Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

N o one had shoveled the sidewalk leading to the pack house, and Moya's boots crunched noisily on the two inches of snow that had fallen last night. The night sky was clear, the air cold enough to sting her face.

Beside her, Talitha snickered as her two fosterlings tried a shortcut through the snowy drifts—and broke through the crust up to their knees.

Moya laughed, eyeing the snow-covered pups. "Mom mentioned a few times how happy she was to raise us in California with far fewer snowy days. Now I know why."

"Ah, well, they'll dry out eventually." Reaching the steps, Talitha raised her voice. "Cubs."

Mateo and Alvaro trotted over and stomped to remove the snow before entering.

In the entry, Moya removed her boots. In stocking feet, she entered the oversized living room and took a place against a wall with Talitha. The couches and chairs were already taken, and she sure wasn't going to sit on the floor beside the cubs.

Her nerves wouldn't let her take such a defenseless position.

When she and her brothers first arrived in Ailill Ridge around four years ago, they'd lived here for a month, then found a house to share. But living with brothers? So annoying.

Moving to a place by herself had been wonderful despite how often someone had trotted out the old saying: Female wolves can't live by themselves.

As if.

She glanced around. The place looked better than when they'd lived here. Probably because Roger had moved out of the house he shared with Pete, the previous Cosantir. Naturally , the alpha should have better stuff than anyone else, so he'd used pack funds to buy all new furniture.

With a sigh, she leaned the back of her head against the wall. Roger was gone now.

Brett and Caleb shared a big house on the other side of town. A trickle of amusement ran through her. Several of Pete and Roger's buddies had lived in the territory's clan houses for free until André took over and hired Heather to do the accounting. Now everyone living in the clan houses paid rent.

The room was almost full—and no one had food or drink. Apparently, this wasn't going to be a social event.

More wolves entered, then Patrin strolled in, every step a display of coiled power and intimidating self-possession. Her heart skipped a beat and a few more as Fell joined him. The brothers were terrifyingly tempting—and she wasn't the only female who noticed.

Her flash of possessiveness was dismaying. Yes, she'd been with Fell last night, had felt all of him surrounding her, in her, touching her with those big hard hands. Kissing him…But no, gnome-brain, he's not yours—they're not yours—and never will be yours.

And she didn't want them to be either. Absolutely not.

Liar.

Oh, it was pitiful when she was reduced to calling herself a liar. Her snort of exasperation made Talitha raise her eyebrows.

Mother of All. Moya bent and fussily adjusted her socks. Having unwrinkled socks is very important. She surely wasn't avoiding Talitha's gaze, let alone those of the MacCormac brothers.

By the Gods, she was a mess. But really, how was a female to deal with having mated a male outside of a Gathering? Being with Fell had been amazing.

He hadn't worked in the coffee shop today, or maybe she would've had a chance to work through this…this reaction. Or maybe it would have been even worse.

She patted her chest where her heart was bouncing around like a flower fairy high on rose petals.

Straightening, she looked over at him—and met his piercing blue gaze. Her stomach quivered, and the floor beneath her socks felt funny. Maybe she hadn't smoothed the wrinkles out. Or something.

A corner of his mouth tilted up in his almost-invisible smile.

And, Mother help her, she could feel her face heat with a flush.

Patrin glanced at Fell, saw where he was looking…and grinned.

Her face got hotter.

"Wolves."

Oh, thank you, Lord and Lady. She turned all her attention to the alpha, grateful for his nasally interruption.

Brett stood on the wide staircase with his brother two steps down. He raised his voice, silencing the conversations. "As your alpha, I need to tell you how things will be going forward."

He'd obviously prepared for the occasion. His normally greasy, black hair was clean for a change, his scruffy beard trimmed. He crossed his arms over his beefy chest.

Trying to look like a real leader.

Moya exchanged unimpressed glances with Talitha. Heather would've undoubtedly had something trenchant to say, but she'd told Brett she couldn't make it, using her pregnancy as an excuse.

She hadn't lied…because there was no way her lifemates would've let their pregnant mate attend without them present. Brett and Caleb were hot-tempered, aggressive males, and they disliked Heather.

Really, it was good Heather wasn't here. I wish I weren't either.

"As alpha, I intend to return our pack to the traditional ways, back to when wolves were stronger. When we outnumbered the cats. When our females took mates only from our kind, so they'd birth wolf cubs."

What? Moya stared at the sprite-snared simpleton in shock. There'd never been a time like that.

Unless lifemated, every fertile shifter had to attend Gatherings, and there, a female mated with whomever she desired, not solely with "their kind." In the grips of a full moon heat, no female gave thought to whether the male was a wolf or something else.

Brett continued, "The pack will also require our single, cubless females to live in the pack house where they will be around potential mates—wolf mates."

Some of the males voiced their approval, the mangy-tailed mutts. Moya eyed them, realizing most were wolves no female wanted.

Most shifters treated females with courtesy and protectiveness. A few, though, took a female's disinterest as an insult—and, worse, felt as if they were entitled to have whoever they wanted for a mate.

"In the future, I'll address the issue of those already in mixed matings."

Beside Moya, Talitha stiffened. Because Eileen was not only female, but a feline. Gods, would Brett try to break them up—or take Mateo and Alvaro away?

"My wolves, there is a danger in associating with felines. They're not our kind, and the vile, devious creatures will try to lure you away from your own sort." Brett's mouth twisted as he pointed to Mateo and Alvaro, then three other cubs. "You've been playing with young moggies. From now on, you play only with our kind…or you'll be disciplined by our beta."

Caleb's face lit at the chance to let his bullying nature loose.

Snarling under her breath, Moya gripped her hands together to keep from making fists. The body language of the wolves around her showed alarm. Dismay. Especially the females and older wolves.

Too many of the wolves her age nodded their smiling approval.

Gods help them all.

Wolves were stronger in a pack. But the need to belong left them easier to manipulate, especially by an alpha. Younger wolves—and males—were especially vulnerable.

Females grew up knowing they might have to raise cubs on their own. Most could be independent if needed.

She glanced at Patrin and Fell. They appeared disgusted…as did her brothers.

Brett smiled at two of the bigger pups—Vigulf and Torkil. "You have been doing just great. I heard about the young werecats you sent yowling home to their mangy mother. Keep up the good work."

The two cubs puffed up their chests…and Moya bit her lip against speaking. Those were the cubs who picked on the younger ones, including Mateo and Alvaro. Brett and Caleb were turning them into bullies.

"I expect everyone to show up to pack runs and any other pack events. If you don't, I'll cast you out, and the pack will drive you out of the territory." Brett smirked. "I'm not Roger. I won't put up with disobedience."

