Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

F ull moon, Ailill Ridge, Rainier Territory

"Leave. Me. Alone ." Moya almost vibrated with the need to lash out at the smug-faced, greasy-haired male who just wouldn't back off. Did Brett think his persistence would eventually get her to mate with him?

I'd rather have sex with pond scum.

Sure he was big and brawny, so he captured a fair amount of interest from females. He was also a vicious bully. Even worse, when she was near him, she could feel the crawling sensation of him trying to exert control over her through the pack bonds. Thank the gods the hateful male was only a beta and not alpha of the pack.

"You need to listen to me." Moving in far too close, he grabbed her arm.

Knocking his hand away, she spun and hurried outside.

On the wraparound porch, she braced her hands on the railing, drawing in long breaths of the wonderfully crisp, cold November air. Such a relief after the musk-laden stink inside.

Thank the Mother of All, the Gathering is over.

One more, way-too-long full moon night.

Wow, jaded much? At twenty-four? There were some females far into their child-bearing years who eagerly anticipated the monthly full moon heat and all the matings that went with it.

Not me.

Sure, the gatherings were needed to encourage mating and mix up the gene pool, but the actual sex stuff? As far as she was concerned, it was:

Find an adequate male.

Scratch the "itch."

Move on.

She was always polite, of course, because the males were just as influenced by their hormones as she was. Then again, she might react a bit worse than others when being pushed into stuff—even if it was by the gods.

With a sigh, she stretched her arms up and out, looking out at the beginning of a new day. Although the moon had set behind the white-topped mountains, the stars still hung in the slowly brightening sky. Nice and clear. Finally.

Because of the last two days of sleet and strong winds, Roger had rescheduled the wolf pack's monthly run. Not that Moya cared what the boastful, overbearing alpha did. She and Heather and Talitha did their own mini pack runs. None of them could stand Roger or his bullying betas.

Speaking of Talitha... Her fellow co-owner of Espresso Books was down on the lawn, kissing her mate, Eileen, goodbye.

Moya grinned. Such a cute couple. "Hey, Talitha."

"Female." A heavy hand gripped her shoulder.

Startled, panicking, she spun. "Fang off, Brett!"

The male loomed over her, resurrecting nightmarish memories .

The alpha's hand hitting her face. His roar of ? —

Panic flared up so fast her chest hurt. Her left fist shot out, and she punched him with all her might. Her knuckles impacted rock-hard abs.

She sucked in air at the pain. Oh gods, I must have busted my fingers.

Her blow rocked the male back on his heels. But that was all.

She swung again—and he caught her right fist in one powerful hand. Holding her hand in the air, he tsked, forced her fingers open, and set her eReader on her palm.

What? She looked up into eyes the color of night.

He wasn't Brett. This male had shoulder-length black hair and a short beard, olive skin, and a hard, hard face. In fact, she'd seen him with a black-clad male earlier—and feeling their dominant personalities, she'd kept her distance. Now, she was far too close. And…

I punched the wrong male.

When he didn't yell, her fear started to dissipate like fog in bright sunlight. "I'm so sorry. I thought you were someone else when you grabbed me."

"You didn't answer when I called." He eyed her up and down, his expression unimpressed. Then his dark eyes lit with laughter. "Work on your right cross; it lacks strength."

Releasing her hand, he headed down the steps.

Like a lethal shadow, a blue-eyed male standing nearby gave her a short nod and followed him.

"Patrin, Fell, there you are." The sound of Gretchen's haughty voice made Moya's spine go rigid. "Come, my males. I have your rooms all prepared." Taking their arms, the tall blonde female inserted herself between them and led them out of the yard.

Miss Blonde Perfection herself. Moya grimaced. The tall, stunning female always made her feel short and pudgy. Then again, last night, her brothers had once again rejected Gretchen's advances…as more and more of the locals were doing. Eventually, most males figured out beauty only went so far. Her brothers had caught on quicker than most.

She watched as the two males walked away with Gretchen. Hadn't she seen them months before at André's housewarming party? Heather had said they were shifter-soldiers. They'd been admiring Gretchen that day, too, before they disappeared.

Not that she'd been watching for them at the party. Not me.

"Moya." The Cosantir was standing farther down the porch. His arms were folded over his chest, and his dark eyes held…disapproval.

Trying not to cringe, she bowed her head respectfully. "Cosantir."

"Fighting is not permitted during Gatherings. Not even for females." The sprinkling of a French-Canadian accent didn't soften the authority in his deep voice.

