Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

B y Herne's horns and hooves, Patrin hurt all over. He eyed the stairs at the back of their building and sighed.

Fell heard him, and a corner of his mouth tilted up in sympathy.

Yeah, they were a mess. Moya was already at the top, waiting for them.

He lifted his foot, went up one, then the next, one by one until he reached the top. Had the number of steps to their apartment doubled?

Moya followed him and Fell into their apartment. She pointed toward the bathroom. "Patrin, go shower and get the grit out of your wounds."

His protest died unspoken. Meeting Fell's gaze, he shared a rueful smile. Because the little wolf snapped out orders when she was worried. Because she cared.

As he collected a pair of sweatpants from his room, he heard her saying, "Fell, let me see how bad your head is."

His brother didn't even try to protest.

Patrin paused to listen.

"The bleeding has stopped—and you have a nice lump there. I think it's okay."

The couch creaked. She must have sat down.

"Thanks." Fell's voice was rough.

"Gods, I've been so worried. About Patrin and you."

"Me?"

Her sigh sounded exasperated. "Fell, a rock hit your head . Of course, you."

Grinning, Patrin turned on the shower and stripped off his clothes.

Looking down, he winced. Scrapes and gashes dotted one side and part of his front. The big wound on his side—that Brett had deliberately rammed—was swollen and bruised. The boggart.

Here goes. Patrin stepped into the shower.

Ow, ow, ow, fuck, ow. Yes, he needed the wounds clean, but Gods, the water felt as if it was flaying the skin off. Gritting his teeth, he washed, rinsed, and patted himself dry as gently as if he were a newborn cub.

Still… The pain was better than thinking about what he'd done tonight. About being responsible for an entire pack of wolves.

Barefoot and dressed in only sweatpants, he walked into the living room. "No Moya?"

"Went to get something for my headache." In a chair, Fell pointed to the coffee table. "Got the first aid kit for you."

"Thanks."

Fell looked him over. "Brawd, you look like a bunny that barely escaped a cougar."

Patrin snorted at the oddly accurate description.

"I have your tea." With a teapot and cup in her hands, Moya walked in and came to a sudden halt, her eyes wide. "Ohhh, Patrin, that must hurt."

He shrugged. "It's not bad." The Scythe had given them worse.

"Uh-huh," she said in a dry voice, then poured the tea into a cup. The bright, clean scent of peppermint filled the air. "This is willow bark tea and has mint and honey to cover the taste."

"Mint and honey sound good," Patrin said.

"None for you, Top Dog. It would help the pain—but would make your bleeding and bruising worse. Sorry."

"Doesn't that just figure." Grumbling just to make her laugh, he went into the kitchen and downed a couple of glasses of water instead.

As he returned, Fell took a sip—and grimaced. Apparently, her mint and honey didn't cover up the astringent taste of willow bark.

At her stern look, he obediently drank it down, looking just like a cowed puppy.

Patrin tried to smother his snicker— he did try —but Fell heard.

Oh, the frown .

Patrin lost his battle with laugher.

"You two." She bent and kissed Fell. "You're going to be fine."

"Good to know." He cupped a hand behind her head and kissed her longer.

Smiling, Patrin rubbed a hand over his chest where there was a tender ache from seeing his brother with Moya. They both felt the same about her. What did she feel for them?

Straightening, Moya picked up the first aid kit, then turned her gaze to the kitchen. "I've been wondering—what smells so yummy?"

Patrin pointed to the slow cooker on the island. After Moya taught them about the human invention, he and Fell bought one. Best purchase ever. "We made the cheesy sausage balls recipe you gave us."

In fact, the aroma of the cheesy sausage balls filling the air was making him hungry. If the food wasn't going to the Solstice potluck, it would be gone by now.

"C'mere, Patrin. Sit." Sitting on the couch, Moya patted the spot beside her.

When he joined her, she checked his wound. "Looks clean." Opening the dressings, she bandaged him up with surprising efficiency and a gentle touch.

"You're good at this," Patrin said.

"My grandfather owned a construction company—and now my brothers do. Accidents come with the business." She lightly covered the nastier gashes with antibiotic ointment. "Be careful for a couple of days. I'm sure you know the drill, right?"

"All too well." Patrin leaned down and kissed her. "Thank you, cariad ."

"You're welcome." Rising, she smiled at them. "I'm going to go shower and have a quick nap before Ramón and Zorion come over. I'll see you later."

As the door shut behind her, Fell rose. "I'm for sleep. We'll be up all night."

"Yeah, me too." Rather than heading for the bedroom, Patrin stretched out on the couch and sighed as every aching bruise and gash made itself felt. He tried to relax as he processed what had happened.

Almost getting blown up. Then his brother saving him from going over the cliff. Moya hadn't hesitated a moment before grabbing Fell. She was pretty amazing.

I could've died . How often had he dodged death? Every time, the realization stabbed icy claws into his gut. At the same time, he didn't really fear returning to the Mother. He had more fear of what his death would do to Fell. Because his littermate would probably follow.

That…hurt.

After a moment, he moved on to thinking about Brett and Caleb. If it'd been a normal challenge, he would've been expected to either let them stay or give them time to arrange to move out of the territory. So, thanks, alphahole, for trying to murder us. Kicking them out of the area immediately wouldn't be questioned.

But…fuck.

I'm the alpha. Would he end up being called an alphahole too? He sure didn't know anything about how to lead a pack.