The entire room went silent. Casting out was a fearful threat. Not as bad as a Cosantir's banishment, which resulted in scarring and being shunned by all Daonain anywhere. But if thrown out of the pack, a wolf would be attacked by all the territory pack members.

Fear made a cold lump in Moya's stomach. Even with the Cosantir's warning, Brett was going to proceed. And really, unless Brett broke the Daonain Law, the Cosantir couldn't act.

Gods, she had a business, a home, friends . I can't afford to be cast out.

"That's it. Meeting's over." Brett swept his gaze over the roomful of shifters, his gaze settling on Gretchen.

The beautiful blonde preened. "You don't have an alpha female yet. Do you have someone in mind?"

Moya tilted her head. Would the alpha fall for Gretchen's wiles again? The female had a habit of causing problems, like dumping Roger for Pete, and later, playing Roger off against Brett and Caleb…and any other male who looked interested.

Eyes cold and cruel, he lifted his upper lip in a sneer. He probably hadn't forgotten the way Gretchen had made a play for Patrin and Fell at the Gathering. "Not yet. It will take a special female to be mine." He smiled down at the two younger females close to the stairs where he stood. Deidre and Cosette.

Moya sighed. The females were pretty and young and far too weak to be effective alphas. No wonder Brett liked them. He wouldn't want a partner to help lead the pack; he wanted someone to admire him.

He pursued Moya only because she rejected him and raised his predator's instincts. Such an alphahole.

She nudged Talitha and jerked her head at the door. "Let's leave before I lose my cookies."

"I hear you." Talitha's face was pale. "Mateo, Alvaro, let's go."

They herded the two cubs out between them, keeping them safe.

Only…safe was going to be in short supply in the future.

Fell followed his brother out of the pack house. Moya had left shortly before, and his wolf was moping that he hadn't had a chance to talk with her. Touch her.

Because since mating with her last night, it'd been difficult to think of anything else. He'd never felt so…close…to anyone except his brother—and with her, it was close in a whole different way.

Just catching whiffs of her scent in the room made his instincts surge to join her. And watching the adorable way she turned red when she saw him?

By the Gods, he liked her.

Unfortunately, by the time they managed to escape the crowded room where everyone was putting on jackets and boots, she'd disappeared.

Perhaps for the best—he wasn't sure what he'd say. And his tongue would undoubtedly trip over words anyway.

Besides, he needed time to think about the alpha's threats that seemed directed at her and Talitha. And the cubs.

Voices came from nearby. Fell turned far enough to see Moya's brothers and their construction crew walking behind them.

"His speech was a complete pile of scat," Ramón said in a low voice to his crew. "If he tries to get us to fire Orla and Jarlath, I'll bite off his tail and shove it up his ass."

Fell frowned. Why would they fire… Ah, right . The construction crew had a couple of werecats. At the supper at Moya's, Zorion mentioned cats were perfect for tasks requiring good balance—like roofing.

"Maybe you should challenge for alpha, boss." Killian, the woodworker, said, "You could win."

"You'd have to win," Terence said in a cautionary tone. "You know Brett would cast out anyone who challenged him, if he didn't kill or cripple them."

Listening to the discussion behind him, Fell scowled and muttered to Patrin, "That's one fucked-up alpha."

"Yeah," Patrin said under his breath.

Behind them, Ramón said, "Losing would suck, but I'd probably win. Only trouble is—running a crew with Zorion is enough leadership for me—and Zorion too. We considered challenging, but he doesn't want to be beta, and I don't want to be alpha. Sorry, lads."

When the construction crew made disappointed noises, Fell wanted to join in. Ramón and Zorion would have led the pack as competently as their construction crew. They were as honest and loyal as their sister—not something he'd say about most people.

If Ramón didn't challenge…

Fell rubbed the back of his neck as he thought. The wolves he'd met who'd make good alphas weren't the ones who could win a fight against Brett. The alpha was a big, aggressive wolf…although the way he'd walked away from a one-on-one fight with the feline outside the Bullwhacker raised some questions.

Now, in a Patrin-Brett fight, Patrin would win. Skill and smarts counted. Even if born to be a leader, Patrin didn't want to be responsible for anyone. Not anymore. As teens, leading the shifter-soldiers had scarred him emotionally. He still felt guilty for every wound and every death, not that there was anything he could've done.

It didn't matter, anyway.

The future was set in stone. They would be leaving Ailill Ridge, leaving the pack, leaving Moya … The thought was a stab in the heart.

There was no choice.

By now, the Scythe must know their least-favorite shifter-soldiers were living in Ailill Ridge.

"Stinks worse than wolverine's piss in here." Patrin wrinkled his nose as he walked into the Scythe operative's bedroom. Wolverines marked their territory, and the scent could make a skunk gag. Gregory's one-bedroom house reeked of sweat, dirty socks, an inability to hit the toilet—let alone clean it—and rotting food on plates beside the bed. "Want to trade?"

In the living room, hacking the computer, Fell just laughed in answer. Because Patrin had only the most basic skills when it came to tech stuff.

Fine. I'm a shifter, not a human.

Trying not to breathe, Patrin searched the usual places: inside, beneath, and behind drawers, electrical outlets, above doors, in vents, picture frames, under or in the mattress. He couldn't go too quickly since everything had to remain in exactly the same place as before the search. And experienced spies often left telltales to know if someone entered the premises while they were gone. Paper in the door, hair across a keyboard… It didn't help that Gregory was a slob.

Then again, the young man appeared to be lazier than a well-fed gnome and probably counted on his security camera to let him know if someone broke in.

Heh, that'd been his first mistake. That technology was easy enough to circumvent.

It was a shame they'd had to wait until the weekend to get into the house. But this was the first time the operative left the house after dark.

"Got everything downloaded." Fell stuck his head in the doorway. "I'll?—"

"Here's his spy log." The nightstand drawer had a false bottom. Sloppy work, really. The pseudo-bottom's wood was different from the rest of the nightstand. After photographing each page, Patrin put everything back in place, and within minutes, they were gone.

Fell headed for their apartment to put together a report and send it to Wells. Patrin returned to his job at the bar.

Having entered the Bullwhacker from the back door, Patrin joined the owner behind the bar. A quick glance showed Gregory was still playing pool with a few humans. And wasn't exactly sober either.

Perfect .

Nik finished building a drink, handed it to the customer, and lifted his bushy eyebrows at Patrin. "Was your friend all right?"

"I think he'll be fine. Thanks for giving me time to call and talk with him." Even better, it was doubtful anyone noticed that Patrin had left for a short time. Just the way he liked it.

After checking the drink well on his side of the bar, Patrin smiled at Nik. "Sometimes, young men think they can handle everything and get in over their heads. Fuck knows I've done it often enough. A bit of common sense usually sorts us out."

