Last night had been something she’d never experienced before. Being with Donal and Tynan together was so special. Would they want to…to be together like that again?
She scrubbed her skin hard, needing to wash away her silly hopes.
Paws on the trail, Margery. She mustn’t get enticed into chasing butterflies that would flit away into the sky, leaving her in a tangle of brambles.
Chapter Seventeen
Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory - third quarter moon
Two days later, Margery looked around at the group of wolves. On a slight rise, Patrin was lecturing. It was his second day of teaching them how to fight in animal form against those in human form…like the Scythe.
Margery shivered, despite the warmth of the day.
I’m a banfasa, I don’t hurt people.
Yet… If the Dogwood villagers had been better fighters, some of them might have escaped. Might have found help before so many had died.
I’ll kill anyone who tries to capture me or my people again.
Patrin reviewed the techniques he’d taught them yesterday. The circling, the leap. Where to bite to disable and what bites would kill.
The Daonain had all hunted deer and rabbits. Humans weren’t much different. Just bigger.
Too big, she’d thought at first. In yesterday’s class, Margery had been a total failure. Too slow, wrong angle, too weak.
Last night, Tynan had hauled her into the forest and made her practice “killing” him, saying if she could take him down, she could take anyone down. Over and over, she’d leaped at him. Until suddenly it all clicked. Spring from here. At this angle. Lock onto the throat here.
Afterward, Tynan and Donal had “rewarded” her with so many orgasms that she’d slept like a hibernating pixie.
Today, though, all that practicing had left her with legs that ached like she’d been pounded on. Leaping on someone wasn’t for wussies.
Margery watched Patrin for another minute, then…inevitably, her gaze was drawn to the side where Tynan stood beside Fell.
A male shouldn’t have eyes the color of the sky.
His gaze met hers, pulling her in, drowning her in blue heat.
A cleared throat pulled her attention away.
Kori, a middle-aged shifter who taught in the small school edged closer and whispered, “I know this isn’t the place to ask, but, banfasa, could you visit my neighbor, Zaneta? She’s well over a hundred now and having trouble getting around.”
Because of Ailill Ridge, Margery’s first reaction was to tell Kori to talk to the healer. But, no, dealing with daily living activities was more a banfasa’s skill than a healer’s.
Stop huddling in caves, Margery.
First, she should establish the problem wasn’t from a new illness. “Has Donal seen her to discover why she’s having trouble getting around?”
“Aye. He said there’s no cure for old age.” Kori sighed. “We all want the miracle cures, don’t we? My sire told me healers are for instant fixes, and banfasas are for everything else.”
The knot in Margery’s stomach disappeared. “That’s pretty much how it works.”
“Will you go see her?”
“Certainly. I’ll go over tomorrow and see what can be done.” Delight sparkled inside her like sunlight on a burbling creek. She loved that her clan had started to come to her for help. “Thank you for letting me know.”
Kori grinned. “Thank you for—”
A growl interrupted her.
“Oh, spit,” Kori said under her breath and inched away from Margery.
Margery looked toward the front and shrank slightly. Because Patrin’s scowl could send a grizzly into hiding—and he was staring right at her and Kori.
Oops.
Standing beside Patrin, Tynan ran his palm over his mouth, all too obviously trying to conceal a grin. Oh, she was going to get teased tonight, wasn’t she?
After another menacing stare, Patrin continued. “To warm up, I want to see your one-on-one attacks. Row one—human form—against row two as wolves.”
The row in front turned. Margery faced Van, one of Bonnie’s mates, who’d arrived a few minutes ago. He nodded at her. “You can do this.”
Though his smile was encouraging, his gaze and stance showed he didn’t think she had a chance.
She shifted to wolf and assessed him. He was almost as big as Tynan—and not nearly as muscular. She circled him once, then again, her haunches tightening. Compensating for her weak ankle, she sprang upward, paws landing on his chest, jaws angled exactly right for her teeth to close on his throat. She bit down hard enough to let him know he was dead and leaped away.
“Gods blast it.” Staggering back, he stared at her and then grinned. “Perfect kill, banfasa.”
“Agreed. Good job, Margery,” Patrin called. From the front, he watched as others attacked, kills were made. He, Fell, and Tynan instructed as needed.
When everyone was warmed up, Patrin resumed. “Today, the lessons are about teamwork. One wolf will divert the prey’s attention while another wolf attacks. Tynan and Fell will demonstrate as we go over the techniques.”
“Patrin,” Jody yelled, “if one wolf is enough, why use two?”
“Good question. Honestly, if your target is unwary, not looking for trouble, unarmed, you should have no trouble. Watch now.” Raven-black hair gleaming in the sunlight, Patrin sauntered across the low hillock, looking like the typical hiker. “See how easy a target I am?”
Everyone nodded.
“However, if you’re up against a soldier…” He picked up a rifle from the ground. His muscles tensed. His alert gaze swiveled over the area. Each balanced step showed him ready to fight. “…how effective will you be?”
“Liable to get perforated with bullets before we get within ten feet,” Van answered.
“Exactly.” Patrin moved toward the brush. “Wolves are excellent stalkers—and a human’s peripheral vision sucks. Unfortunately, a throat kill means attacking from the front where your target can use a weapon.”
“Got it,” Jody said. “So, distracting him is the answer.”
Patrin pointed his finger at her. “If I had an army, I’d recruit you.” He addressed the rest of them. “We’ll teach an effective two-wolf method today. However, anything that distracts your target and points his rifle away from the attacking wolf will work.”
“Tynan, play a Scythe soldier. Fell, you’re the attack wolf. I’ll be the diversion wolf.”
Tynan walked over and accepted the rifle.
As Patrin stripped and changed to wolf, Tynan crossed the rise, walking slowly, cautiously. All senses aware. His posture reminded Margery far too much of the Scythe guards, and she shivered.
Patrin slipped out of the bushes, stalking him from behind. Off to Tynan’s right, Fell moved silently through the undergrowth.
Patrin charged, jaws closing on Tynan’s left rear thigh.
With a yell, Tynan turned to the left, swinging his rifle around. Even as Patrin darted away, Fell leaped at Tynan’s vulnerable neck.
Off balance, Tynan fell. And as Fell pretended to rip his throat out, Tynan died…dramatically.
Hoots and whistles and yips ran around the clearing.