On one couch, Vicki sat with Sorcha and Toren in her lap. On the other couch, Darcy had the third cub. Bree was in the chair.
A new fire in the fireplace was beginning to catch. Smoke swirled around the biggest log where a salamander perched, impatiently waiting for the heat to build.
“Yay!” Bree made a happy sound. “My wolves are here. I don’t like being outnumbered by felines.”
Baby in one arm, Darcy reached up to hug Margery. “Thanks for last night.”
“I’m glad I was there. You look all better.”
“You and Donal do good work.” Darcy smiled. “I stopped by your place earlier to round you up, but you weren’t home. Heather said she’d fetch you no matter what it took.”
“There was no problem in talking her into joining us.” Heather blew on her fingernails, rubbed them on her shirt, in a human mannerism that Margery had never quite understood. “I’m just that convincing.”
“Manipulative, you mean.” Vicki handed the blonde cubling to Heather. “I was hoping you’d come up from Rainier this month.”
“Ah well, I have to make sure you’re treating my Sorcha like the princess she is.” Heather settled into a chair and started telling Sorcha about her horrible week. Apparently being CEO of a software company was akin to being in a war zone.
The kit waved her hands every time Heather laughed.
“I need a snuggle, too.” Margery gave in to her own cub-craving and picked up Toren. As she nuzzled his downy-soft black hair, he gurgled his enjoyment.
Vicki shook her head. “You know, I’ve noticed the first thing any female wolf does is cuddle a baby. Angie doesn’t even say hi before she snatches one up.”
“Us wolves are all about the pack—and the pack is all about cubs.” Heather blew a raspberry on Sorcha’s tummy, getting a squeal.
Sitting down beside Vicki, Margery looked at the females around her. “Did you just come for the meeting? Cuz…aren’t most of you lifemated? I thought Gatherings were only for single shifters.”
“We’re not here to have sex.” Darcy nibbled on Artair’s fingertips to make him laugh. “We’re here to keep Vicki company until our males drag us home for fun times.”
“Okay, then why is Vicki here?” Margery put Toren on her knees to let him practice sitting. His wide smile said he liked the position.
“For Calum. Having the Cosantir here keeps the males in line, so he stays for most of the night.” Vicki took a sip of her drink. “He likes lifemated males here for the same reason. Discouraging a brawl is easier than breaking one up.”
Brawling. What she’d hated most about the Ailill Ridge Gatherings. “Bless him.”
Bree nodded. “What with the abusive examples of the previous alpha and betas, Shay and Zeb try to keep an eye on our wolves. Me, too, because a couple of our female wolves sometimes need a good bite on the butt. So, I’m here to keep them in line.”
Heather smirked. “Until your two cahirs give in to the full moon’s effect on their testosterone levels and haul you away.”
“Well, yes.” Bree flushed a colorful pink. “Last month, we didn’t even make it back to the lodge. I got ravaged right there on the path—bare-ass naked in freezing weather.”
Snickers broke out.
Margery sighed because, admit it, she could imagine herself there with Donal and Tynan. But thinking there could be anything permanent with them? Those were autumn leaf thoughts, doomed to be swept away by a brisk wind.
Because, realistically speaking, all she had to do was look at Heather—so pretty and lean and smart and nice, yet still unmated.
Before the conversation continued, the Cosantir’s deep voice rose over the noise. “Daonain. It’s good to see you here tonight before the rising of the moon.”
As the room quieted, Calum started the meeting. He talked about humans encroaching farther into the territory. About hellhound sightings. He reminded them to stay inside and safe on the dark of the moon.
Finishing up, he told of births and deaths and ended with, “We welcome a new shifter to the North Cascades Territory. Margery, originally from Dogwood, is a server at Angie’s Diner. She’s also a banfasa and is working with Donal. The clan increases.”
The crowd in the room echoed back, “The Clan increases,” and Margery was the recipient of a myriad of smiles.
Donal was used to people not being completely honest.
To his littermate, everything was black or white, and lying was wrong. Period. Many law enforcement people had that mindset.
But, truly, dishonesty came in many shades. Lying to a healer was common, and his patients misled themselves as much as they did him—and for the same reason. Fear. They wanted to deny anything was wrong with their bodies, their minds, their loved ones. Understandable enough, although not something he would allow.
However, malicious lies about another person fell into a whole different category.
If he’d been in cat form, his claws would be unsheathed right now.
After talking with Margery last Monday, he’d dropped in at the B&B and the Wildwood Lodge. On Gathering day, there were always a few Rainier Territory shifters in town. Donal had sniffed out any Ailill Ridge shifters who’d been tended by Margery—like the two cats after a wolf-cat brawl—or had relatives or friends who’d been her patients. They all said she was excellent. Were appalled she’d left. Wanted her back.
Self-reproach nipped Donal’s conscience. He should have asked Gretchen and Caleb more questions. They’d out-and-out lied to him about the little banfasa, and he now had proof.
Now he could play with them.
His gaze turned toward the bar and the two lying weasels.
The meeting was over. Seniors, lifemated adults, and children were heading home, leaving the tavern to females of child-bearing age and single males.
Donal strolled up to the bar and halted behind his prey who sat on barstools. “Gretchen, Caleb. Just who I wanted to speak with.” His voice was loud enough to attract attention, and curious gazes turned his way.
“Donal, how nice to see you.” Gretchen leaned forward to give him a view of her breasts.
Pretty breasts. Not interested.
Gretchen’s outer appearance might be perfection, but inside she was pure ugliness.
Beside Gretchen, Caleb growled at what he saw as competition. “What d’you want?”
“Last Gathering, you told me about a banfasa named Margery.” He moved within sniffing distance. The moon hadn’t yet risen so the air was mostly free of the scents of testosterone and heated females. If he made Gretchen or Caleb nervous, everyone around would be able to sniff out their lies.
Gretchen sneered. “What about Margery?”
Behind the bar, the Cosantir silently moved closer.
“You said Caleb almost bled to death because the banfasa insisted on caring for her friends first.” Donal tilted his head in consideration. “Yes, that’s exactly what you said.”
Gretchen frowned. “So?”
“Where were you injured that night, Caleb?”
Caleb scowled. “None of your fucking business. I’m not—”
“I’d like to hear the answer, as well.” Tynan joined Donal.