Had never wanted to lead a pack.

I swore I'd never be responsible for others again. Did the Gods laugh when shifters made sweeping statements and included the word "never"? Because here he was, responsible for a whole pack, from cubs the age of Mateo to seniors.

Wait…

His breath stalled in his lungs. The pack actually included the littlest pups who hadn't even shifted yet. Babies and toddlers. And seniors too old to run the trails.

No, no, no. Bad enough to lead shifters who could fight, but the most vulnerable?

Narrowing his eyes, he growled. At the God.

For fuck's sake, Herne, just bite my claws off one by one. It'd be less painful.

Putting an arm over his eyes, he could swear he heard the God laughing.

Still slightly groggy from sleep, Fell unplugged the slow cooker and helped himself to a couple of the sausage balls.

I need to see if they're edible, right?

The flavor of tangy, cheesy meat exploded in his mouth. Oh yeah. These were just fine.

He raised his voice slightly. "Time to go, brawd." In fact, it was later than he'd planned.

Over on the couch, Patrin sat up and rubbed his face. He didn't look as if he'd benefited much by the quiet time.

"How are you doing?" Fell asked, knowing exactly what answer he'd get.

"Sore, but alive. You?"

Yep, that was the answer. "Good. Headache's only a throb." The nap had helped—and probably Moya's tea. "Still can't believe you're the alpha."

"Yeah, fuck." After a second, laughter lit Patrin's eyes. "If I'm alpha, you're the beta."

"What?" Fell took a step back, feeling as if his brother had yanked the fur off his muzzle. But…yes, this was the tradition. He considered it for a moment. "We'll do better than they did."

"There's a low branch to jump." Patrin rubbed his chest, over his heart. "I can feel all the pack bonds, like a tie to each wolf. Can you?"

Fell flattened his palm against his sternum, and the sensation had changed. "Yeah. Almost as strong as our littermate tie, only…different." As with the littermate one, he couldn't feel emotions or direction. Just a tie that pulled at him, creating a protectiveness for the wolves akin to what he felt for their shifter-soldiers.

This time, though, the intense emotion had sprouted immediately rather than from years together.

Patrin twisted and checked the bandage. "I think this'll hold. She did good work." He rose from the couch. "What do we wear to this festival thing?"

"Talitha said nothing fancy. We'll be outside a lot." The Winter Solstice Vigil lasted until dawn—and apparently, many Daonain stayed all night. "Bright sweaters. Heavy jackets."

Patrin eyed Fell's dark blue sweater and lifted an eyebrow.

"Brightest I own." Most of his clothing was black.

Chuckling, Patrin headed for his bedroom to dress. "At least we won't be barefoot in the snow. My feet still feel frost burned."

"No shit."

Returning in a white pull-over, Patrin grinned at Fell's snort. "Hey, white is bright."

Pulling on jackets, they headed out.

Fell stopped. "Fuck. The food."

"Right." Patrin headed back to the kitchen to rope down the slow cooker lid, put it in a blanket, and then in a carry bag.

Waiting in the hall, Fell saw Moya's door was open again. Bad habit, even if the hallway's outside door was locked.

Her brothers were in the living room with festive wrapping paper and ribbons strewn around their feet. Probably presents?

Zorion spotted him. "Hey, Fell. Happy Solstice. Are you heading to the festival?"

"Aye."

Patrin locked the door and joined Fell.

"Alpha." Zorion bowed his head slightly, and Fell heard Patrin's breathing stop for a moment. Had anyone in the pack bowed their head to Brett—or Roger for that matter?

Patrin cleared his throat. "Merry Solstice, Zorion."

"Is that Patrin and Fell?" Moya's voice came from farther inside her apartment. "Tell them to wait."

A corner of Zorion's mouth tipped up. "You heard her. Wait, please."

Fell snorted and glanced at his littermate. "You should have let her challenge."

She came out of the back dressed in her usual jeans and knee-high suede boots. And a sweater.

By the Gods. The bright red sweater embraced her full breasts in a way that made his mouth dry.

No, you can't touch. Bad wolf.

"I'm so glad you're going to the festival. How do you feel?" At their silence, she narrowed her eyes, looking them over. "Fell, how's your head?"

"Fine." At her disbelieving frown, he added, "Throbbing some."

"Patrin?"

He smiled at her. "You did a good job of bandaging it, blodyn . No bleeding."

"Okay then. I suppose a party won't send you back to the Mother." Picking up two gift-wrapped boxes from the kitchen island, she handed them to Fell since Patrin's hands were full.

Her lips were warm as she pressed a kiss to Fell's cheek. And she had the lightest scent of coconut—and cinnamon. Patrin got a quick kiss too. "You can open them tomorrow. Blessed Solstice to you both."

Presents. She gave us presents?

Fell stared at her. "We didn't get you anything."

Her brown eyes were meltingly soft. "Of course you didn't. After being apart from the clan so long, how would you know?"

In a forest green sweater, Ramón pulled on a coat. "Family and close friends exchange small gifts, usually handmade." He winked at Moya. "Or books if you own a bookstore."

Zorion waved at the coffee table. "Ramón got a book of Celtic legends, and she got me drumsticks from a woodcarver in Cold Creek.

Pointing to bottles on the coffee table, Ramón said, "Zorion makes mead and gives us our favorites."

"I like spiced mead," Moya explained. "Ramón prefers the boring traditional stuff."

