Chapter 24

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I n the Wild Hunt Tavern in Cold Creek, Arthur Wells rubbed his aching shoulder. Earlier, at dawn, finishing his daily PT with a jog, it'd been so damn cold. He had to keep telling himself: You don't have to like it; you just have to do it.

Across the table from him, Joe Thorson raised bushy gray eyebrows.

Wells gave the grizzled shifter a sour look. "No denying it; I'm getting older."

And humans aged—and died—much sooner than the Daonain. Although they looked about the same age, Thorson was probably at least three decades older. If they managed to die of old age, they'd go out about the same time.

A tall, leathery-faced man was approaching and laughed. "The alternative is worse. Be grateful you've survived long enough to feel the aches."

Wells tilted his head. "Good point."

"Leland, Happy New Year. It's been a long time." Thorson shoved a chair out. "Plant your tail and tell us what you're doing down from Elder Village."

Wells studied the man who had a few claw marks on his hands and forearms—nothing like Thorson's set of nearly weblike scars. Leland appeared older than Thorson, which made sense if he lived in Elder Village—an off-the-grid, isolated mountain haven for older shifters.

Leland tilted his head back slightly, his nostrils moving as he scented the air. He shot Thorson a reproving glare.

Ah, he realized Wells was human.

Thorson growled a laugh. "Down, dog. Meet Arthur Wells. Your grandchildren might've mentioned him?"

"They did indeed." Leland took a seat and examined Wells with sharp eyes. "You helped free Averi, Kennard, and Fletcher from the Scythe."

Ah. He didn't know the girl, but who could forget the two young men? Cat shifters. Wells smiled slightly. They'd thrown a fit when Wells refused to recruit them. "Fletcher and Kennard are fine young men. For their age, they're quite deadly."

"They said the same about you." Leland lifted his beer to Wells. "You'd have made a good Daonain warrior."

Imagining himself with furry ears and a tail, Wells almost laughed. Instead, he said, diplomatically, "With our operation finished, I hope the young men can all move from soldiering to peaceful pursuits."

And he envied the former captives for being young enough to have a chance at a balanced life. It was good the Rainier Territory Cosantir had reminded him of this.

He didn't regret devoting his life to serving his country. He'd been needed, had accomplished what others might not have, and had made it possible for civilians to live without fear.

Yet he could now see—as he hadn't in his youth—he would have enjoyed a bit of peace himself.

"It's good to have them back and safe." Leland had a smile on his weathered face. "In fact, I wouldn't mind seeing a few great-grandchildren before I return to the Mother."

"Return to the Mother. What kind of scat is this? You're not that much older than I am," Thorson's raspy voice was almost a growl.

It took Wells a moment to remember that return to the Mother was the shifter's term for dying. The Daonain had a goddess along with a god. Actually, being welcomed home by a Mother Goddess sounded far more comforting than any male God's reception.

"Don't go yowling at me, mouser." Leland grinned at Thorson's glare, then his smile faded. "When Helen died, I would've let the forest take me, but my grandchildren are still working through their past as captives. That's why I'm here—I spent Solstice with Averi. Friday, I'm visiting Kennard and Fletcher in Ailill Ridge. Thankfully, an old friend is lending me his cabin, so I don't have to stay in the ranch bunkhouse."

"Seeing cubs grow, watching the clan increase. Worth a few aches and pains," Thorson said gruffly.

Wells could hear pain in the werecat's rough voice. The last of Thorson's blood had died three years ago, tortured by humans.

"Truth there. I hear you're caomhnor to one of the Cosantir's younglings," Leland said.

The deep lines in Thorson's face lessened with his smile. "Toren, best cub ever." He nudged Wells with his shoulder. "This is one of the very few humans chosen to be a caomhnor. His Artair is almost as brilliant as Toren."

Leland's laugh was hearty. "Spoken like a true caomhnor. " He raised his glass. "To our younglings."