Nik had a hearty laugh, a gold tooth showing in the back of his mouth. "Only if you know someone with common sense."

Patrin filled a couple of orders, then turned when he heard, "Hey, Top Dog."

"Kennard, Fletcher." Without waiting for the two young shifter-soldiers to order, he set a couple of beers on the bar top, charging them to his own account. "Thanks for providing backup."

Last year, the brothers had been furious Wells said they were too young to work for him. So when Patrin asked them to watch Gregory and call if he left the bar, they'd agreed immediately. And being Scythe-trained, they knew better than to ask for more information.

"Call anytime you want help." Fletcher glanced over at the pool room and Gregory. "Need us any longer?"

"Nope. All done."

"In that case, we have a couple of sweeties to chat up." Nudging his brother, Fletcher picked up his beer, his gaze already on a table of young females.

"Good luck, and thanks again." Patrin grinned as the two approached and weren't shot down. Made his heart happy to see his shifter-soldiers making lives for themselves.

And this was why he'd do everything in his power to ensure they stayed free of the Scythe.

Moya was in her bookstore arranging a new display of books in the display window and spotted Patrin leaving the café on the square. Jacket open over a green sweater, he sauntered toward the park, eating peanuts from a container. She had to smile, thinking of the differences between the brothers. Patrin sauntered; Fell stalked. Knowing them now, she could tell they were both terrifyingly deadly, but with Fell, his lethalness was all out there to be seen. Patrin hid his ferocity under a sociable front.

Of course, she got reminded all too often of his dangerousness—and dominance—since Fell had assigned him to attack her. Gods, he totally tested her control. Just last night, while she was giving them another cooking lesson, he grabbed her shoulders. She hadn't hit him…not until the mutt had gone and released his dominance. The sensation ran through her—and it was like being tossed into a flooding river, tumbled head over tail. And yep, she punched him.

Gods, how the maggotbrain had laughed.

But she was improving. Partly because, compared to Fell and then Patrin, no one else around here was as dominant. Not even the drunks. Not even Brett. And she'd been spending a lot of time with them. Cooking with them, then often watching a movie or just companionable reading in front of her woodstove.

They liked to read.

She grinned. After finding out Fell had read Dune , she'd dragged him down to the book club meeting on Thursday night.

It'd been wonderful to see him join in the discussion. She'd already known he thought about the books he read—and could talk about them. Patrin could, too, even if he preferred nonfiction.

Books apparently had been one of the few things they were allowed in the Scythe barracks. Patrin told her that the handlers learned that bored teen shifters tended to destroy things—and they'd get a crate of books from a secondhand store and dump them in the barracks. So the shifter-soldier lads got their education—and learned to discuss books. Now the adult shifter-soldiers were incredibly good at it.

She watched Patrin balance a couple of nuts in the fork of an ornamental tree. For the tree fairy that lived there. Hibernating during the coldest weather, the pixies came out on warmer days—and were always hungry.

That was really sweet.

The other members of the SFF book club had been pleased to have Fell there. Heather and Niall were delighted.

Patrin and Fell seemed to fit right into Rainier Territory.

Would they stay in Ailill Ridge? They seemed to be making a home here. What could she do to help them feel part of the community?

She smiled and glanced at her desk and the Dune DVD. She'd have them over, and they could all watch it together.

Maybe she'd get to snuggle? No, just stop.

She shook her head and placed another book on the display. The window arrangement looked nicely cozy with a simulated fireplace, a cozy chair, a crocheted blanket, and books. She'd added pretty Solstice decorations, although the humans probably thought they were for Christmas or whatever other religions they had.

She saw Patrin walking along the side of the square. He slowed and left something on the ground.

In the gutter, beady eyes appeared, then a small hand.

By the Mother of all. "Did he just leave some peanuts for the gutter gnome?" she said to herself.

"What?" In the center of the room, Fell was wiping down the coffee shop tables. He joined her at the window, following her gaze. "You mean my brother?"

"Uh-huh." She tried not to notice how his broad shoulder brushed hers. Tried not to feel the thrill of being so close.

"Aye, Patrin feeds pixies and gnomes too. Says we shouldn't skip gnomes just because they're ugly and irritable."

Huh. A tender-hearted assassin?

And didn't his attitude make her feel like a low-life badger? Gnomes were good for a town and houses. They kept the alleys and gutters free of bugs and rodents…but she'd never given them goodies.

Fell tugged on her hair with a smile. "The Scythe compound was outside of the Gods' territory, so there weren't many OtherFolk. Seeing them is still a treat."

Look at the warrior, actually talking. She bumped her shoulder against his, delighted he was no longer begrudging every word. "Since André became Cosantir, we've had more OtherFolk around. I guess a strong Cosantir draws them."

Outside in the square, Mateo and Alvaro ran up to Patrin, bouncing as enthusiastically as if they were toddlers rather than thirteen. He gave them each a handful of peanuts as they talked.

Oh, it was Saturday, wasn't it? Ah, she had an idea of a way to help them fit in… "I'll be back," she said to Fell and stepped outside. "Mateo, Alvaro."

The younglings ran over.

Leaning over, she whispered her instructions and smiled as excitement filled their faces.

As she walked back inside, they had Patrin by the arms and were dragging him away.

"You ordered the cubs to kidnap my brother?" Fell asked as she joined him back in the store.

"I did. They're taking him to Calon to play basketball." When there wasn't a special event, the warehouse community center was sectioned into room-like areas for various hobbies or meetings. The far end had basketball hoops as well as adjustable nets for volleyball or pickleball or whatever.

"Basketball." Fell lowered his voice. "I've seen it on television. Bouncing balls and running?"

She laughed. "Great description. It's something active to do when everything is covered in snow. Ramón and Zorion really enjoy it."

Fell blinked. "Do shifters play such a human sport?"

"Maybe not everywhere, but after First Shift, our cubs attend middle and high school with humans. André wants them to blend in, and if half the children from one town are clueless about normal sports…"

"They'll stand out." Fell's mouth compressed. "It's another way for organizations like the Scythe to find us."

"That's what the Cosantir worries about, yes." With all the technology and shrinking of the world, someday the Daonain would be revealed. No one was ready for that time yet.

"He's a far-sighted guardian."

"Mmmhmm." Moya studied Fell. Being short, basketball wasn't her sport, but she figured Patrin would love it. Fell might too. "Are you about ready to leave?" Talitha had started leaving the closing to him.

He turned and called to the young woman behind the counter. "Done, Renee?"

The young woman had been watching them, a smile on her face. Now, she lifted a hand. "Done and on my way out." Of average height and weight, the human barista had wavy black hair to mid-back. She was hardworking and punctual, delighting Talitha after a summer with seasonal college students who rarely showed up for work on time.

Fell smiled at Moya. "Let me lock up."