Their closeness, their knowledge of each other sent a pang of envy through Fell. If only he and Patrin could have grown up differently, with their mother and Darcy, living in a territory.

Ah, well.

"Sometimes you gift something to show your wish for the person for the coming year," Zorion added, his gaze on the presents in Fell's hands.

"Next year, you'll get to join in." In her cold weather outer gear, Moya packed up a platter of savory hand pies into a carrier. "Ready. C'mon. We can all walk together."

Patrin answered for both of them. "Thanks, we'd like that."

As Fell set the presents inside their apartment, his tight shoulder muscles relaxed. He and Patrin wouldn't have to face a crowd by themselves. In fact, they'd be with the sweetest, smartest, and most intriguing female in the territory.

Carrying the bag with their potluck offering, Patrin walked down the sidewalk with Moya beside him and Fell on her other side. The moon had risen high into the night sky, spreading light everywhere.

Behind them, Ramón and Zorion were amiably discussing the pack run. "You know, I bet we could get that pretty bard to make a ballad about tonight," Zorion said.

Patrin stiffened…until Ramón added, "Maybe have her focus on Moya's attack. The bard could call it Bloodying the Beta ."

"Fairy farts and gnome guts, there will be no end to this," Moya muttered. She looked up at Patrin and Fell and batted her eyelashes. "Nice alphas and betas would wallop those two for harassing their sweet, innocent sister."

As silence fell behind them, Patrin's grin widened.

"I didn't get to bite anyone earlier," Fell said in a growling rasp. "I could make up for it now."

"Fine, fine," Ramón called, laughter in his voice. "No sweet innocent sisters will be teased tonight."

Zorian whispered audibly, "Do we know any sweet, innocent sisters?"

The good-humored bickering was what Patrin had with Fell and Darcy before the Scythe. Over Moya's head, he and Fell exchanged smiles.

At the Gathering House, a hearty older male guarded the gate. After waving the shifters before them through, he frowned at Patrin and Fell and sniffed discreetly. His gaze fell on Moya. "Ah, lass, I di'na see you there. Are the lads with you?"

"They are. Patrin, Fell, this is Morcant, who is a chef in the Shamrock."

Smiling at the Scottish accent, Patrin recognized the fiddler-player from the dance.

Moya continued. "Morcant, meet Patrin, our new alpha, and his beta, Fell."

The chef's eyes widened. "A new alpha and beta. Excellent, excellent. Your names—I know those names. You two helped with the hellhound." He was smiling so widely his eyes were almost closed. "Welcome indeed."

Fell did his usual nod and miniscule smile, leaving all the words to Patrin.

"Nice to meet you." Patrin shook the male's hand. "Staying on the good side of a chef is always worthwhile."

Morcant had a robust laugh. He started to wave them through, then stopped. "Lass, have you any food for a starving male?"

"For you, always." She stopped to dig into her bag. "I brought chicken empanadas."

A rumble of happiness came from Morcant.

Stopping inside the gate to wait for her, Fell murmured to Patrin, "Bet he's a bear."

Ramón joined them and laughed. "You'd be right. He and Madoc are always taking days off to catch fish. They go with Oran and Bridget from the bait and tackle shop."

Great, now Fell was hungry for fish.

Across the lawn was the Gathering House, a two-story clapboard with fancy-as-shit trim and a wrap-around porch where groups of shifters were hanging out.

"Fuck," Fell said in a low voice. "It's crowded." The open door revealed far more Daonain inside than had been at the full moon last month.

"Most of them are good people." Zorion gave Fell's shoulder a friendly bump. "Admittedly, the territory had problems over the past years, but André's bringing the clan together."

"With you two in charge, the pack will be rallying with him instead of fighting against his goals." Ramón added, "Thank fuck."

Surprised, Patrin stared at the brothers. So much faith in him and Fell. Exchanging glances with Fell, he sighed. "We'll do our best for you."

Because that was who they were.

When Moya joined them, they walked in and hung their jackets on hooks in the entry.

Inside, the clan house was festive with Solstice decorations. Evergreens on the fireplace mantel added a crisp fragrance to the air. In one corner, a golden sun topped an eight-foot tree bedecked with blue-and-silver sparkling lights.

Shifters in their brightest colors were everywhere. Smiles and greetings came their way…along with more than a few wary looks. At first, he thought it was because he and Fell were new to the territory. Then, he noticed how the annoyed shifters had smooth, more-than-graceful movements. The animosity came from werecats.

Brett had done more damage than Patrin had realized. This was going to have to be fixed. Somehow.

Ramón looked around. "It's good to have a territory Solstice festival again."

"Because of André." Moya linked her arms with Patrin and Fell. "Come, let's greet the Cosantir."

She tried to move forward. Neither he nor Fell took a step.

"Odd, for some reason, we don't seem to be moving forward." She looked up at him, lifting her eyebrows in inquiry.

Fuck, she was adorable. "Ahhh, as I recall, the Cosantir isn't happy with me and Fell."

Fell coughed into his hand. "…royally pissed-off?"

"That was three nights ago—long past. I'm sure he's over it by now." When the stubborn little wolf pulled, they gave in.

The Cosantir stood in front of the fireplace with Heather and his two littermates.

Meeting Patrin's gaze, Niall grinned and murmured something to André.

"How fast can you run, brawd?" Fell muttered.

Real, real fast, Patrin thought.

"Cosantir." Moya tipped her head in respect, then her smile beamed out. "I wanted to formally bring you our new alpha and beta."