Wells clinked his glass against the other two. He'd never thought to be involved with children. But one of his covert operatives, Sergeant Victoria Morgan, had somehow become the daughter he never had. When she called on him to help raise her son, it'd been one of the finest moments of his life.

His one-year-old godson, Artair, was delightful, with the sergeant's big brown eyes and dark hair. He also possessed an excellent command voice when it came to demanding food.

Is it any wonder I spend so much time in Cold Creek these days?

Crossing the parking lot to the Wild Hunt Tavern, Patrin was dragging more than a little. He was grateful they'd slept late this morning—and even more so to have woken up with Moya in his arms, all soft and female and welcoming. He and Fell had made love to her again, slow and sweet.

Yeah, made love was the right term, because he fucking loved her. So did Fell.

And she'd said she loved them. By the Gods. At the time, his heart had felt too full for words.

He rubbed his chest. Still did.

Okay, okay, focus, wolf. They hadn't driven all the way to a different territory for Patrin to spend the time daydreaming.

At supper, Darcy had noticed he was distracted although, thankfully, she hadn't figured out why. After the grief he and Fell gave her when she fell in love, she'd be far too delighted to deal some back.

It was good to see her with her two lifemates though. She looked…happy, really fucking happy.

As he walked through the door, he glanced at his brother and almost grinned. I'm not the only one daydreaming. And wasn't it great to see how relaxed Fell looked, even in a busy tavern?

Nik had closed the Bullwhacker today, saying the people who liked to drink would be hungover from last night, and few would show up on New Year's Day.

But the Wild Hunt Tavern in Cold Creek, run by the Cosantir of the North Cascades Territory, had a family feel almost like the Shamrock Restaurant in Ailill Ridge. People weren't here to drink as much as to be with friends.

Over the past year, Patrin and Fell had been here a couple of times when visiting Darcy. It was a good place.

He breathed in the scents of beer and wine and roasted nuts. A couple of big guys in thick sweaters were playing pool in the alcove to the right. To the left, a group of females sat in front of the massive fireplace while two salamanders danced in the flames. More people dotted the tables and chairs in the center of the room.

"We should pay our respects to the Cosantir." Patrin headed toward the long, dark oak bar at the back where Calum was manning the bar.

Fell lowered his voice. "Wells is here."

"Yeah?" Patrin followed his gaze. If the Scythe were finished, no need to ignore the spymaster, so he tipped his head slightly.

Wells gave them a chin-lift of acknowledgement but didn't wave them over. Good enough. The spymaster had undoubtedly picked up they were here with a purpose and not to socialize.

The Cosantir was Fell's height with an olive complexion, black hair, and gray eyes. "Congratulations to you, Alpha and Beta. I'm pleased you're moving forward in life."

After checking that no one was within hearing, Patrin bowed his head in respect. "Thank you, Cosantir."

"Cosantir." Fell did the same.

"I believe you're here to see Shay and Zeb?" Calum poured two draft beers, the same he and Fell had enjoyed on their previous visits. The male had an uncanny memory. And with his English accent and aristocratic features, it seemed as if the male should be lording it over some castle rather than tending bar in a rustic mountain tavern.

"We are." Patrin leaned on the bar. "André told you we were coming?"

"Aye. We talk now and then. It's a pleasure to have Rainier Territory in competent and committed hands."

Patrin knew exactly what Calum meant. Rainier's previous Cosantir had apparently been damn lazy before descending into criminal behavior, and then he'd gone feral.

Patrin had been there that day. Had to say, crazy-as-shit bears were damn terrifying.

Calum handed over the tall mugs and glanced at the door. "There the cahirs are now."

Patrin turned.

Shay, the North Cascades alpha, was also a cahir, which meant tall and brawny. Clean-shaven with shaggy brown hair, he had had a battered face much like a human prize-fighter.

His beta, Zeb, was also a cahir and a good six-five. Looking as if he had some Native American blood, he wore his straight black hair past his shoulders. Scars covered his neck and hands.

Spotting them, Shay pointed to an unoccupied table in one corner.

As Patrin nodded, Calum said, "I'll bring their beers over in a minute."

