Once dressed, she straightened and gave her silent littermate a frown. “A note? Seriously?”
His face crumbled. “I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Oliver.” She put her arms around him, feeling the tremors in his body, hearing his breathing shudder with unspent tears.
“I’m sorry, sis,” he whispered. “I couldn’t face you.”
By the Gods, how many times would the Scythe destroy his life? “Well, you’re stuck now.”
She pushed him back far enough that she could look at him. “Bro, I only wanted a chance to say goodbye.”
“You don’t think I’m a coward?”
“Not hardly.” She shook her head. “Patrin and Fell are intent on getting revenge. That’s not your way. Not how we were raised. But why Canada?”
“The Scythe are mostly US-based.” He hesitated. “And last night, a Canadian told me their town has a counselor—a shepherd. He said talking through things might help me move on.”
She blinked. “How did he know…”
“Know I was having trouble?” Oliver averted his gaze. “I was…drinking. Drunk. And he and his littermate, I guess they were worried. We talked.”
Bless the Canadians. “You found a destination and a goal.” Her muscles loosened as her worries eased.
“Yeah.” He glanced at her. “Want to come with me?”
Surprised, she sat down on the bank.
He joined her…but not shoulder-to-shoulder like a wolf or a cat would. Not as touchy-feely, bears were often more solitary, but Oliver took it to a whole new level.
“Bro, I can’t leave. I have a job, friends.” Tynan and Donal…only, she didn’t have them, did she? They weren’t hers, would never be hers.
All the way on the trail, she’d gone over and over what she should do.
Because, even if Donal didn’t—couldn’t—love her, she had a feeling Tynan might not agree. The fight showed that. Only, as a banfasa, she knew exactly how Donal must feel.
How could he risk his patients’ lives?
So, she’d back away from them if that’s what it took. And she absolutely wouldn’t come between the brothers. She wouldn’t let their feelings toward her turn their love for each other into something ugly. Even if the thought of not having them in her life scorched through her like the worst of burns.
“You could work in Canada,” Oliver said after a moment.
She leaned over to give his shoulder an affectionate shove. “Stubborn bear.”
By the Gods, she was going to miss him.
As a cloud cut off the warmth of the sun, she brought up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “I’m a wolf. And a social sort of person. I need companions, touch, a pack. You don’t. What are you planning to do when you get to Canada?”
“Uh.” He shrugged. “Hang out in the forest. Enjoy the quiet. The mountains.”
“With me beside you all the time?”
His appalled expression was her answer. And his. “That…wouldn’t be good for you, would it?”
Her brother did have a good heart. He’d simply lost his trail and needed to find it again. But it wouldn’t be with her.
Tears burned her eyes. First, Donal’s rejection. Now, having to watch her littermate head north.
“No. I love being a banfasa—I have a gift for it—and the Mother of All expects me to use my skills and talent. Oliver, you get unhappy when you’re stuck around too many people, and I get the same way if I’m alone too long.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Are you going to be all right in Cold Creek? Guess you’ll probably end up lifemating Donal and Tynan?” The concern was obvious in his voice.
The question was like being stabbed through the heart. “Eh, who knows the future? I love them, though.” That answer she could give without any hedging. “And I love Cold Creek—the people, the town.”
“Okay. Guess that’ll do.”
It would have to. She pulled in a breath. “I’ll miss you.”
“Yeah. I’ll miss y—” He stopped abruptly, and his nose lifted. He sniffed.
All the color drained from his face.
Before she could speak, he scrambled up the nearest tree. With his dark green shirt and brown shorts, he disappeared into the canopy.
A sniff of the air brought her nothing much. Perhaps a faint hint of something nonorganic. As a bear, Oliver’s nose was better than hers. What had he smelled?
Unable to sit, she paced until he dropped down. “What is it?”
His voice was low, almost panicked. “Humans—a whole fuckload of them. Armed and wearing camo.”
Her breathing stopped. “No.”
“They have to be Scythe, sis.” Oliver pulled in a breath. “They’re moving in a line. Toward us.”
“Oh Gods, they must have found out about the festival.” So many Daonain, all in one place.
“Yeah.” Oliver pointed east. “They probably used a back road, then hiking trails for this bunch. Bet they’ll send another attack up the main road—and time it so they all arrive together. Envelop the festival from two sides.”
Margery yanked off her clothes, jamming them into the bag. “We have to warn everyone.”
“No. If we go back, we can’t escape before they attack.”
The stench of his fear woke her own terrors. Revived her memories of that night they attacked Dogwood. Killing and killing. Shoving children into trucks. Blood everywhere. Screams. Fires. Chills ran up her arms as she fought against her churning stomach.
“We must warn them.” She forced the words out, trying to convince herself. “There are cubs. Young ones. Mothers.”
Young Athol who’d just learned to shift. Vicki’s Sorcha, Artair, and Toren. Emma’s adorable Minette. Bonnie’s feisty cubs.
No, she would never let the Scythe have them, no matter what it took. “I’m going back.”
She secured the bag to her chest, trawsfurred—and hesitated.
Despite the fear in his eyes, Oliver nodded. “We’ll warn them together.”
Brother at her side, Margery tore through the forest as the sun edged toward the west.
The forest creek to the west of the festival grounds had turned into a cub play area. And Heather had managed to steal Sorcha away from her mama. Smiling, she flicked droplets of the icy water onto her favorite cubling’s bare legs.
Around seven months now, the little girl squealed her laughter, hands waving and feet kicking.
A quiet chuckle came from the intimidating human standing beside Heather—something rarely heard from Wells. Sorcha’s littermate, Artair, was fast asleep against the spymaster’s shoulder.
On Heather’s other side, Joe Thorson held his namesake, Toren, between his legs. Sitting proudly, the cub beat on the grass with a wooden rattle, then waved it at the tree fairies swinging from the nearby branches.
Pixies adored cubs, no matter the species.
A cool breeze off the mountains made Heather shiver. “Well, my sweet lass, I think it’s time you put on some clothing.” Dressing the kit in a dark green romper, she blew a noisy raspberry on the little round tummy before doing up the snaps.