irresponsible, incompetent banfasa.
If Tynan was interested, the situation could get ugly. Bloody hell.
Even worse, Donal couldn’t blame his brother. The female was incredibly appealing.
Jostled by Margery’s movement, a cub roused and squeaked. Unable to resist, Donal went over, planning to scoop up a baby.
Margery blocked him with an outstretched arm. Pale, smelling of anxiety and fear, she didn’t move her hand until she had a nod from Vicki.
He liked the way she protected the cubs and would have said so, but she looked away. Dismissing him from her notice. Well, fair was fair. After all, he’d told Calum that he didn’t want her help.
He picked up Sorcha—his favorite. Moving away, he rubbed his cheek over her golden hair and grinned as she gurgled at him. Without a mate, he’d never have the joy of raising cubs, of sharing in the thrill of the first word, first step, first trawsfur.
The knowledge hurt a little more each year.
At least as a healer, he got to hold as many kitlings as he wanted. Inhaling Sorcha’s milky scent, Donal shook his hair to make it dance. She chortled and waved her tiny hands in delight. This one was much like Alec—she loved to laugh.
Tynan had a soft spot for babies and had already nabbed Artair. Donal watched him with eyes and healer senses. Being back in the Gods’ domain had restored Tynan’s health, and the deeply carved lines had almost disappeared from his face.
Daonain didn’t do well in human cities. Wolves didn’t do well alone.
And brothers were meant to be together. The return of his littermate was like receiving rain after a long ugly drought.
Donal touched Sorcha’s fuzzy hair. Like Vicki, he’d bring out his claws if anything or anyone tried to separate him from his family.
His mood lightened as Shay coaxed Toren away from Margery.