Chapter 10

CHAPTER TEN

P atrin eyed the huge brick building behind the Shamrock Restaurant. Must have been used as a warehouse at one time, considering the location. A sign hung over the door with the word Calon in elaborate calligraphy.

Apparently, the place was used as a community center for all sorts of shifter activities. The homeschool, crafting meetings, sports. And events like this.

"I've socialized enough today," Fell muttered beside him.

Patrin grinned. He really had.

There'd been a meeting with the two cahirs from Cold Creek, one of which was Darcy's mate Owen. With Bron, Niall, Madoc, and Moya's brothers, they'd had a good discussion about hellhounds. Owen and Ben had some fucking gory stories.

Then in the afternoon, he and Fell talked with Darcy. She was happy. Involved in her new town, repairing everything in sight—because she was a born tinker. And she was head-over-paws in love with her lifemates, Owen and Gawain.

Her life was everything he and Fell wanted for her. Just seeing the glow on her face made him happy too.

Although she'd brought up something that'd been nagging at him. " Once you've killed the Scythe, what will you and Fell do? Will you finally settle into a territory? Maybe the North Cascades Territory so I can see you ?"

He had no answer for her. Wasn't sure he and Fell could quit—or if they'd just go on killing with Wells as their boss. The view of their possible future seemed…gray. Dark.

Shaking his head didn't remove the dismal thoughts.

Patrin stopped in front of the warehouse door. "Okay, brawd, let's get this done."

Fell made a sound of agreement and pulled open the door.

Hearing music and voices, Patrin felt his muscles tighten. Parties were still unfamiliar ground. They'd been to a couple at the Elder Village when they'd first been freed, then Darcy's housewarming, and André's. All had been in houses with people coming and going.

This felt as if it would be a lot bigger.

A guard stood inside a small entry room that blocked access to the rest of the building. He frowned. "I'm sorry, lads, but this is a—" His nostrils flared. "Ah, you're shifters, sorry. I don't think we've met. Would you happen to be the two Moya said might be along?"

"Maybe." Patrin touched his chest. "Patrin, and he's Fell."

"Aye now, you're the ones." With a pleased nod, the guard opened the door. "Your courage with the demon dog is appreciated."

Patrin glanced at Fell. The befuddled expression probably matched Patrin's. Appreciation hadn't been much in their experience. "Ah, our pleasure?"

The guard let out a loud laugh and slapped Patrin's back. "Sure it was. You have a good time tonight."

If Patrin had been in wolf form, his fur would be puffing out. He was comfortable with new experiences if they involved travel or blood and death. Social events?

Terrifying.

Fell glanced at him and muttered, "Can we go home now?"

"Hmm…" Patrin stopped to seriously consider it.

With a snort of laughter, Fell shoved him through the door, staying behind, the cowardly mutt.

A few steps into the room, Patrin had to stop to get oriented.

The place was fucking huge—and glittered like a colorful blizzard had swept through. Tiny lights were strung around the doors and windows. Blue and silver tinsel garlands adorned the walls. Giant paper snowflakes dangled from the ceiling beams.

At the far end, tables were loaded down with food. A huge punch bowl was probably the origin of the orange, cinnamon, and cloves perfuming the air.

Whiffs of pine came from tall floor vases filled with evergreen branches.

In the center of the room, a small, two-foot-high, circular stage was decorated with more garlands. A fiddle and guitar leaned against chairs. A flute lay on another chair. Next to it was a mid-size Celtic harp and a bodhrán drum.

"Do you suppose Darcy is here yet?" Patrin looked for their sister. She wouldn't be easy to find.

People filled the room, some seated at chairs and tables near the walls, the rest standing in the center. Rather than the let's-fuck , sexy attire for full moon gatherings, everyone wore what he thought of as festival clothing, a lively fusion of medieval and modern clothing.

Thankfully, he and Fell were attired appropriately in full-sleeved, belted tunics over dark jeans and suede boots. Women either wore the same or were in calf-length, floaty dresses that made him think of what the Fae might have worn.

"Patrin, Fell, you made it."

Patrin turned at the compelling sound of Moya's lilting voice. And his body froze.

She was so fucking beautiful. Her dark red dress had a full skirt and was not…quite…sheer, as if it was made of tissue paper. Thin straps exposed most of her shoulders, but her thin sleeves were attached somehow, looking almost like she had butterfly wings. The top of the dress resembled a corset and pushed her full breasts up.