"Perfect. Want to go watch some basketball?"

He touched her cheek with gentle fingers, fingers that had touched her during mating. His smile transformed his hard face. "Sounds interesting."

Almost to winter solstice, the sun was already touching the tops of the trees on the mountains as Fell crossed the square with Moya beside him. He smiled down at her, so adorably short, and felt fucking content simply being with her.

Mating with her had been…amazing. But this was good too.

He was still trying to get past the funny feeling he experienced when he realized she'd gone out of her way to get the cubs to show Patrin something he might enjoy. That she knew them enough and cared enough to do so. Even when this basketball wasn't something she played.

Far too often, this female left him…speechless. And happy.

And she was growing more comfortable being around Patrin. With luck, the next time they mated, he could share her with his brother. As littermates did.

A bell over the door rang as they entered the warehouse, and they walked into an area filled with shifters, mostly females, all holding two long sticks and yarn in the odd craft called crocheting—or was it knitting?

The Elder he'd met at the dance looked up. "Moya, how are you, dear?"

"I'm good, Ina. And you?"

"Holding up nicely."

Exchanging greetings, Moya moved past and deeper into the warehouse. "André put the yarn crafters at the front. They make sure anyone who enters is Daonain."

Good protection. He wouldn't want to take on a determined older female armed with pointy sticks.

Fell looked around curiously. Rather than the big space as at the dance, the warehouse was sectioned off with a center aisle. The freestanding room dividers had been covered in hand painted murals.

They went past an area filled with computers, another that appeared to be an empty schoolroom.

The last section opened into a gym space with free weights and machines. A few shifters there were working out.

The very end was open with hoops mounted high on the walls to the right and left. A group of teenage cubs and adults were doing…something.

"Ah, I knew he wouldn't be able to resist." Moya pointed.

"You do it like this," Mateo called to Patrin, who stood off to one side. The cub bounced a big orange ball while running forward, then jumped and tossed the ball in an arc. The ball hit a wedge of plastic and ricocheted into the hoop.

Fell narrowed his eyes. If not angled just right, the ball would go elsewhere…as Alvaro demonstrated a minute later when he got the ball.

After Alvaro's missed shot, they tossed Patrin the ball.

Fell grinned as his brother bounced the ball carefully, moving forward slowly, then aimed for the spot up behind the hoop.

Missed.

The cubs yelled encouragement—and Patrin grinned and tried again.

Fell took a step forward. Gods, the game looked like fun.

At a melodic laugh, he glanced at the little wolf beside him. Yeah, she was laughing…at him.

"Go." She made a shooing motion with her hands. "Go, join them. You know you want to."

He did.

By the time the cublings finished with him and Fell, Patrin could hit the hoop most of the time and throw the ball where he wanted it to go. However, the skill of bouncing the ball faster than a walk needed a lot more practice. What had Mateo called it—dribbling?

Humans truly were bizarre, both in creating this game and the names they came up with.

Fucking fun though.

He laughed as Mateo stole the ball from Fell, whose dribbling was even worse than Patrin's. "They're too fast for you, brawd."

When Mateo grinned unrepentantly, Fell ruffled his hair. "Fucking mountain goats."

He glanced at the clock high on the wall. "Time to go."

"Right. You've got the bar tonight."

In the free weights area, Moya was talking with Bron and Niall. The tall, slim Chief of Police had a narrow face and short black hair, a definite contrast to Niall with his long golden hair and brawny build.

Beside the oversized cahirs, Moya looked even tinier. Yet he'd never seen her appear intimidated, had he?

"We gotta get home too," Alvaro told Mateo. "Eileen's making chicken, and I'm hungry."

Patrin grinned. Cubs were always hungry. "Go on with you—and thanks for the lesson." He held out his fist in an odd human ritual he'd learned from Vicki, the ex-human soldier up in Cold Creek. It was a very shifter sort of gesture.

As he'd taught them, each cub bumped a smaller fist against his and then fist-bumped Fell. Ritual concluded, the two cubs took off running in the way of younglings everywhere.

In the weight-lifting area, he asked Fell, "Remember when we had that much energy?"

Hearing him, the Chief laughed. "Wait another sixty years. It gets worse."

Sixty years? She didn't look that old. Of course, most Daonain didn't show their age until over a hundred or so.

Come to think of it, Herne wouldn't have called her to be a cahir during her child-bearing years.

"Great, something to look forward to. Thanks, Aunt Bron," Niall grumbled, then smiled at Patrin and Fell. "You two picked up basketball skills quickly."

"Hand-eye coordination was beaten into us," Patrin said matter-of-factly, then noticed the way the others reacted. "Sorry."

Fell offered a faint smile in solidarity. They often forgot how Daonain reacted to their abuse as cubs.

"You appear to be settling in." Bron set down her barbell.

"Should we be keeping an eye out for better jobs for you?" Niall asked. "Part-time work doesn't provide much of a living. I freelance in cybersecurity. Are you good with computers?"

Oh fuck . Taken off-guard, Patrin took a moment to find the right words. "Ah, no, but thank you. We're just…looking around. Checking out different territories. Might go back to working for the human spymaster. We won't be here for very long."

"Ah, now that's a shame." Niall grinned. "You two deal just fine with anything coming at you, from hellhounds to fairy-brained alpha wolves."

Patrin's smile faded when he noticed the Chief of Police wasn't laughing. She was studying him and Fell in a way that made the hair on his nape raise.

He checked his brother to see if he'd noticed, but no. Fell's gaze was on the basketball court, then on Moya…and his face had gone unreadable.

As it did when he was hurting inside.

Yeah. For one brilliant moment, they'd both glimpsed an entirely different future…and had forgotten they weren't part of this clan.

His sigh wasn't silent enough, and Fell bumped his shoulder in a bittersweet acknowledgment. It was just the two of them and probably always would be.

After leaving an oddly quiet Moya at her apartment, Patrin pulled one of the burner phones from his luggage. Time to get paws on the trail.

Yesterday, they'd sent Wells all the information from Gregory's house along with his picture. And the spymaster had confirmed their suspicions; Gregory was a known, low-level Scythe operative.

With the prey flushed out, the next stage began. Time to coordinate a trap.

Seeing the phone, Fell propped his forearms on the kitchen island and waited.

Unlike his brother, who became motionless when tense, Patrin tended to pace. Crossing the living room, he listened to the phone ring.

"Wells."

"Phillip here." He rolled his eyes at the insipid pseudonym Wells had saddled them with—because he often referred to Fell and Patrin as F and P, which, in his warped human mind twisted somehow into Phillip. "Want to come visit? My brother wants to play football, and we need some players for the offense."

Since their human Scythe handlers watched the game while on missions, he and Fell had learned the basics.