André didn't appear surprised. None of the four were.

Hmm . Patrin glanced at Fell and murmured, "He already knows." Wasn't Heather one of Moya's best friends? And having a sister had taught them females communicated far better than males.

"I do know." André held out his hand, his smile warm. "I am pleased with the change in pack leadership—and that you two will remain in my territory." His handshake was firm, his gaze honest.

Patrin found himself at an unexpected loss for words. He'd half expected to be fried by the Cosantir for daring to challenge the alpha—a real member of the clan.

With a short full beard, bear-sized Madoc grinned. "I'm glad you're here, you two."

Niall's hard hand slapped Patrin's shoulder. "Glad you won, especially since you took on the beefy asshole after you were wounded."

"Are you all right?" Heather frowned at his side where the dressing bulged slightly under his sweater.

"I'm good." Patrin glanced at Fell on the other side of Moya. "And Fell's head is harder than a bighorn ram's."

"Good thing," Madoc said, then frowned. "You haven't been back with the Daonain long. Do you remember Solstice festivals from before the Scythe?"

"Not much, if at all." Patrin shook his head. "We went when we were very young. As older cubs, we didn't attend Daonain activities."

At the confused looks, Fell grated out, "My fault. My mouth ran faster than my brain, and I couldn't be trusted with Daonain secrets. It's why Mum moved us to an all-shifter village."

Patrin could hear the pain in his littermate's voice. Fell still blamed himself for being the reason they'd been in Dogwood when the Scythe destroyed the village.

André's gaze held sympathy. "This is your time to relearn our customs and make new memories."

"Cosantir." Patrin bowed his head. "Thank you for your welcome."

And for not sending us straight back to the Mother.

As if he could hear the thought, André chuckled. "Enjoy the night and the return of the sun."

The shifters in the Rainier Territory are fucking crazy. Fell came to that conclusion after they did a quick tour of the house and back yard. Every room and both sides of the outside patio had food on linen-draped tables. There were beverages, hot and cold, with older shifters supervising the alcoholic varieties.

Zorion stopped at a drink table and waved Moya and Patrin on. "Go unload your food, you two. Fell can help me here."

"Catch up with you in a bit then." Moya led Patrin toward a different table to hand over the potluck offerings.

Zorion pulled off his pack and set it down gently.

Going down on one knee, Fell pulled padded bottles out of the big pack, handing them up to Zorion. "Is this your mead?"

"Aye." Zorion was setting the bottles on the table. "This is my festival mead."

"It's fantastic stuff." The brawny, full-bearded shifter managing the spirits table held up one bottle. Fell recognized the male after a moment. Lorcan owned the wilderness tour business on the square. "I always thought mead was bland until I had some of Zorion's."

Instead of being made from grapes like wine, mead was made from honey. And that was the extent of Fell's knowledge. "I've never had any."

It'd been served in Elder Village where they'd gone soon after getting freed from the Scythe, but they hadn't been comfortable enough to imbibe. He'd still been terrified of doing something wrong and getting kicked out of the clan.

He might not have…entirely…lost that worry.

But mostly.

"By the Gods, in that case, give our new beta a taste, Lorcan." Zorion smiled at Fell. "Lorcan's a bear, by the way."

Fell nodded. "Good to meet you."

"And you." Lorcan selected two bottles. "Two tastes, you'll get, Beta. One of a traditional mead I picked up in Sawtooth Territory. The other will be Zorion's spiced mead." He handed over a heavy mug with a small sample.

Fell took a sip. It tasted like a light, frothy white wine with a sweet honey aftertaste. "Nice. Not something I'd drink for long."

"Agreed." Lorcan took the mug back, rinsed it out, and splashed in mead from one of Zorion's bottles. "Next."

Taking it, Fell sampled and smiled. Full-bodied and complex. He could taste cinnamon and cloves and something else. Again, there was a honey—and maybe citrus—aftertaste. "Now that's good."

"There we go." Lorcan took the mug and added more of Zorion's mead. After eyeing Fell's jeans, he held out a metal snap hook. "Keep the mug. Bring it with you next festival."

Surprised, Fell glanced around to see quite a few shifters had mugs clipped to their belts. "This beats drinking from plastic cups. Thank you."

Lorcan's big smile split the bushy beard. "Merry Solstice, Beta."

Beta. It felt odd to have a title for continuing what he'd done for years with the Scythe. Patrin was in charge; Fell backed him up. This was nothing new, no matter what the shifters called it. "A blessed Solstice to you."

Off to one side, Zorion was talking to a couple of older shifters.

Fell looked around for Patrin and Moya when raised voices caught his attention.

"You're stupid, smelly moggies. You don't even have a mother."

"Yeah, and we're gonna mess you up."

The youthful jeering came from a room off to one side. The voices were familiar. Pack cubs, maybe?

Toeing the door open, he walked in on four younglings.

Two were from the pack—the sixteen-year-olds whose names he'd recently learned. Vigulf and Torkil, whose mother was a bear. They were picking on two younger lads, orphan werecats from the sound of it.

Most admirably, the younger ones had their fists up and obviously planned to fight the pack bullies. Good for them. And shame on the two from his pack.

Fell's growl filled the small room, and all four cubs froze.

"Gods, it's the beta," Vigulf whispered to his brother, and both retreated a few steps.

Fell looked at the two orphans. "Our pack asks forgiveness for the rudeness of these two."