So much warm, glowing skin. So very touchable.

"Fuck me," he said under his breath, then smiled. "Good evening, Moya. Interesting party."

Her laugh lit her face. "You two look splendid. I'm impressed."

"The first festival we attended was at an Elder Village, and they insisted we needed festival clothing. They gifted us with the tunics and boots." Patrin glanced down at the dark blue fabric. When Maude handed it to him, he'd just…halted, unable to speak. The clothing fit perfectly and was hand-embroidered with dark green vines edging the sleeves and hem. That someone would take so much time for him had left him speechless.

"Elders. Of course they knew exactly what would suit you." Smiling, she took Fell's hand, pulling him behind her. "Come, Patrin. Let me show you where the food is."

Patrin blinked…because his taciturn brother had a half-smile on his face, obviously pleased with the affectionate way Moya had latched on to him.

But not me. She didn't touch me.

As the fiddler began to tune his instrument, Patrin frowned. What would it take to earn her trust?

Fell let Moya lead him around the room. Her hand felt so tiny in his. As her shoulder brushed against his arm, he had to resist the urge to pull her closer.

Hell, what was he thinking? No female wanted a male like him. Honestly, it was a wonder he was even still alive—and his future sure wasn't likely to be long.

"You spent time in the human world. Did you ever go to human parties?" Moya asked him and Patrin. "Are they like ours?"

"We attended a few." Patrin shot Fell a look that showed he was trying to figure out how to edit his words.

Fell understood. Talking about their missions wasn't a good subject for a party. They were usually sent on assassinations that could be done out in nature, so the deaths were attributed to wild animals. But not always. Sometimes they had to do research on the target beforehand, so their handlers occasionally took them to human events the target was attending.

Moya didn't need to know the history. Fell offered, "Human festivities are noisier, music and talk."

Especially the music. His ears would feel as if they were bleeding.

Patrin grabbed the conversational bone and ran with it. "The scents…" He wrinkled his nose. "The chemical stink of hair spray, the smelly perfumes and colognes they coat themselves in. And the strong deodorants. It was difficult to even breathe."

Fell grinned. "Gods, the stench." Shifters, with more sensitive noses, avoided anything with a harsh scent. Here, at a shifter party, the room smelled of the cinnamon punch, the evergreen boughs, the personal scent of shifters with the overlay of wildness, and the honey-like fragrance of the beeswax candles.

Nice. So much friendlier.

As they walked around the perimeter of the room, two shifters stepped up onto the stage, picked up a fiddle and a flute, and began to play. According to legend, Celtic tunes had been favorites of their Fae ancestors.

Shifters of all ages moved to the center of the room and formed dance circles. At the Elder village, he and Patrin had watched dancing without participating.

What would it be like to be part of it?

At the food-covered tables, Moya handed Fell and Patrin plates. "Take what looks good—or if you don't know what it is, I probably can tell you."

Fell held the plate for a moment, unsettled—and even more so when the white-haired female on the other side of the table smiled. Ina, one of the Elders who'd been in the coffee shop with André before the hellhound attack.

"Welcome. I'm Ina Donnelly. Are you Patrin or Fell?"

He bowed slightly. "Elder. I'm Fell."

Patrin smiled at her. "I'm Patrin."

"Thank you for your courage." Smiling, she handed them each a serving of what looked like a pastry but smelled like venison. "My grandcubs are your ages, and they adore these. See what you think."

Fell popped one in his mouth. The buttery, flaky pastry dough was stuffed with a savory mix of bacon, onion, and chopped venison. "Gods, yes," Fell muttered.

Beside him, Moya laughed infectiously. "Ina, give them more." Her smile faded slightly. "The crow-cursed Scythe didn't feed them anything except mush and stew, so they're still exploring the world of homemade food."

For a second, Ina looked both furious and sad, and then she dished up a bunch of easy to pick up foods—mushrooms filled with something seafoody, fried chicken in bite-sized portions, something that looked like pizza, but only three inches wide. More pastries followed by various small desserts like tiny frosting-covered cupcakes and cookies. The fruit tarts with whipped cream set Fell's mouth to watering. She glanced at Moya. "Meat and sweets—a guaranteed way to keep males happy."