After taking over the territory around three months ago, the Cosantir made rules about fighting during Gatherings. And she deeply appreciated that brawling had all but stopped.

And now…she'd punched someone. But she had a reason, right? "That male. He…he grabbed me."

"Then you push his hand away and say no. If he persists and one of the bouncers doesn't intervene, then you may hit him." Like waves in water, power swirled around the God's appointed guardian of the territory. "You did not even look to see who you were punching. Such behavior is unacceptable."

But… She opened her mouth. If I explain why I reacted so badly, maybe he'd understand? Only, she couldn't. She'd never been able to talk about…about what happened in Stanislaus Territory. Not with anyone. Moya forced her voice to stay even. "I'm sorry, Cosantir. I'll…" What could she promise?

His hard face gentled. "You have had this problem for a while now. It's time to work on it, young wolf."

Her throat was so dry her answer stuck in her mouth.

He tilted his head, releasing her, thank the Gods.

With another bow, she backed down the steps and fled across the hedge-enclosed yard to the sidewalk alongside the street.

"Hey, Moya, wait up." Tall and graceful, Talitha caught up and fell into step. "That looked unpleasant."

"I messed up." Moya sighed. "It's cuz Brett was pestering me all night. You know how males get all tail-kinked when a female isn't interested."

Talitha snorted. "Don't we all."

Like a mouse escaping a weasel, Moya still trembled inside. Her hands were shaking. "So I was mad at Brett, and when someone grabbed my shoulder, I thought it was him, and I hit him. Only it was some stranger, trying to give me my eReader."

Guilt was a lump in her belly. The Cosantir was right; she'd overreacted.

"Brett and his brother are revolting weasels. I swear, a lot of males are obnoxious when told no." As one of the rare lesbian shifters, Talitha would know.

However… Moya's eyes narrowed.

Her friend's creamy skin was reddened from beard burn, her lips swollen, her chin-length brown hair tousled.

"Look at you." Moya bumped her shoulder against Talitha's. "Your night must have been better than mine. Did you find a male who knows his way around a female's body?" Since Talitha had no interest in men, pushy ones didn't stand a chance, but she'd occasionally choose one or two respectful ones to scratch her own wolf's itch. Or even to join her and Eileen.

They were hoping for cubs someday.

Talitha snickered. "No male has ever approached the talents of my Eileen, but this one wasn't shabby."

"Huh." A male who could satisfy her gay friend must have talent. "Which one?"

"Won't do you any good, sweetie. He and his brother were just traveling through. They won't be here for the next full moon."

"Figures." Not that she really cared. In all reality, her problems with sex weren't entirely due to a partner's lack of skill. She'd been with some who were pretty talented. She just…wasn't particularly into mating. Although the full moon heat pretty much ensured she'd get off, the earth didn't move or anything. She felt empty afterward.

"André came down on you rather hard," Talitha said softly. "But he was also…right. You need to learn to deal with pushy males and ones in authority."

Oh fairy farts and demon dung! Even her friend thought she was out of line? Moya moved away a couple of steps.

Only, she wasn't being fair. She did have a problem. "I know I shouldn't go off and punch people. Not without a better reason." She wasn't a teenager, and the Cosantir who'd caused her so many problems wasn't here. She didn't need to attack to keep from being emotionally assaulted.

Right?

Deep inside, a part of her wasn't convinced. "I need to work on it." Somehow. Because the Cosantir was right. She'd been ignoring the problem.

Farther down the sidewalk, a short, skinny female was yelling at two cubs. "I told you not to go out of the house, but you sneak out to go play with those other cubs? Noisy things. You're my family now, not the stupid pack's."

"Who's Gwendolyn shouting at?" Moya eyed the younglings. About thirteen years old, maybe. "Aren't those the two younglings Heather's cubs run around with?" Their friend Heather had found herself three lifemates—and taken in two orphaned pre-teens.

"Mateo and Alvaro, yes. They're wolf cubs, not long past First Shift. You know how Gwendolyn's wanted to have children for so long…" Talitha's expression was full of understanding.

Because she and Eileen felt the same way. The Daonain had never figured out why their pregnancy rate was so low or so skewed to male births. Moya bumped her friend's shoulder in sympathy.

"So she hoped for a family, only she's even more of a loner than a lot of felines." Moya frowned. "And being wolves, the pups need affection and physical contact." Some werecats were cuddly; others were the type to hiss and slash if someone tried to hug them.