The leader of the two werecats pulled in a breath. Brave cub. "Sure. S'okay." When an elbow from his brother impacted his ribs, he hastily added, "Thank you, Beta."

Fell almost laughed. How often had he prompted Patrin that way? Moving aside, he watched them scamper out.

Now to deal with the troublesome pair. "Vigulf, Torkil, you have shamed the pack."

They moved closer together. Vigulf was shaking.

"Only cowards pick on the small and weak."

He waited until their faces flushed with humiliation before adding, "You're better than that."

They straightened slightly. Yes, they had pride. With help, they might turn into honorable shifters and good pack members.

Patrin and Fell had years of helping younglings grow.

Next…

Fell's tongue froze for a moment, but he managed to move past the block to say what he needed them to hear. "If the Daonain can't pull together, the humans will kill us all. Don't be the ones to tear us apart."

At their surprised expressions, he knew it was a concept they'd need time to comprehend. And was something he and Patrin would have to work on with the entire pack.

Because neither of them was completely convinced the Scythe were gone. Wells wasn't either, or he'd have released all the shifter-soldiers. The Daonain needed to be ready.

But these were just cubs, so he added a more immediate threat. "Next time you call werecats names, you'll repeat those insults to the Cosantir and cahirs…who are all werecats."

Vigulf's gulp was audible. Torkil swallowed hard.

Fell jerked his head. "Go."

In full panic, the two jammed up in the narrow doorway before bursting out into the bigger room.

Laughing under his breath, Fell followed them out. But his laughter died as he thought about how cubs imitated adults. He and Patrin were going to have to yank some tails over the werecat issue.

Over by the back door, Patrin and Moya waited, and they all went outside onto the wide patio. The tantalizing aroma of beef wafted from a huge grill at one end.

He studied the grounds for a moment. It was a typical Daonain property—surrounded by extensive forest. A tall wooden fence provided extra privacy for the lawn area, which had been cleared of snow for the party.

A bonfire blazed in a wide fire pit in the center of the yard. Each end of the patio and the open gazebos boasted low fire tables. With the fence cutting the cold wind, the numerous fires warmed the area. No need for heavy coats.

Around the big fire pit, the dancers wore sweaters and hoodies. From the raucous enthusiasm, they were probably nicely heated from alcohol.

"Looks like fun." Patrin rocked on his heels, gaze on the dancing.

"It really is. You can come out here and dance and talk or go inside to sing and listen to stories. And eat everywhere." Moya grinned. "Since it's the longest night, there's time to catch up with everyone and still dance and sing. You'll see."

The longest night. And they'd be here until dawn.

They could dance with Moya again.

And tomorrow was full moon and a Gathering.

Fell slung his arm over the little wolf's shoulders. He knew just who he hoped to take upstairs to share with his brother.

As he and his family stopped in the middle of the living room, André smiled at Niall and Madoc and gave Heather a slow kiss. Turning, he ruffled Sky's blond hair and squeezed Talam's shoulder.

He and his brothers had always celebrated the festivals together, but this year, they had their lifemate and two exceptional cubs with them. He hadn't realized that love simply grew sweeter when extended to more.

And he—they—now had a clan to nurture and protect.

A young cubling, who couldn't be more than five years old, ran up and wrapped his little arms around André's knees. "Cos-tore, Happy Solstice!"

"Blessed Solstice to you." Smiling, André lifted the cub high into the air, enjoying the happy squee.

"Sorry, Cosantir. He's very fast." His laughing, scolding mother accepted her giggling youngling and carried him away.

Still chuckling, André stepped up on the coffee table. The open arrangement of the downstairs living, dining, and kitchen areas made it easy for the clan to see him. More shifters stood on the stairs up to where the door to the second floor blocked off access.

"Blessed Solstice to you all. I'll keep this brief since there's dancing and singing to be done."

"And feasting," a cubling called with open enthusiasm.

"And feasting," he agreed gravely. "Tonight, the longest night ends with the return of the sun and the rebirth of Herne, the horned hunter. With our clan around us, we will keep the vigil in the dark, and as the light grows in the east, we'll sing to the gods."

The low approving murmur of his people showed they were running the same trail with him. These shared ceremonies were part of the foundation of the Daonain, and as Cosantir, he could feel the presence of each of his clan. Warmth filled his spirit.

"Since I have you here, let us welcome our newest clan members born since the last moon." He let his instincts search and find his mate. As they'd planned, Heather had moved next to Glenys. He motioned that direction. "Welcome Gruffudd and Cadfan, cubs of Glenys."

"The clan increases," came the response, with happy smiles thrown to the glowing mother.

He introduced a handful of shifters who'd received his permission to move to Rainier Territory and welcomed several who'd moved away and now returned. The increasing population was a gratifying indication the territory was becoming a happier, more rewarding place to live.

He did notice some wolves and cougars casting angry looks at each other. To have animosity at a festival… It was concerning.

But there was hope for the future…

He smiled at the two shifter-soldiers Herne had reclaimed from the human spymaster. "Many of you have met Patrin and Fell, two of our brave shifters who risked their lives to kill a hellhound. Earlier this evening, they became our wolf pack's new alpha and beta."

There was a moment of silence from those who hadn't heard the news. And then such a gale of cheering that the two males froze in surprise.

They were only in their mid-twenties, but their eyes were old. Their youth had been stripped away many years ago. André couldn't give them back their youngling days, but he'd do his best to ensure the rest of their lives would be filled with joy.