Fell devoured a couple of chicken bites.

After nibbling the stuffed mushroom, Patrin almost inhaled them, then laughed. "I can't say you're wrong, Elder."

"Thank you, Ina." Rather than filling a plate, Moya picked up a couple of cookies. She'd never been able to resist Madoc's molasses cookies. Taking a bite, she had to stifle a moan.

Yummy, chewy sweetness.

"C'mon, you two." As they all moved away from the buffet, the brothers traded desserts until Patrin had anything with frosting, and Fell had anything containing fruit.

They'd never reminded her more strongly of little cubs. Smothering a laugh, she looked around. "Now where should we sit?"

"Hey, Moya, over here." A female sitting with several others beckoned. Her companions turned from watching the dancing.

When Fell tensed slightly, Moya patted his arm and pulled him along with her. "You already know my brothers and some of the others from the pack run. Brett's not here, thank the Mother."

Getting up, Ramón pulled three chairs over from a different table. "Here, sis."

To a chorus of greetings, Moya took a seat next to Alana. "For those of you who weren't at the pack run, this is Fell"—Moya pointed—"and Patrin. They're the two who bashed the hellhound back into the trap before it could climb out."

Damned if Fell knew what to do when people said thank you. After managing a bit of a smile in acknowledgement of the greetings, he busied himself taking a seat next to the Moreno brothers.

"Killing the hellhound was a group effort." Patrin sat down, a lot less uncomfortable than Fell, the boggart. "Like Ramón and Zorion leading the hellhound to the square so Bron could be bait."

Fell gave the Moreno littermates a nod of respect.

Zorion grinned. "You know, I've seen cahirs fight. Never realized just how fast they could run. The Chief was practically flying."

Moya laughed and started introducing the rest. Quite a few were in the Moreno construction crew. Names flew by—blonde Alana and Jalen, one of her mates. More middle-aged Ena, Lucius, and Kane from the ranch and farm supply store.

Fell nodded at them, trying to fix names with faces.

"How nice, Moya decided to join her people for a change." Brett's nasally tenor had a snide edge that made every muscle in Fell's body tense.

Together, he and Patrin turned to face the new alpha.

Dressed in an eye-wateringly bright red tunic and leather pants, Brett moved to stand right next to Moya where she sat beside Alana. His beta, Caleb, took up a position on Moya's other side.

At the aggressive, territorial positioning, Patrin felt his muscles tense. Next to him, Ramón, Zorion, and Fell were growling, the sound drowned out by the music.

Patrin glanced at Moya's brothers and could see the conflict in their expressions. The alpha had control of the pack, which meant that, although they wanted to protect their sister, both the tradition of obedience to the alpha and the pack bonds themselves made it almost impossible. And if a shifter went against his alpha, he'd probably get kicked out of the territory.

Brett smirked at Moya. "I hear Talitha isn't living in the apartment across from you. Since you're all alone there, it's time for you to move into the pack house."

She shook her head.

"Not your choice, female." Bigger, beefier than Brett, Caleb slapped his hand on her shoulder, reminding Patrin of human movies and how cops treated a criminal.

"Wolves don't live alone, especially females." Brett crossed his arms over his chest, standing up taller. "Either you move in with lovers, or you move into the pack house."

"I have no problem with living alone. Thank you for your concern." When Moya tried to push Caleb's hand away, he gripped her shoulder so tightly she winced.

Enough of this scat . As Patrin rose, he bumped into Caleb's torso.

The male staggered back a step.

"Oops, sorry." Patrin used his most charming smile and heard Fell's almost inaudible snort.

Free of Caleb's hand, Moya stood. Her hands weren't fisted, but she was so ready to fight, he could almost feel her vibrating.

Still sitting, Fell had drawn his feet back so he could spring into an attack if needed. He glanced at Caleb to show who his target would be.

Warmed at knowing his brother always had his back, Patrin nodded slightly. "I'm not sure I understand the problem here."

"Wolves get sick if they're alone too much." The way Brett puffed up his chest was like a rooster trying to look bigger.

Great, the pack alpha is a fucking chicken.

His argument was almost logical…if it hadn't been so obvious the alpha and beta wanted the little wolf under their paws. He frowned, thinking of how she said she avoided pack events to keep from being affected by the pack bonds. Considering the firm set of her jaw, she wasn't going to give in.