Gwendolyn was nice enough, but she wasn't a warm ‘n' fuzzy sort of shifter.

"Cubs need other cubs—and if they're wolves, they need to belong to the pack. How else will they learn?" Talitha took a step forward and hesitated.

Moya gave her quiet friend a bracing smile. Confrontation wasn't Talitha's way. She might be fifteen years older than Moya, but she was a far more submissive wolf.

Having a volatile Spanish mom and two pushy brothers, Moya had no problem tackling another female. It was only authoritative males who raised the fur on her spine. "C'mon, let's see what we can do."

Quickening her steps, Moya led the way. "Gwendolyn, are you having trouble?"

As the two cubs turned to Moya, all big brown eyes, the female's face scrunched up. "I…I can't do this. They're good younglings, but they are so, so busy. And want to be with other cubs and the pack. So many people. I…can't."

Oh Gods, just last week, a human had been in her bookstore complaining about getting a cute kitten for his kid's birthday, then returning it because it'd never slowed down. He hadn't realized how much work kittens were.

Poor Gwendolyn probably hadn't either. For someone who liked being alone, sociable cubs were probably exhausting. The poor werecat hadn't realized what she was getting into. "It's normal for them to want to be with other people, to play with other cubs."

"Gwendolyn, the younglings are wolves." Talitha added softly. "Pack activities are part of a wolf's life."

"I let them go last month, but not again. Some of those wolves were rude to me, and I'm not going to put up with that. Or-or with all this social stuff." Gwendolyn sniffled and shook her head. "I made a mistake. I'm not a family sort of person. I'm sorry, cubs." Grabbing each lad's thin shoulder, she pushed them gently toward Moya and Talitha. "You're wolves. They belong with other wolves."

Moya pulled a cub closer as Talitha did the same.

"I'll bring their stuff over. I…just need a minute. Or an hour." As Gwendolyn slunk away with all the embarrassment a cat shifter could show, the cub leaning against Moya whispered, "We didn't mean to make her mad."

Moya gave him a squeeze. "Pup, she's not mad. She just isn't cut out to be a mum, but she didn't know it until she tried. It's not your fault, and it's not her fault either. It's just how it is."

It was just a sad situation all around. The cubs had probably been timid and quiet when first taken in. Now their true natures were coming out.

Happy pups were usually noisy ones.

Talitha bent her head and spoke to the shorter youngling she held. "You're Alvaro, am I right?"

Face against her shoulder, the cub nodded.

"Then you must be Mateo." Talitha held out her free arm for him.

Ah, now this might work out well. Moya nudged Mateo to Talitha and smothered a smile as the lad almost buried himself within a hug.

Open affection was probably something both cubs had missed for a long time, even before undemonstrative Gwendolyn took them in.

Tilting her head to one side, Moya considered. Talitha and Eileen adored younglings, even the teenaged ones.

"You should take them home with you," Moya said.

Talitha jerked her head up, her blue eyes round and startled. "What?"

"You and Eileen have time and energy—and more than enough love—to raise a couple of cubs. These two need you." Heather, the Cosantir's lifemate, would make sure he gave permission. No problem there.

"But…" Despite the protest, Talitha's arms didn't loosen. Mateo and Alvaro burrowed closer.

It broke Moya's heart a little that they weren't pleading the way more secure cublings would.

Talitha noticed, too, and her gaze went soft.

"You know you can't say no. Not to me—and surely not to them." Moya gave her a smug smile. Every now and then, she got accused of arranging peoples' lives. She didn't really; she just helped with a nudge or two, kind of like when she recommended books in her store. She could just see what someone needed or wanted.

"Eileen would love taking them in," Talitha murmured, then she frowned at Moya. "But we both work, and we'll need help. So I'll do it…if you'll help. Like a belated caomhnor. "

Moya beamed. She'd envied Heather for being the godmother of a baby up in the North Cascades. These two weren't babies, but she would love being their caomhnor . "Absolutely."

"Including helping take them to pack runs."

"But…" Oh, cat-scat, she, Heather, and Talitha couldn't take young males on their mini-pack runs. Roger barely tolerated the three of them running together. Adding two males would make the alpha suspect they were setting up a rival pack.

Gods, to have to attend pack runs and deal with Roger, Brett, and Caleb? She rather have her tail bitten off.

But the two younglings were giving her pleading puppy eyes, and she sure couldn't let the little cubs get picked on. A few of the wolves were meaner than weasels.