At the table, Patrin bowed his head slightly before sitting. "Thank you for seeing us."

"Our pleasure. We alphas have to stick together." Shay's deep smooth voice had the old-fashioned Gaelic accent Patrin had occasionally heard in Elder Village. "Congratulations on taking the pack. From Brett, we heard?"

"Aye. The minute Roger got hurt and was at a disadvantage, Brett challenged him—and won."

"Brett's a cowardly mutt. Glad he's gone." Zeb gave off a deadly vibe—even worse than Fell's.

"Neither alpha did well by the pack." Fell pulled out a chair and took a seat.

"And that's part of the problem." With a sigh, Patrin ran a hand over his face and realized he hadn't shaved earlier. Because he'd been kissing sweet Moya—and more. He almost smiled at the memory before mentally kicking himself back onto the trail. "As alpha and beta, we're not sure exactly what to do."

"Figured that was it," Zeb muttered to Shay, then rose. "Wait."

Patrin watched him walk over to the females by the fireplace, take one by the hand, and lead her back to the table. The golden-haired, blue-eyed female had curves almost as pretty as Moya's.

"Good idea, Zeb." Shay rose and held a chair for her. "Breanne, do you remember Darcy's brothers, Patrin and Fell?"

"Oh, I do. Before last summer solstice, you gave us lessons on how to fight." She smiled at both of them.

Patrin smiled back. The fighting lessons here had given them the idea of what to offer for reciprocity for Moya's cooking classes.

Shay lifted Breanne's hand, showing the lifemating bracelets. "Our lifemate is the pack's alpha female. They're here for advice, Breanne."

"Rumors are true. They took the Rainier pack," Zeb told her.

Her eyes widened. "Oh, congratulations."

"Leading a pack wasn't even remotely on our wish list." Patrin slugged down some beer. "Especially since we have fuck-all for experience in even being part of a pack. And we might not feel like it, but we're a lot younger than most wolves when they become alphas."

"You—" Shay started to speak and stopped.

Patrin startled.

The Cosantir had managed to walk up to the table without anyone hearing. As he set beers in front of Shay and Zeb, the god's power shimmered around him like heat waves off concrete.

A cold chill ran up Patrin's spine.

The Cosantir's eyes were still gray, but shades darker, as he studied Patrin and Fell with a penetrating gaze. "You are, indeed, young in years. However, adversity has aged you. Although you lack experience with a wolf-only pack, you led and protected your shifters in hazardous conditions for years. In attacks. Even in death. You have been tested in ways far older alphas have not. Leading your pack is quite within your capabilities, Alpha and Beta."

Leading. Protecting. Yes, that was what they had done. The knot of worry in Patrin's gut loosened.

Tilting his head slightly, the Cosantir prowled away.

Yeah, he was definitely a cat.

"He's right," Shay said. "Leading is leading. But you were in charge of healthy young males. A pack is more diverse, so let's discuss the older members, the unhealthy ones, the females and cubs. What you should do for them and also what a good alpha female should do."

For the next few hours, they talked about pack dynamics, new members, exiles, discipline. And how to care for all the members.

Breanne elaborated on the responsibilities of an alpha female, especially for the females and cubs.

Shay took her hand and added, "The alpha female can unite the pack far more than any male."

Zeb gave a grunt of agreement.

And their blonde wolf blushed a pretty red.

Patrin glanced at Fell. "No question of who we want as our alpha female. Hell, she's already doing a lot of the work, just because that's who she is."

Breanne gave them a quizzical look. "I don't understand. Where did the previous alpha female go? When Shay took over, he basically inherited the alpha female." Her expression hardened. "I had to challenge her. If you're not life-mated, the decision isn't yours."

"Yeah, that was a mess." Zeb's brows drew together, and he asked Patrin, "Who is your alpha female now?"

"Ahhh…" Patrin looked at his brother for help.

Fell shrugged and offered, "Deidre maybe?"

"Who knows? Maybe the one named Cosette, who is just there to flirt her tail."