How could he get her out of this without starting a fight none of them would win? If he and Fell got banished from the territory, it would end their mission to find the Scythe spy—and destroy any chance of protecting Moya and the cubs.

"The alpha makes sense," Fell said.

What the fuck? His brother agreed with the cowardly cockroach? "Brawd?"

"A wolf needs pack nearby. Moya stayed healthy because Talitha lived next door," Fell told him.

Brett and Caleb nodded, smiling at Fell's agreement.

Patrin smothered a laugh. His brother was sneakier than a coyote trying to steal a kill. "I see your point. It's good, then, that you and I are now living in Talitha's apartment."

He turned to Brett, his smile as virtuous as he could manage. "You needn't worry, alpha. Moya has wolves close."

"You're not close. She hardly knows you…" Brett's voice trailed off when Fell pulled Moya onto his lap.

Her eyes widened, then she leaned back against Fell's chest and snuggled closer. "I'm glad that's settled." She smiled sweetly at Brett, then looked up at Patrin. "Now that you finished eating, did you think Ina's stuffed pastries are as tasty as my ham croquettes?"

Very nice, little wolf. She was playing along. "Your croquettes are better, but I did like Ina's venison more than ham. Can you make the next ones with venison?"

"For you, of course." Moya beamed at him.

"You are my favorite wolf," Patrin bent and kissed her lightly…and stepped back out of the range of her fists. Just in case.

But she didn't try to hit him…although Fell had wrapped an arm around her waist to prevent just that.

She sat motionless, staring up at him with wide brown eyes.

Had he broken the feisty little wolf?

Or was it himself he'd broken…because he wanted to kiss her again. And again and again.

Patrin had kissed her.

She couldn't move, couldn't stop staring at him.

His eyes were black as the forest during dark of the moon.

Fell tightened his arm around her. His cheek brushed against hers. With his lips next to her ear, he whispered, "Breathe, blodyn ."

Her lungs filled. Yanking her gaze away from Patrin, she saw Ramón's eyes were narrowed.

Everyone else was watching—including Brett and Caleb.

Oh, that was why Patrin had kissed her.

Right. Of course. I knew that.

Brett's face had darkened with anger. "Listen, you can't?—"

"Is there a problem here?" With Heather beside him and Niall on his left, the Cosantir strolled up to their group. A dark blue festival tunic set off eyes almost as dark as Patrin's. He studied Moya, then his gaze moved to Brett.

From dark red, Brett's face turned the gray-white color of weathered bone. His mouth opened. Closed. "No problem, Cosantir. Just minor pack business."

"Perhaps conduct such business during pack events, not a party?" André smiled at Moya. "My lifemate is missing the company of her best friend. Might we steal you away?"

Brett and Caleb tensed slightly. The Cosantir would have hard questions for anyone who tried to banish his lifemate's friend.

"Of course, Cosantir." Moya kissed Fell's cheek with a whispered, "Thank you," jumped to her feet and joined Heather.

One hand on her belly as if to emphasize her pregnancy, Heather slung an arm around Moya. "I just don't know what I'd do without you to talk about female things."

As Moya let herself be herded away, she glanced behind her.

Patrin was grinning, and Fell winked at her.

Relieved at her escape from Brett's aggression, Moya let Heather pull her away.

Wasn't it wonderful—and sneaky—how Fell and Patrin had come to her rescue. She touched her lips, still feeling the kiss. And Fell had called her blodyn , an affectionate Welsh word for flower, usually used with someone they found lovely—and cute.

Gods, she liked them, why was it so difficult to think they might like her in return?

"Moya, you all right?" Heather asked.

"Oh, sorry, I am. Really. Thank you so much for the rescue." Moya turned to smile at André. "And thank you too."

André was still frowning. "By tradition, a Cosantir only becomes involved in pack business if laws are broken. But…"

"No need to get involved." His stepping in would cause problems, especially since he was still a new Cosantir—and worse, new to the territory. New to the country even, since he was Canadian. "I'm sure things will work out."

He eyed her, undoubtedly knowing exactly why she was worried. "We'll see…"

Fairy farts. Hopefully, Brett would be smart enough to back off. Moya felt as if she'd swallowed a lead weight. She'd already lost one pack because of the appalling behavior of its alpha. Losing another—losing this town and all her friends. It might break her.