He stopped next to the island so Fell could hear both sides of the conversation.

"Ah. I do love a good game of football," Wells said jovially—which sounded strange from the cold-as-ice spymaster. There was a silence, a tapping of a keyboard. "What with work and all, evening is better for me and my friends. How about Tuesday night?"

"Sounds good." Patrin kept his voice easy, friendly. Because caution was always wise. "Since we'll be playing on someone else's property, we figure we'll get permission beforehand."

It was always wise to let a Cosantir know what was going on.

"No," Wells said flatly. "I'm sure the owner won't care about a quick game. If he does, he can yell at us afterward."

Fell made an unhappy sound. Angering André would be like jumping into a pit filled with rattlesnakes.

"I prefer to keep everything polite." Patrin injected as much warning into his words as he could.

"I prefer to play without busybodies or law enforcement interrupting a good time. It's happened to me too often."

Fuck. "Really, this?—"

"No." Wells had a hard edge to his voice. "Not everyone enjoys having an audience. Some are shy."

Yes, the Scythe would vanish at any sniff of a trap. Look how often the Director and the Colonel had escaped them.

Wells added, almost as an afterthought, "Besides, aside from you and your buddies, no one else talks a good game of football."

Ah. Patrin exchanged understanding glances with Fell. The spymaster was human and military. Daonain had their own culture, traditions, and priorities. If Patrin and Fell often felt out of place, how much more alienated did the spymaster feel? The shifter-soldiers had spent their teen years being fashioned into soldiers by humans. Of course Wells felt like they spoke his language.

Unfortunately, the spy wouldn't have the language—or patience—to explain a critical operation to the Cosantir. And the human couldn't possibly comprehend a guardian's ties to his territory and to Herne.

To him, this was just the way things were done in the world of covert ops.

Patrin sighed. "I'll send you the address and a map." It hadn't been easy finding a house that fit the requirements needed for the perfect trap for little Scythe fishies. "We'll see you Tuesday night, probably with a kickoff after ten."

"Good enough."

Silence signaled Wells had disconnected. The spymaster rarely said goodbye.

Patrin leaned against the wall and gave his head a thump.

Fuck. This operation would infuriate André and the two cahirs who'd also expect to be notified of Scythe operatives in their territory.

Yeah, if they survived the trap, the Cosantir would probably kill them.

Tipping her face up to the hot spray in her shower, Moya heaved a long, depressed sigh.

When Patrin told Bron that he and Fell weren't staying in Ailill Ridge, she felt almost as if she'd been stabbed. Her heart had actually hurt .

Because, somehow, she'd allowed herself to think there was…something between her and Fell? And Patrin too?

By the Mother's breasts, I'm a gnome-brain.

They were friends…or should she say: friends with benefits? That's what she'd told Fell. And then let herself want more.

Scowling, she rinsed the soap off her body, squeezed the water from her hair, and stepped out of the shower.

Friends with benefits. I can do that. Although, Goddess, she needed to be careful. It appeared that mating outside of the time of the full moon engaged emotions.

She closed her eyes for a moment, thinking of the way Fell kissed. The overwhelming sensation of him entering her. Those benefits sure were nice.

Two robes hung on her bathroom door hook. One was long and fluffy and old. Her comfort robe. The other was a purple satin shortie with lace dripping from the three-quarter length sleeves. Not warm, but utterly sensuous. Just wearing it made her feel beautiful and oh-so-female.

Feeling beautiful won. Of course it did, since this was her pamper-Moya evening—a surefire way to beat off the doldrums.

Candles flickered in her living room, a fire crackled cheerfully in her small woodstove, and the enchanting music of Clannad filled the air. She'd sit by the fire, slather coconut oil on her winter-dry skin, and sip the Fragolino sparkling wine she'd been saving.

The satin robe whispered cool against her bare skin. Picking up her tub of coconut oil, she walked out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam.

As she set her wine and a glass on the coffee table, she smiled at the blazing fire—and the small salamander dancing in the flame. "Hey there, fire-girl. You're looking lovely tonight."

She laughed as the elemental flicked its tail in acknowledgement and added an extra spin and flourish to show off.

A knock sounded on the door. Now who could this be?

The outside door was locked after dark, so it couldn't be the cubs or Heather or any of her female friends. Or Brett. The only ones who could access her door now were her brothers or…Patrin and Fell.

No, wait. Fell was doing the bouncer job at the Bullwhacker tonight, so…

"Moya, are you home?" Patrin called through the door.

After the warehouse, she'd told them she wasn't available for a cooking lesson tonight. What was he doing here?

Males .

Even as she grumbled, her heartrate picked up. Stop it, heart. She was annoyed, dammit, not excited.

Stupid heart.

She yanked open the door to see the male standing there, barefoot, in jeans and a T-shirt. " What ?"

He didn't speak. And his eyes heated.

Oh cat-scat, she'd forgotten what she was wearing.

Patrin's lungs seized up as if a moose had stepped on his chest. Because… fuck .

A shimmery purple wrap ended just past Moya's hips, showing off bite-worthy legs. A silky belt around her waist accentuated her glorious curves, and when she moved, her breasts wobbled.

His mouth had gone dry.

He pulled in a breath and shook his head, hoping it would knock some of the pure lust out of his thoughts. Because he was wondering just what all that skin felt like. Tasted like.

Bad mutt.

"Ah, I was at the Shamrock, and Madoc made those dark chocolate truffles you said you liked, so I brought you some." He held up a sack. "In thanks for all the cooking lessons."

"Oh, wow, thank you." She took the sack. "He's only made them once before, and they're sooo good. Thank you, again."

"You're welcome. Sorry—I probably interrupted your shower." He took a step away.

"Wait."

He turned back.

"I'm sorry for snapping at you." She bit her lip. "Um, want some wine?"

Now, here was a surprise. He didn't think she trusted him enough to have him around without Fell. "I'd love some."

To his surprise, the only light in the room was from squat candles flickering on the coffee table, the woodstove fire, and a Solstice tree with blue and silver mini lights.

In front of the raised woodstove hearth was her round, emerald-green floor cushion, and a bottle of wine on the nearby coffee table. He hesitated. Candles, silky robe, wine. Was she expecting company?

The sharp pain ripping through his chest was unexpected. Because what he was feeling was…jealousy. Pure possessive " this is my female." No, actually, our Moya. Something he'd never felt before.

She waved at the room. "Sit anywhere you like. I'll get another glass."

Only one glass sat beside the wine bottle. Hmm, hadn't Ramón teased her about her pampering time with candles and wine? Was tonight a pampering night?

Where to sit? He eyed the couch, the chairs, then the seven-foot-across cushion. The coffee table had been pulled next to the floor cushion. She'd obviously planned to sit by the fire.