" Fine . Pack runs too." She blew out a breath. "I guess you meant it when you said I needed to learn to deal with pushy males."

"Perfect. So, Mateo, Alvaro." Talitha ran her hand over their thin cheeks. "If you and the Cosantir agree, you two will be my cubs. Mine and my partner Eileen's—with Moya's help. Yes?"

"Yes!" Seeing the brown eyes light up almost made Moya feel better about her promise.

Almost .

Fell was still laughing inside as they walked with the tall, blonde bed-and-breakfast manager across the pedestrian bridge to the town square.

He couldn't believe his brother had been punched by a dark-haired mite of a female. Admittedly, Patrin wasn't huge, a lean six feet compared to Fell's bulkier six-three. Still... "You got punched by a feisty fairy."

A curvy one. He'd noticed that, too, along with her huge, dark brown eyes.

Patrin's face lit as it did when Fell managed more than a couple of words. "Yeah, she was a fierce little thing." His smile faded. "But she was scared, even before she saw me." He glanced at the blonde. "Gretchen, that's your name, right?"

She looked at him in disbelief, as if no one had forgotten her name before. "Yes, that's right."

Fell watched with interest. She was a beauty, no denying that. Last night, during the Gathering, when she'd come on to them, they'd taken her upstairs for a mating turn.

And by Herne's hide and hooves, it'd been one of the most boring couplings in the history of all the Daonain. She'd been interested only in her own pleasure yet acted as if she'd done them a favor.

Admittedly, with only a year of attending Gatherings since their escape from the Scythe, he and Patrin weren't exactly experienced in clan traditions. Sex, though, was a different story. During their Scythe-led missions, when their handlers fucked human females, Fell and Patrin had occasionally participated. They'd learned there was more to sex than just—what had one human female called it?— slam, bam, thank you, ma'am . There should be give and take, touching and laughter and generosity.

They'd enjoyed none of that with this female.

"So, Gretchen, what's the story with the dark-haired female who punched me?" Patrin asked.

"Moya Moreno?" Gretchen sniffed. "She's nothing special. A wolf—and not too bright. She and her littermates moved to Ailill Ridge a few years ago. A while later, she and another female started Espresso Books."

Uh-huh. How many not-too-bright people ran a business? And a bookstore no less? Moya Moreno was sounding more and more appealing.

Not that it mattered. He and Patrin weren't here for females. The mandatory full moon Gatherings would probably be the most contact they'd have. Which was for the best, really. They didn't fit in with the Daonain—not after growing to adulthood with the Scythe and all the blood on their hands.

"Any reason she'd be afraid of a male?" Patrin asked.

"Who knows? Who cares? She's always getting into fights. Roger complains about her all the time." Catching Patrin's raised brows, she added, "Roger's the pack alpha."

Damn . How had they forgotten about the complication of a wolf pack? He exchanged a worried glance with Patrin. As Daonain new to the territory, they were required to check in with the Cosantir as well as the local pack alpha.

Shifters and their fucking traditions were a pain in the tail.

"What are you two going to do today?" Gretchen asked as they entered the three-story Victorian-style B&B.

The décor inside was as annoyingly fussy and fancy as the manager. Floral wallpaper, heavy curtains, uncomfortable antique furniture.

"Eat, sleep in, and meet with the Cosantir tonight." Patrin eyed the female. "Will breakfast be ready soon?"

She stared at him as if disbelieving he'd ask anything of her.

Fell smothered a smile when his brother raised an eyebrow and continued, "This is a bed-and-breakfast, is it not? A hot breakfast is part of the description."

"My mother doesn't realize how much work that is." She huffed, then caved under Patrin's stare as most did. "Yes, I'll have coffee and pastries available within a half an hour."

"Very good."

Pastries weren't exactly a hot breakfast. But better than nothing. Fell followed his brother to their two bedrooms on the second floor. There was a sitting area at the end of the hallway, and thankfully, the furniture there was comfortable. "There's no scent of her mother."

"Bet Mum owns the place," Patrin said. "And left it to her cub to run."

"Yeah." No hot breakfast, no access to the kitchen, a female who wasn't likable. "We booked here long?"

Patrin grinned. "We paid for three days. Once we figure out our jobs, we can find somewhere else. It's not like we're hurting for money."

"True." Maybe Fell was cynical, but after his brother had pulled out the wad of bills in his wallet to pay for the B&B, Gretchen's interest zoomed. "Stop flashing money."

"Such a bossy brother." Patrin chuckled. "Still, it's a treat to actually have some to flash."