She pushed the worry away as Heather pulled her to a group of four. "Moya, here are my friends from North Cascades Territory. Emma is the bard I wanted you to hear. She's amazing."

Curvy with a big, bear build, the bard was a good half foot taller than Moya with long honey-colored hair and a sweet smile. "It's nice to meet you, Moya."

Moya couldn't help but smile back. "You even sound like a bard. I can't wait to hear you sing."

"Right?" Heather laughed and gestured to the male beside Emma. "This is Ben, one of Emma's lifemates."

Goddess' breasts, the cahir was massive. Rather than a tunic, he wore a shirt the color of blue violets that matched his eyes. Full sleeves with embroidery made it into something festive. "I'm delighted to meet you, Moya." His booming voice held a decided twang, almost like Heather's brother Daniel.

"Oh, are you from Texas? How fun." Moya beamed at him.

"Grew up there." He grinned, totally a sociable sort of person. "I like the mountains here far better."

"Oh, me too. I grew up in Stanislaus Territory. I love how much greener it is here."

Heather gestured to the male next to Ben. "Owen is the other cahir who came to visit."

As usual for cahirs, he was way too tall. His thick brown hair reached his shoulders. He had long sideburns, a cruel scar from his cheek to his neck, and no smile. In fact, he looked displeased to be at a party and not at all happy to meet her.

"Um, hi?" Moya offered.

The female next to him jammed her elbow into his side. "Behave, grumpy cat."

"By the God, little female." Huffing, he rubbed his ribs, but amusement lit his dark green eyes, and he almost smiled at Moya. "Good to meet you."

Heather was laughing. "You so deserved that, cahir. Moya, meet Darcy."

Moya's eyes widened. This was Darcy? Oh, she was . "You look so much like Patrin—a smaller, female Patrin." Although Patrin's eyes were a darker brown.

Darcy studied her in turn. "I saw Fell pull you onto his lap. Fell . And Patrin kissed you."

Oh Goddess, was Darcy upset? Sisters could be possessive of their littermates. "Um, they were just, kind of, helping me to fend off an obnoxious wolf."

"Of course. I'm sure that's all they were doing." Darcy didn't…quite…laugh in Moya's face. Then she grinned at Heather. "You'll have to keep me informed. My brothers don't tell me anything ."

"Absolutely," Heather said.

Moya turned and gave her friend a look —traitor— then drew herself up with dignity, which wasn't easy being as she was only five three and surrounded by giants. "There is nothing to inform anyone about."

Eyes shining, Emma murmured to Ben, "I need to visit Rainier Territory more often. There are obviously stories here to collect and make into songs."

Oh no, no, no.

Wait, though. A song about the town's courage—and teamwork—in taking on the hellhound would be amazing. "Do you have questions about what happened on the dark of the moon?"

To Moya's relief, Emma did have questions, and the conversation turned to that night, the fight, and what the people in the restaurant had heard, seen, and felt. She could almost see the bard weaving little pieces of a tune together.

"Moya!" Talam appeared from nowhere. Heather's adopted cub was a sturdy lad with brown hair and brown eyes—and his hug was as energetic as he was.

His littermate, Sky, was as fair as his brother was brown, with blond hair and blue eyes. He wrapped his arms around Moya's waist and stared up at her. "I'm 'sposed to play guitar for Emma," he told her, half in joy and half terrified.

"Ooooh," Emma said. "You're Moya ! You've been teaching him guitar."

"I have." Uh, oh, did she trip over her paws in the instructions?

"Great job. He has the basics down solid." Emma leaned closer to say in a low voice, "He'd feel comfier if you were on-stage playing guitar with him."

"I…" Moya pulled in a breath, saw Sky's pleading eyes, and went belly-up in surrender. "Of course. Music is meant to be shared." Then she added from the heart, "It would be an honor, bard."

Leaning against a wall to listen to the music, Patrin realized he was enjoying himself. It wasn't totally a surprise, since he did like people, but the all-Daonain events usually left him and Fell feeling like outsiders.

Tonight, the atmosphere was so welcoming even Fell was smiling. A little.