Breanne snorted then held up her hands when everyone looked at her. "Sorry, but I know exactly the type of female you're talking about."

"I'm afraid you don't get to pick an alpha female," Shay said. "You can throw your weight behind your choice, but it's ultimately up to the females."

Patrin nodded. Made sense, even if the previous Rainier alphas had seemed to pick and choose as they wanted. Then again, perhaps the smarter females hadn't wanted to be in a partnership with Brett or Roger and hadn't bothered to get involved.

Eventually, Patrin got a chance to ask the question that had nagged at him since last night. "What do you know about pack bonds? How do they work? What are the guidelines?"

"Well…" Shay frowned as he considered. "First, both male and female alphas can exert control, although the male has more impact. The effect is immediate and short-lived."

Thank fuck, Patrin thought, or a young Moya would've been stuck with the mangy-tailed alpha in Stanislaus Territory.

Shay added, "How strong the command is depends upon the alpha's strength, how long he's been alpha, and how connected to the pack the receiver is."

Ah, and this was another reason Moya avoided the pack and made up her own group with Heather and Talitha.

"Are some alphas better at using the bonds? Even if they aren't good leaders?" Fell asked, brows drawn together.

"Hmm. We saw that in an Idaho territory." Shay glanced at Zeb and received a confirming nod. "One mediocre alpha had a lot of strength in the order he gave with the bonds."

"And from the other end?" Fell leaned forward. "Are some wolves more receptive—or susceptible?"

Patrin turned to stare at his brother. Was he thinking Moya was especially susceptible to bonds?

"Can't answer you there," Shay said. "Mostly because, like a lot of alphas, I rarely use them."

"I can't not use the bonds. If I must stop someone to protect them, I need to be able to do it," Patrin said. A few times with the Scythe he'd managed to keep hotheaded wolves from attacking the teachers, from dying. And when he couldn't, as with Chester and Graham, the cats or bears died. The memory of blood-covered bodies swept over him, suffocating him like a thick smoke.

Fell's shoulder bumped his, jolting him back into the present.

By the Gods. "Sorry, bad memories."

"Happens." It was Fell who answered, but Shay and the beautiful blonde female nodded, dark understanding in their eyes.

"Taking a new trail." Fell motioned toward Breanne's bracelets. "We didn't learn about lifemating as cubs. And, last year, I…ah… wasn't always attentive to the Elders."

"Because you'd barely gotten free of the Scythe." Shay picked up his beer and finished it. "It's a wonder you even functioned at that point."

"We…struggled a lot those first few months," Patrin admitted. "All of us did." They'd all dreamed of being free, but their freedom was followed with days of depression, anger, withdrawal. It'd taken months to reach a balance.

But they had.

Pulling in a breath, Patrin picked up the hunt for the answers he and Fell wanted. "So, our sister lifemated Gawain and Owen. We saw them ask her and still don't understand how it works. Or where the bracelets come from. Owen and Gawain didn't have any when they asked her."

"Ah, now." Shay's eyes lit. "Lifemating is special. Many shifters have mates they love and live with. They may or may not stay together. They're still required to attend Gatherings. A lifemating, though, binds your souls together for this life, and some say into the next. When a blademage makes the bracelets, if the lifemating is true, the Mother blesses the bracelets."

Breanne added, "Gawain is our blademage. He didn't have the bracelets when they asked because he wanted to make them with Darcy and Owen present."

"Usually the males—or occasionally the female—will get the bracelets before asking." Shay's smile held more than a hint of reminiscence. "It's a test of character in a way. Telling the blademage you've found the female who holds your heart for all time. Even before you ask her."

Breanne's eyes filled with tears, and she kissed Shay and Zeb. "I love you two."

Patrin had to look away, even as his throat tightened.

By the Mother's grace, this is what I want. Moya with me and Fell for all our lifetimes and into the next.

Fell's eyes held the same longing. "Visit Darcy…and talk to Gawain, the blademage?"

Patrin nodded, his voice coming out rough. "Let's go test our character."