"Yeah." After a decade of having none, it would take more than a year to get used to having their own money. But none of the shifter-soldiers were broke any longer. Thanks to Wells. With a thinly amused smile, the spymaster said the Scythe owed them years of back pay.

So, before any of them killed a Scythe operative, he'd get the target's financial details and send the information to Fell. Under Wells' tutelage, Fell had learned to suck accounts dry and transfer the money into various offshore accounts. Every month, he divvied the money out to the shifter-soldiers who also shared with their sisters.

"Did you see the mobile toolbox Darcy bought with the last deposit?" Patrin started stripping off his clothes. "It's nice to be able to give her something she wanted."

As his brother disappeared into his bedroom, Fell rubbed his chin. It had been nice. Nonetheless, gifts didn't make up for the years they'd lost. Now Darcy had mates, and they'd never regain the closeness shared as cubs. Unlike normal littermates, the Scythe captives hadn't been together for their First Shift. He and Patrin hadn't watched her turn into a little cougar. Hadn't played the games normal cublings enjoyed when learning how to navigate on four legs rather than two.

The Scythe had stolen too fucking much from them.

Breathing out slowly, he forced himself to move on. They had a mission. Be bait and find the spy.

First, they needed jobs to ensure the Scythe saw them.

The alarm on Moya's desk went off, and she jumped, almost dropping the book she held. Mother's breasts, was it five already? She'd been shelving the new delivery for two hours since her bookstore closed.

Okay, maybe she'd gotten side-tracked a few times, leafing through a few of the more interesting books. Like that one about big cyborg males. Or the historical. Or…

Face it, she liked to read anything and everything—as long as it had a happy ending.

Isn't it nice that I adore my work?

A glance through the big bookstore windows showed the lights in the town square had already come on. Time to eat. Her stomach growled in agreement, sounding far too much like an annoyed wolf. She gave her belly a pat. "Be patient just a little longer."

After closing the accordion security grille between her bookstore and the coffee shop area, she headed out, locking the door behind her.

Strolling across the brick-lined town square, she nodded at a couple of humans coming out of the grocery store. At the corner, she saw that the Bullwhacker Bar already had quite a few people inside.

On the northwest corner, a huge building held the Shamrock Restaurant and the Cosantir's local arts-and-crafts gift shop. When André took over the territory, he opened the gift shop as a way for the local shifters to make money. The tourists loved the place.

The Cosantir's littermate Madoc owned the restaurant—and was a wonderful chef. Nearing the Shamrock, Moya took a long happy breath. Did anything smell as incredible as pizza?

It was so nice to have a restaurant in town. Although she occasionally cooked for her brothers, the rest of the time, it wasn't worth fixing meals for only herself. And it made her feel…alone.

Naturally sociable, wolves often did poorly if living alone, which was why unmated, childless females usually lived in a pack house.

Not her. Roger and his betas were always hanging around the pack house, and being near them left her so uneasy she couldn't relax. Or sleep or eat.

Far better to live alone. Besides, at Espresso Books, customers were in and out all day. And book people were the best people.

She was fine.

Entering the restaurant, Moya realized most of the tables were full. Then again, this was the day after Thanksgiving. The holiday wasn't one the Daonain had much interest in, but the town was half human. And, being a good shifter, Madoc had decorated in a lovely harvest theme with tiny pumpkin and gourd centerpieces.

There was Heather, seated at their favorite window side table. No surprise that Madoc gave his mate the table she liked.

Moya smiled as she crossed the room. Who would have thought one of her best friends would end up lifemated to the Cosantir and his two littermates?

"Hey, you." Moya bent to hug her tall, lanky friend. "Have you been here long?"

"Nope. I rented another one of the clan's houses, and the paperwork kept me late. Heather's russet hair was pulled back in a thick braid. Her soft sweater matched her turquoise eyes—and was form-fitting enough that Moya could check for signs of pregnancy.

Catching the look toward her abdomen, Heather rolled her eyes. "I'm not showing yet. Then again, with a litter rather than just one, my belly will get round soon enough." She snickered. "Niall told me my nipples are bigger."

"He's a male. Of course he noticed before you did." Moya sat and then noticed the wrist splint Heather wore. "What happened?"

"Pure stupidity. We were playing forest tag with Sky and Talam, and I jumped onto a huge stump to escape getting caught."

Moya grinned. Heather and her three mates had taken in Sky and Talam, two orphans who'd had their First Shift the month before. They were the cutest black bear cubs. "You realize they're almost as big as you are already…and they're still growing."

