Aye, when he thought about it, the bond between him and the females with whom he’d mated had narrowed. All except for one female—Margery.
His feelings for her were impacting the bonds he had with other females. The knowledge was a swamp of unhappiness within him.
Because if he couldn’t recharge, shifters would die. He’d fail them.
By the Gods, he wouldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t.
He needed to back away from Margery. Create some distance so he wouldn’t lose those connections.
At the Gathering tomorrow night, he’d mate with as many Cold Creek females as possible. No matter how unhappy it made someone else…or him. He had enough control over his dick to get it to rise.
Reaching the festival grounds, he slid into the storage tent from the back and trawsfurred to human. After sniffing out his and Tynan’s pack, he dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt.
Outside, the scattering of large tents on the north and south edges created a token street. There was a dining tent. A sleeping tent for the elderly and cubs in case of rain. An entertainment tent. A smaller healing tent.
“Hey, healer.”
At the rough-sounding voice, Donal turned and spotted Owen inside the crafts tent where artists could display their wares. The brown-haired cahir hadn’t bothered to shave, and dark scruff shadowed his jawline. He was seated on a blanket with his carvings arranged on another blanket.
Donal studied the wood sculptures: A wolf led a small pack. A panther perched on a limb above a rabbit. There was a female wolf with her head tilted, paw raised.
She looked almost like Margery. And wouldn’t that carving be perfect for the shelf in his bedroom? “You do good work.”
“Thanks.” The cahir gave Donal a half-smile. “It’s good you weren’t here earlier. The females were lapping up alcohol-laden hot chocolate last night—and some hadn’t realized the after-effects of drinking.”
Shifters didn’t suffer hangovers as badly as humans did, but since most Daonain weren’t used to feeling ill at all, the first few times could be a shock. “Good to know.”
Owen snorted. “When Angie dropped some cast iron pots this morning, Bree let out a sound… I haven’t heard screeching like that since a werecat caught her tail in a forked branch.”
Donal winced. Tails were almost as sensitive as testicles. “Thanks for the warning.”
“Margery’s pretty much recovered.” Owen nodded toward the right.
Donal followed his gaze and spotted Margery talking with Darcy near the back of the tent. Gawain, a blademage, was showing her a bracelet he’d made.
A lifemating bracelet.
Fucking, sprite-cursed irony. Donal could feel the blood draining from his face.
Owen gripped his arm. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” Donal shook his head. “Nothing.”
He stiffened his spine. It had to be done. Letting their female—no, not theirs, she couldn’t be theirs—letting Margery get her hopes up wouldn’t be right. Would be cruel. “See you later, cahir.”
Everything in him wanted to pretend it was all going to be all right.
No. He was an honorable male—act like it, cat.
He walked across the tent. “Margery.”
“Donal, you’re here!” Face lighting, she wrapped her arms around him and hugged.
Unable to help himself, he bent his head and took her lips in a warm kiss. By the Gods, he’d missed her, last night at the accident, in his lonely bed, at his silent breakfast. Her laugh, her scent, her joy, the peace that pooled around her—she was buried in his heart so deeply he’d never be able to remove her.
Maybe it would be all right. Even if he couldn’t lifemate her, he could still love her. Maybe love her a little less. That would work, wouldn’t it?
Would she see it that way?
Dread made his bones feel as if they’d shatter at a blow.
“Are you feeling all right, Donal?” She stepped back, holding his hands between hers.
“Sweetling, we need to talk.” He squeezed her fingers and led the way out of the tent.
A hemlock and Douglas fir grove at the tree line provided shade from the afternoon sun.
Finding a flat piece of ground, she sat down beside him and waited. The light teased red glints from her rich brown hair. Her nose and cheeks were pink from sunburn.
After a second, as peace seeped into him, he realized she’d taken his hand again. He could feel how much she loved him.
The knowledge might break him into pieces.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” she asked softly.
“There was a two-car accident last night…” He went through the injuries. The whole mess.
“Oh, Donal, did one of them die?” Her hand tightened on his.
His unhappiness had led her to believe he’d lost someone.
In a way, he had. He might lose her.
“No, but it was far too close. You know I get power from females I’ve mated with—which is why I mate a number of females at every Gathering.”
She nodded briskly. “Right.”
Then she realized exactly what he was saying. Her expression went blank in a way he hadn’t seen in a while—because it was a defense she used when she was afraid.
He grimly continued, setting it out for her. Eliminating his own happiness. “There are times I need power from more than one female. When there are multiple injuries, if I can’t get enough power, then shifters will die.”
She swallowed. “You saw me talking to Gawain.”
“Yes.”
“Lifemates don’t attend Gatherings because they mate only with each other. If you lifemated, you’d have only one female for your source.”
Unable to speak, he nodded.
The pain growing in her eyes was echoed by the pain in his heart. The bond between them—and it was there—felt as if it was being pierced by sharp fangs.
“What the fuck is going on?” Tynan’s voice was the harshest growl Donal had ever heard.
Pressing a hand to the ache in his chest that had drawn him to this spot, Tynan looked at his brother and saw only misery. He turned to their female and saw the same expression in her face.
“What’s happened, little wolf?” Going down on a knee, he reached for her hands. The soft little hands that had been all over his body last night even as she’d giggled and told him they were ummming. Drunken ummming, no less.
He’d never laughed so hard during a mating before.
Now, she looked as if someone had gutted her. Instead of taking his hand, she rose and backed away. From him. Tears filled her eyes. “To see you two with others… I don’t think I can handle that.”
“Handle what?” Rising, Tynan saw her gaze was on Donal. “Donal?”
“I had to explain.” Donal stared at the ground.
“Explain what?” By Herne’s hairy hocks, someone had better—
“I…I need to think.” And Meggie fled as if a grizzly was on her heels.
Tynan turned to his littermate. “What did you say to her?”
The way Donal rubbed his cheek with his palm said he was equally distressed. He pushed to his feet to look at Tynan. “We had a two-car accident last night. The cars skidded off the road and down a steep ridge. Multiple breaks, lacerations, internal injuries. I ran out of power, brawd.”