Patrin nodded to an older couple with familiar faces. Right, right, Maeve and Murtagh, who owned the grocery. Murtagh's littermate had died in an avalanche—something common in these mountains—the male and his mate were very close.

The old guy looked as if he'd be fun to work for, but he hadn't needed help, having hired someone a short time before.

Yes, the townspeople here were kind—and the music at this party was fucking amazing. The human world with their singers, bands, and orchestras could be impressive. But nothing —nothing—compared to a bard who could take a shifter's heartstrings and play them like a harp.

The ballad about the first Gathering had him wiping his eyes…and he'd seen Fell doing the same.

Wasn't it a surprise to see Moya and the Cosantir's fosterling, Sky, accompanying the bard with their guitars?

Bending, the bard spoke to Moya and Sky, probably giving them the chords for the next song.

After Moya strummed a quick intro, the bard lifted her voice. "In the dark of the night with starlight shining on the high mountains, a creature stalked its prey.

In sleepy Ailill Ridge, the demon dog moved through the town. Hideous claws longer than a hand clacked on the bricks, a signal of death approaching.

There were only two of the God's warriors to call upon—and one was already injured. They wouldn't survive a hellhound.

Everyone knew…and a canny trap had been prepared, filled with iron spikes, like teeth in the bottom. But…how to lead the creature to the trap?

Courageous shifters in the town stepped forward. Males to find the hellhound, to lead him to the town center. The injured cahir would draw its attention—and the other cahir would serve as bait.

In the hellhound came, each male taking a turn at leading it forward. The injured cahir, already in place, drew its attention, luring it fully into the square. And then the other cahir stepped forward. After giving a hair-raising shriek, she fled. The demon dog's predatory instincts roused, it chased after her.

Fleet as a stag, she led it to the tree-lined park. To the trap.

But they all knew the massive demon dog might well reach one side or the other. Two more brave shifters had spent hours lying in wait for this moment…"

She is singing about…me and Fell? Patrin stared at the stage, his brain frozen solid in shock.

Beside him, Fell pulled in a breath and muttered, "Oh fuck."

Okay, was it evil that Moya had been waiting for Patrin and Fell to realize where Emma's song was going? Smothering a smile, Moya kept playing. Thank goodness, she was so experienced, she didn't have to look at her fingers, or she would've missed their expressions.

Her brothers had simply grinned as they were mentioned. They had healthy egos—and had never lacked for praise.

Unlike Patrin and Fell. Oh, she'd seen exactly when they caught on. The shock. Fell said something—probably swearing.

Two lethal shifter-soldiers felled by one bard.

The urge to laugh mingled right along with the ache in her heart…because their expressions held disbelief. For a decade, no one had shown any gratitude for their courage and strength.

Tonight, they would get a heap load.

The song turned darker and brutally honest, relating the companionship, the courage shown by the cahirs and volunteers, the terror, the screaming.

It was all there, laid out. The victory over the hellhound. Then the warmth of the puppy pile afterward as if to show what underlay everything—that they had each other in the end.

Patrin's eyes met hers as the song came to an end. The softness in them lured her in, and she barely managed to look away before Fell did the same. His eyes were damp.

Seeing them… Her heart melted like a snowball in the sun.

The whole room was silent for long moments before applause filled the air.

"Thank you." Emma was all smiles. "From all the Daonain, especially here in Rainier Territory, thank you, Bron, Niall, and Madoc. Patrin, Fell, Ramón, Zorion, and Duffy. Thank you for keeping your people safe."

Cheers broke out through the whole room, and her two shifter-soldiers looked as if they'd love to flee into the forest.

Awww, how could two deadly males look just so adorable?

A minute later, Emma motioned to Cronan, the postmaster, who played the flute, and Morcant, a Shamrock chef, who played the fiddle. "I think some dancing is in order."

The two older bears bowed, grinned, and started tuning up.

Emma turned to Sky and Moya. "Thank you for helping. New songs are difficult for me. If I had to play my own accompaniment, I'd probably have forgotten the words."

Moya pulled in a breath. "The ballad was wonderful. I'm so glad you let us be a part of it."

"We'll have to play again." Emma had a wonderful smile. She looked at Sky. "Now, lad, I want you to keep working with Moya on your guitar lessons. André says they'll bring you up to Cold Creek once a month to spend the weekend with me so we can start you on the path to being a bard."