"Oh, don't I know. Two bears versus a wolf? That's why I jumped on the stump." Heather grumbled under her breath. "Then the crow-cursed, termite-riddled wood crumbled under me." She pulled up her sweater sleeves to reveal long red scrapes on both arms. "I'm lucky I only sprained my foreleg rather than something worse."

"It's good it wasn't a hind leg, or you'd be on crutches now." Moya patted Heather's undamaged hand. "Poor wolfy. First, our full moon run gets rained out, and now you can't trot down the trails at all."

"Not for a while. But…André and I talked with Talitha and Eileen about them taking in Mateo and Alvaro?—"

"André approved it, didn't he?"

"Of course. Talitha said you suggested it. You did good." Heather's smile turned to a thoughtful frown. "However, she wants to take them on the pack run tomorrow night, and she's…"

Moya could hear the unspoken rest of the sentence. Their friend was the sweetest wolf in the world—and wouldn't dream of biting even when she should. "Don't worry. She conscripted me to go with her and the cubs."

Heather's look was all sympathy. "Poor you, but honestly, I'm glad you'll be there."

"I'll look out for them." Moya glanced at the menu and set it to one side. "Split a pizza with me?"

"You bet. If there's sausage and pepperoni."

"As if I'd say no to more meat."

After they gave their orders and the server dropped off a glass of wine for Moya, Heather pursed her lips. "By the way, Talitha—and André—told me about you punching some male."

Moya scowled. Gossip was fine when it was about other people—not her. "Did you know that humans in cities sometimes don't even know their neighbors. I bet they don't get talked about."

"Instead, they get lonely," Heather said with the authority of a shifter who'd actually gone to a human college. "Now, spill it. Usually the first response to a pushy male is a verbal set-down, but you go straight for the physical. Why is that? How can you fix it?"

Doesn't she realize I'd have fixed it if I could have? Moya's temper rose.

Then Heather added, "And how can I help?"

Cat-spit and gnome-guts, so much for getting angry. "I don't think you can." Moya shook her head. "The reason is, well, when someone reminds me of…stuff…that happened when I was younger"—and she sure wasn't going to explain—"it sets me off. Books call the reaction fight or flight."

"Of course, you researched the subject." Heather's lips twitched. "You sure do fall on the fight side. Did you discover something you can do about the reaction? Personally, I think pushy males should get a clout on the snout but…"

"But my reactions are sometimes excessive. I know." Or I hit the wrong male. Oops. "There's a bunch of things like meditation and journaling and, I guess, thinking about the cause?"

As the server showed up with cheesy bread sticks and salads, they sat back. "Gods, I'm hungry." Moya picked up a bread stick and breathed in the yeasty aroma.

"The meditation and all that sounds useful although rather tenuous. Was there anything more practical?"

How should she answer Heather's question? Because there were two parts to the practical applications. One was discussing the past trauma with someone. She was supposed to talk about it, live it, and work through it until the memories became more boring than frightening. That…might be difficult. She wasn't exactly someone who confided in others, especially her fears and all the hurt that went with them.

The second practical method though… "I need to let myself in for, I guess it'd be called controlled panics. I need to practice keeping myself in the present to avoid setting off the fight instinct."

Heather paused with her fork in the air. "Huh. Like getting a male to push you around?"

"Exactly, only I'm not sure who to ask." She grinned. "I'm not afraid of your mates anymore, even André. Same with my brothers and yours."

Heather shook her head. "You sure don't want to put this kind of weapon in the hands of our alpha or his betas."

They were the ones who scared her these days. And she'd never trust them not to take advantage of her fears. "No. Definitely not."

"You know, it's strange you have that reaction since the males you always look at twice during a Gathering are the ones on the dominant side."

"I know." Moya stirred her lettuce and croutons around in a circle. "I've always thought dominant males were so, so sexy, only since…the past, now they make me nervous. And I hit them if they come on too strong." It would sure be nice to get past this problem. Maybe I'd even be able to like mating.

Doubtful.

"Just let me know if there's anything I can do to help," Heather told her.

As the pizza arrived, they took a minute to move everything out of the way.

"Oh, yum." Putting a slice of pizza on her plate, Moya had to fight down the urge to bite in. Because, the last time, she'd burned the top of her mouth.

Instead, she took a sip of the wonderful cabernet and eyed her friend. "So how are you handling going from living alone to being surrounded by three mates and two bumbling bear cubs?"