Sounded good to him.

He dropped down on the thick cushion. The fake fur was plush and soft. "This is more comfortable than it looks."

"I love it." She handed him a glass and moved the coffee table close enough to set the plate with the truffles on it. After a moment of hesitation, she joined him on the cushion—and the trust she showed warmed him.

He had to admit, her efforts to keep covered with the mid-thigh-length robe were as unsuccessful as they were tantalizing.

He poured wine for them both, then took a sip. "This is different." Slightly bubbly, light and delicate with a hint of strawberry flavor.

"It was a gift from when I sang at a handfasting celebration." She tasted it. "This will go great with chocolate.

Biting into one of the small truffle balls, she hummed, her pleasure so open and sexy, he hardened. She smiled at him. "Try one. Madoc makes great food."

He was more of a cake or cookie person, but okay. He chose one with drizzles of white on the dark outside. The deep chocolate taste of the shell turned even richer with the smooth ganache center. "Damn, that is good."

"Told you." She took another, alternating nibbles with sips of wine.

Muscle by muscle, Patrin relaxed under the soothing of the drink, the heat from the fire, the soft Celtic music.

For a while, they simply sat together, nibbling on the candy and drinking. A comfortable quiet, one he hadn't found with many others besides Fell.

All the same, there was a tension in the air that sure wasn't there with his brother.

A very primal tension heightened by the way the firelight glowed off her rosy skin, the way her dark hair was curling as it dried, the scent of her body.

"Oh, I need to…" She huffed out a breath. "You're going to think me crazy, but I need to oil up."

Were they speaking the same language? "Oil up?"

From the coffee table, she picked up a plastic tub. "Yes. Air in a heated building dries out skin, and I itch if I don't use this stuff after a shower." Scooping some into her palm, she started stroking it over her left leg.

"Well, we wouldn't want you to have dry skin." Unable to resist, he put two fingers in the tub, feeling a semi-solid substance, and caught the light fragrance of coconut.

As it turned liquid from the heat of his hand, he pulled her right foot into his lap and started massaging. Such a tiny foot, almost disappearing into his big hands. Since she'd stopped moving, he went on and did her left foot, then moved up to her calf.

Mmm. Her skin was satin-smooth, warm.

Her dark eyes had widened. Yet…she didn't jerk away from his touch.

He watched her face, her eyes…and continued with his task. Slow, up and down, over her leg.

Since she still wasn't moving, he switched to her right leg. "Your brother said you have pampering time when you need comfort."

Her lips tipped up in a rueful smile. "Yes, it's a pity-party of one. I was feeling sorry for myself."

"Did something happen? To make you sad?"

She snorted. "You did. You and Fell."

What? His hands still on her leg as he went back over their interactions. "What did we do?" Admittedly, they weren't particularly adept at interactions with Daonain, especially females, but how had they hurt her?

"When you talked with Bron at the warehouse, you made it clear you aren't staying in Ailill Ridge. You'll be moving on." She looked away. Her voice dropped to where he could barely hear her over the crackling fire and the soft music. "And I'll miss you both."

He closed his eyes for a moment, feeling her words pierce his chest like a thrown spear. They'd found the Scythe spy. They wouldn't be here much longer. "Yeah. We'll miss you too. I'll miss you."

After a silent moment, he continued, stroking over her knees. Her thighs. The skin was softer. Way too fucking tempting.

And if he went any farther upward, he'd be in "let's mate" territory. Perhaps not a good decision.

Swallowing, he sat back. How to retreat without being rude? "Want me to get your back?"

"Um." Her cheeks were flushed. "Sure, that'd be great. I can't reach all the places." Setting her wine on the hearth, she flattened out, belly down on the fuzzy cushion.

By the Gods, he hadn't thought this through. She wasn't wearing anything under that robe. Slowly, carefully, he pulled the satiny cloth off her shoulders, down her back. Strong shoulders. A soft waist just begging for his hands. Tantalizing dimples on each side above her hips.

No, you can't lick the dimples.

He stroked oil over her back, letting his hands graze the sides of her waist, determinedly stopping before her ass.

Blowing out a breath, he lay down on his side next to her, propping his head up on one hand. "Little wolf, I'm stopping now. Unless you want me to do your front, in which case, I'll touch…everything and everywhere, inside and out."

With his hand on her low back, he could feel her shiver. Could smell the musky, heady scent of her arousal. She obviously wanted to say yes.

But her dark eyebrows puckered together.

Oh, sprite-spit, she didn't know what to do. Her whole body felt as if it was on fire, needing…more, but a part of her was terrified.

His dark eyes grew intense. With a finger, he moved a strand of hair from her face. "Talk to me, Moya. Is your hesitation because you don't like dominant males? I'm not sure I can remove that from my personality."

A laugh broke from her at the thought, as if it could be plucked out like a stray hair. But he'd asked a question. Rolling onto her side to face him, ignoring how her bare breasts wobbled, she met his gaze. "Yes, partly. I worry about…that coercion stuff, through the pack bonds especially. It's left me wary."

"Fair enough." He rubbed his knuckles on her cheek, sending little tingles through her. "I found Brett's use of the bonds to be reprehensible. I'd never do that to anyone."

His scent, his gaze, his voice—all sang of honesty. "Really?"

He gripped her hand, laying it on his face, connecting them. "Really."

His short beard was soft under her palm. Her thumb rubbed over the sharp angle of his hard jaw. And, without thinking, she leaned forward and set her lips against his.

Breathing in his soft exhalation, she kissed him, slowly discovering what his mouth felt like. This was nice. Yes.

Then he curved his hand around the back of her head, tilting her, and taking her mouth. The kiss went right from nice into a sizzle. Every hormone in her body ignited.

"Now, little wolf, I won't use the bonds…but I am dominant, especially in mating." His smooth voice had deepened to a husky growl. "I can't turn that off. Nonetheless, if there is any time you're not comfortable with what we're doing, simply say so. I'll stop or change what we're doing. Aye?" He rubbed his bearded cheek against hers, like a cat might.

He was in charge. She could say no. It was like he was handing her all her most hidden fantasies. Her voice came out a whisper. "Aye."

His hand tightened in her hair, tipping her head back, as he took her mouth again. Not roughly, but his lips were slow, coaxing her mouth open for his tongue. His exploration was thorough even as he teased her into responding. Pulling back, he kissed her temple, her cheek, slowly tipping her onto her back. And covering her with his body, his heavy weight pinning her to the cushion.

Under her hands, his shoulders were all ripped muscle. When she buried her face against his neck, his natural woodsy scent was seductively masculine. She ran her fingers through the wavy black hair, enjoying how the silky strands reached his shoulders.

