Emma and Ryder waited in the line, each assigned a batch of children. Minette had a tight grip on Emma’s hand. Once they arrived, the bard would take charge of keeping the cubs calm and hidden. Many mothers were remaining to fight.
Oliver joined Margery, a pack with food and water on his back. After smiling at her, he looked at Owen who stood nearby. “Cahir, I’ll go with your group. I’m crap at sneaking around, but effective at fighting from a fixed location. Guarding is where I’ll do the most good.”
Owen eyed him, then nodded. “I can use you. Bring up the rear and make sure no one falls behind.”
With the cahir leading, the line of shifters headed into the forest.
“After you.” Oliver motioned to Margery to take up the tail end in front of him.
She shook her head, her heart aching. “I can’t. My ankle makes me a liability on rough terrain.” She was already limping from the run to warn the shifters. “My place is here where I can help with the injured.”
“But…” He scowled, then shook his head. “Arguing with a banfasa never works. Be safe. Please.”
“You, too.” She hugged him and gave him a push to join the line.
As he followed the others into the woods, she leaned on a tree to figure out where to go next.
On the other side of the grounds, Ben’s huge shape in his grizzly form led away the pregnant shifters also in animal form, followed by females carrying the youngest cubs and infants. Heather was there, Sorcha in her arms.
Margery spotted Donal who held Vicki’s other cubs. Attention on the footing, he hadn’t seen her. The ache in her chest grew.
Donal. Be safe. I love you.
Near the dining tent, the wolves were dividing into three groups. On the left, Shay and Zeb had charge of Cold Creek’s pack as well as the Rainier wolves.
On the right, Tynan stood with Warren, a younger male. The wolves from other territories gathered around them.
Patrin and Fell would lead the shifter-soldiers who were wolves. As they all formed up, Patrin was giving hasty instructions on how to pair up and attack a human, much as he’d taught Shay’s pack last month.
Gods, she wanted to go with her pack. Or to be with Tynan. She could fight—or at least be the diversion teammate. But the wolves would be traveling fast to get behind the attackers. And, once again, her damned ankle would slow her down.
No, she was best staying here.
“Let’s go.” Shay motioned. The leaders trawsfurred, and the three groups of wolves filtered into the forest, heading north.
Be safe, Tynan. I love you.
He hadn’t seen her either. He and Donal probably thought she was well on her way to Canada. That was good. They didn’t need to be worrying about her right now.
She was worried enough for all three of them. How foolish she’d been to decide she couldn’t handle watching them mate with others. Right now, she’d be delighted to see them at a Gathering, no matter who they flirted with. Knowing they were alive would be enough to keep her happy.
Funny how the threat of death rearranged priorities.
“Hey, Margery.”
Margery looked around and then up.
Above her head, Darcy perched on a tree branch. The female was naked, ready to shift into her cat form.
Margery puffed out a breath. “Well, isn’t this like old times? The Scythe with their guns. Darcy playing cat games in a tree.”
Despite the fear in her eyes, Darcy grinned. “And Margery, who lets nothing get her frazzled.”
Looking past her friend, Margery saw a whole batch of young werecats up in the trees. From new shifters to older teens. Athol. Jamie. Gods, no. She suppressed her protest and asked carefully, “Shouldn’t the cubs have left with Owen?”
“He tried to tell them that. I tried. They refused.”
Herding teenaged werecats was an impossibility. “I see.”
“They want to fight.” Darcy thumped her forehead on the tree trunk in frustration. “If I keep them up here in the treeways, they’ll be out of the worst of the fighting. I hope. But we need a way to carry big rocks. Ideas?”
Rocks? After a second, Margery got it. Any Scythe underneath a cub’s tree would get a concussion. By the time the rock hit, the kit would be in a different tree. “Sure. The craft tent has baskets. The storage tent has small backpacks and mini packs. Give me two kids and I’ll load them up with carriers.”
Athol and Jamie dropped down in front of her.
“Good, let’s go.” Glancing back at the younglings in the branches, Margery knew where she’d be fighting.
As Patrin and Fell’s shifter-soldiers broke off to reach their designated place in the center of the attack, Tynan stopped his own group. They were well to the north of the Scythe line of soldiers. Before advancing, he needed to get his temporary pack arranged.
After they shifted to human, he had them pair up, pushing for older-younger teams.
His own team-mate was a young male from the Cold Creek pack. Shay had ordered Warren to be Tynan’s partner, to give him someone he knew and could trust. Bless the alpha.
Shay and Zeb were leading their pack and the asshole Rainier pack around the Scythe from the west side.
Patrin and Fell would attack the Scythe from the center.
The attack on the eastern third fell to Tynan who’d lead wolves from east Washington, Canada, Montana, Idaho, and Northern California. His group wouldn’t be as cohesive as Shay’s pack—but since only the toughest wolves traveled far from home, he was pleased with the quality of the wolves he had.
He gave the newly teamed wolves time enough discuss attack methods and signals, then got them sorted into a line.
The sun was behind the mountains now, the lingering rays filtering sideways through the branches. “Twilight is hunting time. Our time,” Tynan said to his made-up pack. “Leave none of them alive.”
Resolved nods answered him.
Obviously fearful of being spotted, the human mercenaries were avoiding the trails and filtering through the forest in a wide wave.
Shifting to wolves, Tynan’s group fanned out and moved forward after them.
With Warren on his right, Tynan padded forward.
Silently covering the ground to the rear of the Scythe line took a while.
As they advanced, Tynan caught sounds from in front of his wolves—the noise of clumsy-footed humans. His fur rose on his back.
From the distant festival grounds, an odd noise drifted through the trees. After a second, he recognized it as cheering and applause. Wells had set off his recording from some conference as a red herring to keep the attackers focused on the tents.
By now, the civilians—no, the noncombatant shifters—should be hidden. The werecats and werebears assigned to the perimeter of the festival grounds would be in their ambush locations ready for any mercenaries not caught by the wolves.
Tynan raised his nose to scent what was ahead.
There it was—the metallic stink of weaponry and body armor funk.
Warren sniffed, and his ears went back in disgust.
Invisible in the thick forest undergrowth, the team to Tynan’s right caught up to their prey. He heard a soft curse, a thump, and a low growl. Something or someone fell. Scrambling noises. Silence.
Tynan kept moving, Warren off to his side.
Ears flickering forward, paw raised, Warren alerted.