"Congratulations, Alpha and Beta." He smiled at them. Courageous, honest, and still somewhat unsure of their welcome. They'd learn.

And they would be good for his clan.

"Blessed Solstice to you all."

The Daonain called blessings back to him as he jumped off the table—and snagged Patrin before he could disappear into the crowd. "Alpha, perhaps a word?"

The young male stiffened. "Of course, Cosantir." He turned to his littermate and Moya. "Have fun. I'll find you in a bit."

Fell's brows drew together, and he didn't move. André could sense his protectiveness rising.

"Fell, I won't hurt your brother," André said gently.

Both Patrin and Moya appeared shocked. No one questioned a Cosantir, but Fell met André's gaze with a nod of acceptance. And gratitude.

"Shall we step outside where it's quieter?" Without waiting for an answer, André snagged a cup of hot spiced cider on the way out through the living area. Patrin did the same, and they walked out onto the wrap-around porch.

"What's up?" Patrin asked.

André leaned a hip against the railing, using the senses of a guardian as he looked at the dark-haired, dark-eyed male. Patrin hadn't even reached thirty in years, but experience and trauma had aged his spirit. This new alpha had ample compassion, protectiveness, and honesty. Yes, he would do very well.

If he didn't get overwhelmed…

André took a sip of cider. "Last fall, Niall went missing. Madoc and I found him in Ailill Ridge. We were ready to return to Canada, but Herne decided to replace the current Cosantir. With me."

Patrin's eyes widened. "And I thought I felt out of place."

" Oui. I was probably as surprised to have the job dumped in my lap as you were earlier today."

"Yeah. That sounds about right." Patrin thumped his head against a porch post. "I'm not prepared for this. Gods, me and Fell barely know how a pack works."

"You will learn." André laid his hand on Patrin's shoulder and could feel the simmering frustration and fear. "Your pack is dancing with joy at getting you and Fell for their leaders."

Patrin looked startled, then happiness lit his eyes.

"I am pleased as well. Brett caused problems between the wolves and cats. I hope we can work to heal the division."

"Agreed. I'll be talking to the wolves"—Patrin sighed—"my wolves and letting them know that going after cat shifters isn't permitted. It'll take some work and time."

"But no hunt can begin without putting a paw to the trail." André nodded. "Keep me informed, and let me know how I can help."

"Of course, Cosantir." Patrin's frame was no longer tense. "And thanks."

Moya had never enjoyed a festival so much. Oh, she'd had fun at previous Daonain events, which she'd attended with her brothers and friends. This time…

Well, she tried to tell herself Fell and Patrin were just friendly neighbors.

But one of them usually had an arm over her shoulders or around her waist or, like now, a hand pressed against the small of her back to guide her into the house. Patrin's palm was warm, just above her ass, keeping her moving forward.

She didn't like being pushed around, didn't like being dominated. But somehow, when he did, her heart tripped a little faster. Although surrounded by noisy people and music, she could hear only his smooth baritone, feel his hand and the brush of his hard body against hers.

Fell had the same effect.

This felt almost like a full moon heat—only the full moon was tomorrow—and Patrin and Fell were the only males impacting her senses like this.

So confusing.

"Back in a minute," Fell said and disappeared into the kitchen.

What was he up to? And where were they going?

As they waited by the back door, Cosette walked over. "Alpha, I'm so glad you're here." Her plump lips in a pout, she looked up at him. "I didn't get a chance to talk to you at the pack run."

Moya started to move away, but Patrin's arm around her tightened. He studied Cosette for a moment as if trying to remember her name. "Is there a problem we need to discuss?"

"There is." Cosette pushed her long brown hair over her shoulder. "I'm the alpha female. There are many, many things to discuss."

Oh, fairy farts. None of them had remembered the alpha female. It wasn't as if Cosette or the previous ones made much of an impression on the pack. However, pack bonds usually drew the alpha male and female together, at least with a strong alpha female.

No telling what would happen with an ineffectual alpha female, but Moya could sure see what Cosette wanted to happen. Even though Patrin had his arm around Moya, Cosette was flirting for all she was worth.

Patrin cleared his throat. "This isn't the time or place for serious discussions. Perhaps later, when Fell and I have our paws situated, we'll see what's what."

He nodded to Cosette and guided Moya around the startled female. Away from the door, through the kitchen, across the smaller living room.

Moya planted her feet. "Patrin, you're wandering around the house like a squirrel who forgot where he buried his acorns. Why don't we go back outside?"

Laughter lit his eyes. Honestly, the male found almost everything amusing.

"I was escaping the female, not wandering." He tapped her chin with a finger. "And we're inside because you're chilled, blodyn . We needed to keep you where it's warm for a while."

Her mouth dropped open. The three of them had been outside, nibbling on meat hot off the grill, sampling various meads, and dancing. So much fun.

And now…they'd come in because of her ?

As Patrin stopped in the great room, Fell reappeared. "Found you." He handed her a mug. "This should help."

She took a sip. The heat went straight to her stomach and set up a hearth fire there. The hot chocolate had more than a splash of alcohol. "Wow."

Fell grinned, an actual full grin so devastating it blasted more heat through her than the drink.

"Sounds like there's storytelling in the smaller living room." Patrin moved her forward. "Let's go in there."