"Have you ever mated outside of a Gathering? Aside from your time with Fell?" With callused fingers under her chin, he tilted her head up, forcing her to meet his gaze.

"No. Just then and full moons. Why?"

His eyes crinkled. "You're used to being laid out and pleasured and hammered. You're a giving sort of person—you might like a change in positions and a chance to take time to see what you're mating."

"I…don't understand."

He pulled off his shirt, then rolled them both over, putting her on top, pushing her up to where she was sitting up and straddling him. "Go ahead and explore, blodyn. My body is yours. For a while, at least." His grin within the dark beard was white and wicked. "I want your hands and mouth on me."

Explore? Being with Fell had been amazing when he'd given her time to enjoy everything. And now, she'd get to satisfy her need to touch and lick and see? " Yes ." Bending, she kissed him and then began.

The long, corded muscles in his neck were perfect to nibble on. His shoulders were all hard muscle beneath her fingers. Straight dark hair dusted his pectorals.

His small, almost flat, dark nipples were very lickable with a velvety texture like his lips, and as she ran her tongue around one, his breathing hitched.

When he gripped her shoulders, she gave him an uncertain look. Should she stop?

His laugh was almost as gravelly as Fell's. "You feel so good that you're hard on my control, little wolf."

Oh, she could almost feel her nonexistent tail wag. Happily, she tugged off his jeans and knelt beside him.

With a light finger, she traced the silky line of hair over his abs downward until reaching his long, slightly curved shaft. Gods, would it even fit inside her? But, oh, she wanted to know.

Slowly, she ran her hands over his thighs, moving inward to fondle his heavy balls. The skin on them was very different. Bending, she licked over one, then the other, breathing in the heavier musky scent.

And felt him grip her thighs, turning her so her butt was angled in his direction.

Whatever. Smiling slightly, she gently curled her fingers around the shaft.

His low chuckle sounded, and he closed his fingers around hers. "Balls are sensitive, dicks not so much. I'd like it if you gripped me like this."

"Oh. Thank you." Something inside her relaxed. Some people jumped into everything and consulted directions if and when they screwed up. Others were like her and read the whole manual before beginning. Not knowing the guidelines often meant she wouldn't even start. "I like knowing what to do."

His warm hand caressed her hip—which, she realized, he'd placed conveniently for him to touch. "Good—because I like telling you."

She stroked his cock until her mouth demanded a turn. His scent was so beguiling. Licking upward, she hummed in pleasure and ran her tongue over the vein-ridged skin.

Another long lick.

His hand tightened on her hip. "Yes, good."

Fun, this was fun. And…why was doing this making her so much hotter? She was growing really, really wet.

Carefully—she figured teeth were bad—she took him in her mouth and heard a throaty groan. Gradually, she found a steady pace, going deeper each time.

Why, when she gave him pleasure, did her own female parts begin to throb?

Up and down. She braved using her tongue over the top, got another squeeze and a husky, "Keep going, little wolf."

All in, she played, licking, bobbing, even sucking. And felt his hand slide between her thighs, over her slick pussy. Stroking over her clit—and the burst of pleasure made her suck harder.

He laughed—and gripped her thighs, easily lifting her up, over his body, and settling her so his face was between her thighs.

She raised her head. "What are you…?"

Pulling her thighs open farther, he dropped her downward—and onto his face. With a hard hand, he held her there, his lips moving over her pussy, and his tongue stroking over her clit.

Gods, gods, gods ! A high whine broke from her as her need blazed like a forest fire. Her instinctive attempt to lift up met implacable hands that held her in place.

"Mmmph, you taste like dessert." He curled his tongue around her clit, over it, flickering lightly until she was so close. The pressure rose in her, inevitable as a late afternoon thunderstorm.

And then he pushed her upward, just an inch. His mouth gone. And warm breath washed over her burning, needy bits.

"Patrin." The word came out a long wail.

And the flea-bitten mongrel laughed. "I want your mouth around me, my sweet wolf. And then we'll see."

He was…ordering her? Controlling when she could have a climax? Her frustration felt angry—except everything inside her helplessly melted at his low commanding tone.

Her token growl only made him chuckle, maybe because she was obediently taking his shaft into her mouth, concentrating on him, only on him and not on how her own needs were raging.

When she wrapped her hands around him, pumping even as she sucked and licked, he made the best guttural sound. And he pulled her hips down, his tongue going to work in a devastating way, and again the pressure grew, the pleasure rising so intensely…and his tongue withdrew, his lips working her with tiny touches, keeping her right there, shuddering helplessly on the pinnacle of coming.

Her hands tightened on his cock as she wrenched her head up, panting for air in the exquisite torment. "Please, please…"

"Aye, blodyn." His lips closed tightly around her, and he licked—sucked—licked, rubbing firmly.

The sensations erupted into explosive waves of release until there was a roar of sound in her ears as the blood sang through her.

Before she recovered, he moved her, twisting up and setting her on her hands and knees. As her arms went limp, she dropped to her shoulders, her ass still up in the air.

Patrin smiled as the adorable little wolf went limp. The way she came apart under his mouth and hands was the finest thing he'd ever experienced. And how she responded when he gave her orders. It satisfied something deep inside him.

And now, they'd both enjoy the next part. He knelt between her legs, his dick so hard it ached. Leaning forward, he rubbed his chest against her back and whispered in her ear, "I'm going to take you now. Tell me yes or no."

The breathless answer was what he wanted to hear. "Yes."

He moved back onto his knees. Setting his dick against her soft warmth, he eased her open and sank into slick heat. Herne help me. "You feel"—his words came out more a growl than speech—"magnificent."

Her laugh made her clench around him and almost blew the top of his head off. Gripping her hips, he started to thrust, working into a hard, driving rhythm—and thoroughly enjoyed the way her ass globes wobbled.

Harder, faster.

Her face was flushing again as her arousal rose. She moved up onto her hands, fingers curled into the cushion, and pushed back to meet each of his thrusts.

Fuck, she felt good.

Time to add to things. He moved his right leg forward and under her, so he was kneeling on one leg with his thigh under her pelvis and her knee on the outside of his right hip. The position opened her wide—and eradicated her ability to direct anything.

She groaned as he surged in deeper—and sped up. Thrusting and rotating his hips. Oh, he could do this forever.

Her arms gave out, and she went down to her elbows.

Perfect. Lowering her leg, he went back on both knees, and leaned forward, then reached around her so he could slide his fingers over her clit. Everything spasmed around him so hard, he almost came right then and there.

Fuck. Her slickness was all over his fingers, the most wonderful feeling along with the scent of their mating. He could hear the slight whine in each breath she took as he brought her up and up. She was tightening around him. Balancing on one arm, he circled her clit with the fingers of his free hand and kept up a ruthless thrusting.