Sky's eyes shone brighter than the sun. "Really?"

"Really." Emma ruffled his hair. "When you're feeling more settled, you'll come and be my apprentice, but that time is in the future."

Smiling, Moya jumped off the stage, pleased to hear Emma would be patient with young Sky. Last summer, he and his brother had been orphaned, made homeless, and then badly used by the former Cosantir. The cubs needed a stable environment. Heather and her lifemates were seeing they got it.

Behind her, Morcant did a quick tuning of his fiddle, then played a few introductory notes for a dance tune with Cronan's flute joining in.

As Moya reached the chairs, shifters formed a circle around the stage, then two more. Hands joined as the three circles began to move.

Her foot tapped in time with the infectious beat.

"This is different," Patrin said from her left.

"Almost like that Greek bar," Fell said from her right.

Moya grinned. "Only this is more Celtic." The first and third circles moved deosil , clockwise, with the second going widdershins . Three steps, one foot behind, then a sidestep, and beginning again. The patterned movement turned the dance into an almost communal trance.

And the shifter-soldiers shouldn't be watching but participating instead.

Spotting Talitha in the outer circle, Moya took Patrin's hand then Fell's and pulled them forward. "Talitha."

Glancing over her shoulder, Talitha released the female's hand on her right and took Patrin's—and her group of three was absorbed into the line.

Although Patrin's expression was surprised, and Fell's unreadable, they didn't pull away. Instead, after a moment, they easily followed the steps. A minute later, there was a tiny smile on Fell's lips and an open grin on Patrin's face.

When the dance concluded, everyone was laughing and hugging. Any task undertaken together—even dancing—brought shifters closer. Without even thinking about it, she hugged Fell, and with no hesitation, he hugged her back, all hard body and muscles.

Rather than releasing her, he turned her and pushed her toward… She stiffened as Patrin's arms closed around her.

His dominance was pushed down somehow. "Little wolf," he murmured, and his embrace was loose enough she could escape.

She didn't want to. Instead, she hugged him back and heard his pleased rumble, almost sounding like a cat.

He drew her tighter against him. His muscles were just as hard, but leaner than Fell's. His masculine scent of smoky leather with a hint of cedar reminded her of winter evenings in front of a fire.

And along with that was an unfamiliar sensation—a tingling awareness of being female. Of being held by a male—one she…wanted?

When she pushed back, Patrin let her go. She could feel the hot blush in her face. And the melting warmth lower down.

The next tune started up, one with a soft drumbeat. Zorion must have joined the musicians.

"We should get off the floor," Moya said.

Rather than moving, Patrin took her hand. "We saw this one done at Elder Village. It would be fun to actually dance it."

Smaller circles with four triads in each were forming all over the dance floor…and before Moya could object, she and the shifter-soldiers were included in one.

Fairy farts . This dance was for more…involved…shifters. But the music had started, and it was bad form to bow out, since the rest of the circle couldn't continue without all four.

How did she get into these messes?

The music played, sweetly seductive with a pulsing drumbeat that let her body take over. Let her mind quiet as she was spun around, as the males made arches of their joined hands for her to dance under. She was lifted into the air and held there with her hair spilling onto Patrin's face. Somehow, she was on her feet, her back against Fell's chest, his arms around her waist, and they turned. Spinning, he handed her to Patrin. Their hands were big and powerful on her body, and she could feel how careful they were with their strength.

Every breath brought her the tantalizing scent of their interest. And the rise of her own desire.

The music came to an end, and with a final spin and a low chuckle, Fell pulled her against him and took her lips…so disconcertingly gently. A zing of arousal shot through her, warming her from head to toes.

Then, as before, he handed her over to his brother. "Brawd, her lips are soft."

Patrin put one hand behind her waist and pulled her closer. His other hand slipped under her hair, gripping to tilt her head. When she tensed, he paused.

His dark eyes held her as he waited. He must know from her scent she was interested, yet he was giving her mind time to refuse—or agree.

With a tiny exhalation, she offered her mouth.

He kissed her, his lips firm and warm, and she could feel how he was holding back. His control over himself made him even more attractive.

"Thank you for the dancing lessons," he murmured. Then his lips tilted up. "I'll return to working on your no-punching lessons tomorrow."

Just for that, she punched him right in the gut.

And grinned when he broke out laughing.