She shook her head. The males enjoyed dancing, and they weren't cold. "You don't have to stay with me, you know. I can?—"

"Did you want to visit with your friends instead?" Patrin asked softly, his gaze intent.

"No, I mean I can, but I don't want to keep you from?—"

When he smiled, the dark beard made his teeth look very white. "Little wolf, we're enjoying your company. Aye, brawd?"

"Aye."

When Fell ran a hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ear, her stomach quivered.

Climbing him like a tree and kissing him would be inappropriate. Tomorrow though…

Around the living room fireplace, a semicircle of cubs and adults lounged on floor cushions. An empty couch stood to the right of the hearth. Since this was the storyteller room, the only lighting came from the flames and the candles on the mantel.

Talking in a voice pitched just loud enough to reach the edges of the room, Ramón sat in a chair to the left of the fire.

He'd told her once that entertaining at festivals with traditional Daonain tales was his way of giving back to the clan and the gods. Although everyone considered his story-telling talent a gift from the Gods, he laughed at the idea.

She agreed with the clan.

The fireplace seats were always reserved for the storytellers…and their help. Taking their hands, she drew Patrin and Fell forward with her and settled them all on the long couch.

Without interrupting his tale, Ramón smiled, picked up her guitar from where it leaned against the wall, and handed it to her.

Ignoring Patrin's and Fell's puzzled expressions, she cocked her head. What story was her brother telling?

Ah, the early tale of the Death Gift, one of his favorites. And so sad.

Pushing her hair out of the way behind her shoulders, she started softly strumming and finger-picking minor chords. Adding to the atmosphere.

Ramón continued, his voice soft but clear:

As the sword stabbed into Feradach's side, his back legs gave out. With the last of his strength, he ripped his sharp claws across the soldier's throat. Ending his life.

Trawsfurring to human, Feradach collapsed.

"Nay!" That was Colbán's voice. He was one of the humans fighting beside the Daonain against the invaders.

He blinked the blurriness from his eye as the young man dropped to his knees beside him.

"No, no, no. None of the doctors are yet alive." Frantically, Colbán ripped the undersleeve from beneath his chainmail tunic and pressed the fabric against Feradach's wound.

As pain swept over him, Feradach bit back a groan. "Did we win?"

"We won, my friend. Your forests and your clan are safe."

For now. The humans called Romans weren't going to stop.

The problem was no longer one Feradach could solve. He could feel his breath coming hard even as coldness crept up his hands and feet.

The Mother was calling him home.

Yet one last duty remained to him—a gift he could leave for his clan.

This human, Colbán, had kept the secret of the Daonain. Had proven himself in battle.

The warrior had courage and a true heart.

It was hard, so very hard to move. Jaw clenched against crying out, he forced his hand to lift. Pain ripped at him like wolf's fangs tearing into his side.

His memory gave him the Elder's voice, whispering the ancient ritual.

His whisper sounded hoarse. "Fire in the blood." Blood—he had that in plenty, spilling from numerous cuts and the jagged hole in his side.

Colbán gripped his hand. "Don't move, Feradach. I'll?—"

"Water from tears," he whispered and touched his blood-covered fingers to his tear-dampened cheek.

"And earth is the dirt we walk on." His body lay on the Mother's sweet ground. It only needed a small movement to press his hand into the damp soil.

Gods, the pain... Herne help him, but it hurt .

Casting off his body and returning to the Mother would be a blessing.

Not yet. The Daonain had lost too many. They couldn't afford the loss of another warrior.

I will do this for my clan.

"Take my breath for the living air." The world had grown so very dark. He squinted, trying to see.

There, a long slash ran down Colbán's forehead.

Feradach lifted his hand, seeing it shake. Finally, he touched Colbán's face, pressing his fingers streaked with dirt, tears, and blood into Colbán's wound.

The human warrior flinched at the pain but didn't draw away. "My friend, help is coming. I'll get you to the next village and?—"

Feradach tried to smile at how Colbán called him friend.

Daonain didn't befriend humans. Yet this young male had fought beside him over the last bloody days, each saving the other's life more than once. "Aye, it is right. My friend . A charge I lay on thee—that you care for my clan."

"No, Feradach. Stay…" The young human protested the inevitable as his eyes glossed with tears. And then his jaw turned firm as he accepted the charge. "I will. You have my word."

Sweetness swept through Feradach as the Mother accepted his choice…as She awaited the final part of the gift.

He would hold nothing back.

With his last breath, he whispered, "And I seal it with my spirit."

As he let go, and the Goddess' arms closed around him, he felt only joy.

The clan loses one—and gains another.

As Ramón fell silent, Moya felt her own eyes burning. As she softly played an accompaniment in a melancholy minor key, she swallowed against the thickness in her throat.

Out in the room, firelight gleamed on tear-dampened faces. Cubs sobbed. Those in animal form huddled closer together. On each side of her, she heard soft huffs as the shifter-soldiers battled their own tears.

She finger-picked the last few notes to end the story in music and softness. Setting a hand on her guitar, she smiled at her brother. As a pup, Ramón had terrified her and Zorion with scary stories, reduced them to helpless laughter, or made them cry with his tragic tales.

The years had only improved his skill.

"Thank you, Ramón, for the story." Heather walked through the audience and took a seat on the raised fireplace hearth. "Blessings be upon Colbán and werecat Feradach who were shining examples of the Death Gift. After his First Shift, Colbán was a fierce warrior in defense of the Daonain. He lived many years—and sired more than one litter of cubs."