"Mother's breasts, let me tell you…"

Grinning, Moya settled in to listen to cub tales. Sky and Talam were blossoming as they slowly began to feel safe and loved. And there was no one in the world who loved as well as Heather.

And Heather's mates were worthy males—André, the Cosantir who protected the clan, and Niall, a cahir and computer-geek, and Madoc who cooked like a dream.

Suppressing a sigh, Moya had to tell herself it was normal to be a bit envious of Heather's life. Since it was something Moya might never have. She could never trust a male enough to give them such power over her. Even worse, males came as a set of two or three brothers, and she had to push herself to mate with just one male at a time, full moon heat or not.

No, mates weren't in her future.

Shoving down the hurtful thought, she smiled at Heather. "Did I tell you how great Sky is doing with his guitar lessons? He's really talented."

Heather totally beamed. "We thought so. I'm hoping my friend Emma—the bard in North Cascades Territory—will make it down here sometime to meet him."

"That would be perfect." Moya picked up her glass for a sip of wine before embarking on the next slice of pizza.

Her glass stopped halfway to her mouth as a tall, muscular male dressed in all black walked into the restaurant.

He was fair skinned with short sandy hair. His stance was predatory as he scanned every person in the restaurant. Did he think someone here would attack him? Or was he always so…vigilant?

When his gaze met hers, she stiffened. The shifter-soldier who'd accompanied the one she'd punched.

As if in confirmation, that dark-haired male followed him in, emanating dominance. Even Roger, the pack alpha, didn't feel so forceful.

If he grabbed me now, I'd probably end up burying my fist in his gut. Again. Even if André was watching.

Like the fair-skinned male, he scanned the room before heading straight for the Cosantir.

Moya shivered. I will totally stay away from those two.

On the other side of the restaurant, André sipped his cold beer and kept an eye on Heather who was eating with her petite, dark-haired friend. Moya had a problem, but knowing his mate, she'd help the young female work it out. Heather was not only practical, she had the most caring heart in the world.

And she loves me and my brothers .

He could only think she was a gift from the Goddess. He and his littermates had never been so happy.

Movement caught his attention. Two males were approaching. The Daonain called them shifter-soldiers. Two of the youths from Dogwood who'd been kidnapped by the Scythe and trained to be assassins.

Patrin and Fell had asked to meet him, as was proper for new shifters in a Cosantir's territory. He rose to greet them.

The leaner of the two had black hair and black eyes. Beneath an olive-colored jacket, he wore a white button-up shirt and jeans. He murmured, "Cosantir," and both bowed their heads slightly in the traditional Daonain show of respect.

André almost sighed. It'd only been a little over two months since the god called him to serve as Rainier Territories' guardian. He still wasn't used to being addressed as Cosantir. Might never be.

But he tilted his head in acknowledgement. "Patrin and Fell, as I recall. You were at our housewarming party last month."

"I'm Patrin, yes." The dark-haired male half-grinned. "I must admit the party had some exciting moments."

" Oui ." André's jaw tightened. Ugly moments would be more what he'd call it. The previous Cosantir had gone feral and attacked the cubs playing on the lawn, including Sky and Talam. "Your assistance was much appreciated." The two wolves had helped the cahirs send the feral male back to the Mother.

The only cure for a feral shifter was death.

He motioned to the other chairs then seated himself. "Are the Scythe no longer a danger? Has the spymaster released your fellow shifter-soldiers?"

"We've eliminated most of the Scythe who know of our existence, but not all. However, after the last mission, we're on a break. It's a chance to see what normal life might be like."

"Ah, a wise plan." André frowned. "When you arrived, I was worried the Scythe might have targeted my town." Which put the territory at risk.

Shifters under his care and protection might all be in danger because of the previous Cosantir's incompetence. His hands clenched, and his anger rose, feeling like the low rumble of thunder.

When Patrin and Fell edged back warily, he realized his protective fury was rousing the god.

By the god, Fell thought as his guts tightened in fear.

Because the male across from him, the Cosantir of Rainier Territory, was visibly in touch with the god. André's eyes had turned black, and damned if it didn't feel like bone-shaking subsonics radiated from him.

The hairs on Fell's nape rose, and he fought the need to flee.

It was even worse since André's guess was right, and it looked as if the Scythe had targeted the town…and Wells had refused to let them warn the Cosantir. They sure weren't on a break.