Her back muscles went tense, shivers running through her whole body, and then she came. Her neck arched; her head fell forward, and she cried out in a way that made his wolf fucking happy.

He sat back, hands on her hips, yanked her back against him, fast and hard—and released the control over his body. Heat filled his balls, sizzling through his groin and shooting out his dick. The pleasure with each jerk of his cock was incredible.

Dropping forward, he propped himself up with one hand and put the other under her belly, feeling the tremors still running through her body.

Unable to help himself, he kissed the back of her neck, the curve of her shoulder, and bit the muscle there, firmly enough he heard her suck in a breath. And felt her lose herself to another orgasm.

Yeah, she was all wolf, this one.

My wolf.

No. This is Moya, and we're not staying.

Dammit.

Silently, Fell let himself into his apartment, feeling weariness dragging at him. Being around so many people, especially humans, put his defensive instincts on high. And kept them there for hours.

The light from the kitchen appliances let him see well enough to cross the room. But wait… He sniffed, catching the faint fragrance of sex and traced it to where his littermate lay, sound asleep on the couch—as he often did until Fell got home.

But sex? Moya's scent was all over his brother.

Fell smiled, pleased beyond all measure. Patrin had gotten to see how amazing a mating could be without the overwhelming urges of a full moon. And with Moya…well, there was no one sweeter in the world.

Picking up a blanket, he started to drape it over his brother when Patrin started to growl. To shake.

Oh fuck. Fell stepped back to get out of range of fangs and fists. "Patrin. Wake up, brawd." He could feel the shimmer of an impending trawsfur.

Must be a really bad nightmare, then. He hardened his voice to the cold, brutal tone of the worst of their trainers. "Wake up, MacCormac."

Patrin stiffened, bracing for a blow even before he opened his eyes. Silently, of course. Speaking got them beaten. His gaze wasn't yet focused, but he was awake.

"Hey, brawd, you're safe." Fell kept his voice low and easy. "We're in Ailill Ridge, remember? Living across the hall from pretty Moya?"

"Moya?" Patrin sat up slowly and scrubbed his hands over his face. "Right. Sure. You were at the Bullwhacker tonight."

"And you were with Moya." Relaxing, Fell dropped into a chair next to the couch. "Did you enjoy your evening?"

Wearing jeans and a work shirt, Patrin rested his bare feet on the coffee table. Alertness had returned to his expression, although his eyes were still haunted from the nightmare. "I did. I took her some chocolate truffles from the Shamrock and found her indulging in a—what did she call it—a pity-party."

"A what?" Did that mean a bunch of her friends trying to comfort someone for something?

"Pity-party. Apparently, it means staying home and feeling sorry for yourself."

Fell laughed, then had to admit he'd indulged in that a time or two himself. "I like how she was upfront about what she was doing."

"She's…impressively straightforward." Patrin walked into the kitchen, returning with a couple of glasses of water. He handed one to Fell. "She was feeling sad because she realized when we talked to Bron we don't plan to stay in Ailill Ridge."

"Oh, by the Horned God." Fell set the glass on the coffee table with a thump. Guilt and dismay set up a corrosive burn in his blood.

"She's not angry, just sad." Patrin drank half of the water and leaned back with a sigh. "It feels strange to know someone will miss us when we're gone. Nice, but…"

Fell swallowed and admitted, "I'm going to miss her too." More than that. Whenever he thought of leaving, of not seeing her again, it felt as if someone had taken a blade to his chest.

"Yeah." Patrin gave him a perceptive look. "Yeah, I wish we could have been honest about why we're here—and even more, I…like it here. First time I felt like this. It'd be nice to be closer to Darcy. The territory has good people."

But they couldn't. For the safety of the clan, for the safety of innocents like Moya and Mateo and Alvaro, the Scythe threat needed to be eliminated. "No choice." Fell finished off his water and ran his gaze over his brother. "Another nightmare? Chester and Graham?"

"Yeah." Patrin growled under his breath. "That one and then the other. When I couldn't get them to listen."

By the Gods, couldn't a person's mind have mercy? The time with the Scythe had been brutal. Having been isolated, the young male shifters had grown to be like family. So when training started, seeing their brothers-in-spirit being hurt had been almost unendurable.

Chester and Graham had been the oldest of them all, almost a year older. Quiet, fun, and far too kind. Like all of them, their sister was held hostage for their good behavior. When they'd felt Barbara die, nothing could keep them from trying to escape. Patrin and Fell had tried, but, unlike wolves, cougars had no pack bonds for a leader to use. After cutting out the trackers in their arms, Chester and Graham ran, unaware of the second trackers, buried deeper. Locating the brothers, the Colonel and his men burned a forest to drive them out and brought the bullet-riddled bodies back to lay in front of the barracks for days.

Fell closed his eyes for a moment, trying to erase the pain.

For Patrin it'd been worse. In his brother's head, all the captive males, no matter what animal, were part of his pack, and he blamed himself for not keeping them safe.

Did all alphas share the same belief—that they should be able to save everyone?

But alphas were not gods. Not everything was under their control. Patrin knew it too…in his mind. His emotions and instincts didn't agree.

Fell reached forward and squeezed his brother's shoulder in sympathy. Not much else he could do to help.

Or…

"You might talk to Moya," Fell suggested. "She's working through something similar. Has some techniques that're helping her."

Patrin's expression closed down at the suggestion of talking about his problem, but after a moment, he tilted his head. "Something similar?" His face darkened. "Like what?"

Fell almost laughed. This might work. If Patrin worried enough about Moya, he might be willing to discuss their mutual problems. Because, as Fell had discovered, Moya wouldn't share unless Patrin did the same. "Not my story to tell, brawd. You'll have to ask her."

"You're a fucking, flea-ridden mongrel." Patrin shot him an annoyed stare, then shook his head. "I'm not going to describe the gory deaths of young shifters to a female. Especially a sheltered sweetheart like Moya."

Fell started to object. But he knew exactly what Patrin was talking about.

Young teenaged shifters, full of raging hormones, were easy to provoke, especially if a littermate was being hurt. And Patrin couldn't halt the bears or lions with the bonds. Fell shook his head, thinking of the scrawny younglings, bleeding, broken on the ground while a Scythe trainer laughed. Too many of them haunted his own nightmares. Describing them to Moya?

Yeah, no. "I understand."

But the nightmares weren't going away. Fuck, if anything, they'd grown worse for him and even more so for Patrin. Not enough sleep, too much tension.

"Guess I'll take a hot shower and try again." Patrin slapped his arm and headed to his bedroom.

Frowning, Fell rubbed the stubble on his jaw, worry gnawing a hole in his gut. Patrin needed a chance to heal, and that meant finding a life not centered around violence and the Scythe.

And there was no way in Herne's green forest that would happen.