What excellent timing Heather had. The younglings could use some lighthearted talk to recover. Moya winked at her friend, then raised her voice. "Hey, cubs. Did anyone tell you that the Cosantir in the North Cascades has a mate who received the Death Gift?"

"Really?"

"She was human before?"

"I didn't think that was real."

So many murmurs, including from some adults. She turned to Heather. "You're friends with Vicki, right?"

"You are a thistle-thorned troublemaker," Heather said under her breath, but she was one of the finest females ever, so with a big smile, she added loudly, "Yes, Vicki and I are friends."

Little faces lifted, and the younglings in animal form perked up their ears. Patrin chuckled, saying softly, "So cute and filled with curiosity."

Tilting her head, Moya asked Heather, "Since Vicki had never even heard of the Daonain before she was Gifted, did she have a hard time?"

"Oh, did she." Heather laughed, long and hearty. She leaned forward…and her audience did the same. "Humans can't see OtherFolk at all, so when she suddenly started seeing pixies and then dwarves, she thought she was going crazy."

Cubling giggles were the most infectious sounds in the world.

"As it happens, humans usually only have one cub at a time. When we told her she'd have at least two, she had a hissy fit." Heather snickered. "She ended up with a litter of three."

More giggles.

Really, Moya sympathized with the poor Cosantir's mate. Three cublings would be a pawful.

"What about mates?" a teenaged female cub asked. "Don't human women only mate—marry—one male?"

"That's right." Heather rolled her eyes. "You would think a Cosantir and a cahir could handle telling a female half their size about Daonain full moons and mating and lifemating—but nooo , they begged me to tell her. She did not take it well. So much cursing."

"Didn't I hear the female was a soldier when she was human?" Talitha asked from the side where she sat with Eileen.

"Humans let their females be soldiers?" Quenbie, an older wolf, asked in a scandalized tone.

"They do. Since they have as many females born as males, they're not nearly as protective," Claire retorted. The young female had fought some battles of her own to get Daniel to hire her as a ranch-hand. "Besides, our females can be soldiers after their child-bearing years. Look at Bron."

Quenbie subsided with a few huffs.

Patrin murmured to Fell, "I thought you and I had trouble adapting to Daonain traditions. I wonder how many times an ex-human soldier butted heads with the more hidebound Daonain traditionalists."

Moya frowned. "But humans have traditions, don't they?"

"Theirs are more…diverse," Fell said.

When he didn't continue, Patrin elaborated. "Various human groups have different religions, different languages. Even within one religion, they argue about what their god really said. All Daonain, though, follow the same trails as our ancestors."

"Huh." Moya considered that. "I fight against the customs sometimes, but mostly, I like our well-worn paths."

"Yeah." Patrin's voice lowered as he murmured to Fell. "In spite of being a stranger and ex-human, Vicki managed to find her place with the Daonain."

Moya turned her attention back to the group, her heart aching for the two shifter-soldiers. Because she could hear unspoken dreams in the roughness of his voice.

Yes, my shifter-soldiers, there is a place for you here. With us.

Still sitting on the hearth, Heather hadn't stopped answering questions. "From what I've seen, human gods don't speak to their followers, let alone step in and render judgments. Perhaps Vicki's biggest surprise was how active Herne and the Mother are."

"Like the touch of the Mother when we shift?" one cub asked, having recently experienced her own First Shift.

"Exactly like that." Heather nodded.

"That means the Death Gift really works." Sitting beside his littermate, Talam, Sky's blue eyes were wide with wonder.

"It does. A young male was dying, and he didn't want to leave his grandfather without any family—so he gave Vicki the Death Gift to give Thorson someone to love." Heather's eyes went shiny for a moment. "Now she's lifemated, and Thorson is caomhnor to one of the three adorable cubs she's given her clan. He's part of a family again."

At the soft murmuring and awww s, Moya smiled at her friend who'd taken Ramón's lesson of the Death Gift and shown why the ritual was so very important to the Daonain.

There might come a time these younglings would need to remember it.

The night had been long yet…special, Fell thought as he walked beside Moya with his arm around her waist. Patrin walked on her other side as they joined the flow of the shifters out the back door, across the patio, and onto the lawn.

Shifters spread out around the lawn, forming circles around the fire pit, facing outward. A salamander, half-submerged in the still-glowing coals, poked its head up to watch.

With Moya between them, he and Patrin took the hands of the shifters on their other sides, and in silence, waited. Each breath of air brought the lingering scent of smoke, the crispness of snowy mountains, and the tang of evergreens.

In the west, the setting moon outlined the tops of the mountain peaks. The fires had been smothered and lanterns extinguished. Darkness filled the night.

And then…slowly…the skies lightened with the grayness of pre-dawn.

Fell realized he'd been holding his breath in the taut silence.

A line of gold tipped the white peaks to the east, and inch-by-inch, the bright ball of the sun appeared.

On the patio, a drum began to beat. A flute trilled in a welcome, and then Moya's clear, bright voice rose in the traditional "Welcome" song.

In the east, the sun is rising…

The circles were moving, the footsteps simple.

With the second repetition of the song, Fell joined along, welcoming and rejoicing in the return of the light. The steady drumbeat, the music, and the rhythmic steps drew him into a different place, opening his soul to the others around him and even to the presence of the gods.

And as the light crested the mountain and spilled over their circles, he felt part of the Daonain, part of everything.