"Cosantir," Patrin said very quietly. " André , we will end the danger from the Scythe. That's our goal. Our job."

André flattened his hands on the table, drew in a breath, and the hum died. "Forgive me, please. I am still learning my way as guardian."

Patrin gave him a sympathetic smile. "Having been dumped back into the Daonain culture, Fell and I understand. Learning curves suck."

André's eyes returned to brown, and he chuckled. "They certainly do."

A male with light brown skin, brown hair, a short beard, and the burly build of a bear shifter stepped up to the table. "Bro, here's your order." He set down a large platter of appetizers, including jalapeno poppers, bruschetta, garlic knots with dip, and spicy onion rings. "What would your guests like to drink?"

Patrin smiled and held out a hand. "Madoc, right? Patrin—we met at your housewarming. And this is my littermate, Fell."

After shaking Patrin's hand, the male took Fell's hand. His grip was firm without being aggressive. "Welcome back to Ailill Ridge."

"Thank you. For drinks, we're happy with just water," Patrin said with a glance at Fell.

Fell nodded. Clear heads were needed for plans and missions. Even one beer could relax a male into an indiscretion.

After Madoc returned to his kitchen, André motioned to the platter. "Please join me. The food here is very good."

As they took some food, the Cosantir tapped his fingers on the table. "You will be looking for jobs? I believe Bron, our police chief, has been wanting more officers."

Patrin smiled. "That'd be good. We could?—"

"No." Fell shook his head. What was his brother thinking? A Scythe operative would avoid anyone in law enforcement. "Too much like military."

Patrin narrowed his eyes at Fell before nodding. "Aye, you're right. Something in the service industry would be a nice change. And we'd get to talk with everyone ." He shot Fell an amused glance.

Because Fell didn't talk to anyone given the choice. He shot Patrin a sour look.

This assignment already sucks.

Although staying in one location for a while would be a treat. Especially in a town with pretty females.

During their time with the Scythe, when they weren't on a mission, they'd lived in a barracks with the other kidnapped males except for rare visits with their imprisoned sister.

It was only in the last year since they were freed that he'd had a chance to speak with shifter females other than Darcy.

Not that he actually spoke.

Doing an automatic scan of the room, he studied the most interesting female in the room—the tiny female with the meltingly dark eyes who'd punched Patrin. She wasn't a blonde bombshell like their B&B host, Gretchen, but damn, she was fascinating. And her voice had been just as intriguing. Warm with a lilt to it, like a songbird. Did she sing, maybe?

The wild scent of another shifter approaching caught his attention.

The big-bodied male had unkempt yellow hair, like drying corn stalks left in the field, and pallid skin with pale blue eyes. "Cosantir." His bow of the head was slight and brief. "I heard there are visiting wolves talking to you." The male puffed out his chest in an instinctive attempt to dominate them.

Herne's fucking forest, this must be the pack alpha. With a stifled sigh, Fell rose and nudged Patrin to remind him of all those aggravating Daonain formalities the Elders had taught…and taught…and taught.

Face expressionless, Patrin also stood.

The Cosantir didn't rise, which was a slight. But he tilted his head. "Roger, meet the MacCormac brothers who have moved to Ailill Ridge. Patrin, Fell, this is Roger Wendell, the pack alpha. Are you here to welcome them to the territory, Roger?"

The alpha's scowl increased. He'd probably planned to bluster, not welcome. "Of course, Cosantir."

Roger's attention turned to Fell. "The pack normally hunts on the night before a full moon, but due to the storm, ours was postponed. Tomorrow night, starting at moonrise. You can follow the scent trail from behind the pack house, corner of Argonaut and Mule Train Street. Be there." The alpha's tone was on the verge of antagonistic. Turning, he stalked away.

Hostility again.

While traveling on their assignments, he and Patrin suffered the same kind of belligerence from far too many alphas. Shay, the alpha in the North Cascades Territory, said aggression was typical when alphas met another dominant wolf who might challenge them.

Not that Patrin—or Fell—would. They were here on a mission. Besides, neither of them wanted to boss a wolf pack. More the opposite, really. After their losses to the Scythe, Patrin would jump off a cliff before taking on responsibility for anyone else.

As for me ordering anyone around? Not interested, especially since he'd have to talk. Protecting them? Now, that was different.

Besides, wolf packs probably were full of even more tradition-laden bullshit. None of which he or Patrin understood.

Face it, they were a mess.

Frustration and sadness made an uncomfortable lump in his gut. We're never going to manage to find our place with the Daonain.