Chapter 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

A t the inside door to the house to the kitchen, Fell started to text Moya to begin the attack.

Guns outside the house began to crack and boom.

Herne help us, the attack has started.

Stowing his phone, he quickly crawled across the kitchen, hidden by the island dividing the room from the dining area. Madoc followed. A glance around the edge of the island showed the dining area where two Scythe guarded the caged cubs and tied adults.

On the far side, a doorway into the living room revealed a scatload of black-clad humans.

"Cover," he snapped to warn Madoc and unclipped the stun grenade from his belt. Under his fingertip was cold metal with small surface holes—and the safety pin.

Sorry, cubs. He pulled the pin and popped up long enough to throw the grenade through the living room door.

Dropping behind the island, he curled up and covered his eyes and ears, seeing the bear doing the same with giant paws. Only one Scythe reacted fast enough to get a shot off before?—

Crack!

Despite exploding in another room, the light was blinding, the bang ear-splitting. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard cubs and females screaming in pain. His heart hurt for them. Flashbangs and shifter hearing didn't mix, and they had no idea what was going on.

Drawing his pistol, he rose. Two shots took out the disoriented Scythe in the dining area.

Madoc charged past and into the living room. Harrowing screams from the humans filled the air.

Shrieks and snarling sounded from upstairs. Bron and Niall must have successfully jumped in from the trees.

Where is Patrin? No, can't search. Must clear the area to be sure the cubs and females are safe.

Next room. Fell turned a knob, then kicked open the door. Shot the Scythe inside.

Turned and the bullet meant for his heart seared across his back. He shot back, a double-tap, and sent another human back to his god.

A wolf crashed through the window, followed by a bear. Ah, reinforcements had arrived.

Fell nodded and limped to the next room. Next time, he'd remember not to kick the damn door…

On his side, Patrin blinked dizzily, and pain ripped through his skull. Fuck, that hurts.

What is happening?

The noise—that was gunfire, coming from…everywhere. Screaming, snarling.

I'm on the porch. The Colonel was here, somewhere, with the cubs.

Cubs—Gods, I have to move. He blinked hard, trying to get his eyes to focus.

The flood lights on the snow-covered lawn went dark, one by one. Shot out. As he stared through the railings out at the darkness, the open area was rippling, moving. He shook his head, winced. Not his eyes—those were wolves and cougars flowing through the darkness.

He turned his head and spotted Mateo and Sky. Still bound, the cubs had scooted back against the wall of the house. Smart cubs.

Where was the Colonel? There. Crouching behind a stack of firewood, the Colonel had a pistol in one hand, knife in the other. He took aim, fired—and a wolf yelped.

My pack. Rage drove Patrin to his feet. Hands still secured behind his back, he gathered his legs under him and dove at the Colonel. His head and left shoulder hit the human's ribs and smashed him into the porch railing.

"Give up, mutant." The Colonel kicked him in the chest, and Patrin landed on his knees. "If nothing else, I'll take you with me."

Head spinning, Patrin stared into the barrel of the firearm pointed at his head.

A wolf soared over the railing. Its paws hit the Colonel's outstretched arm, knocking the pistol from his hand—even as he pulled the trigger.

The bullet sliced the outside of Patrin's arm like a red-hot knife.

"Goddamned creatures!" Pistol gone, the Colonel swung his knife at the wolf.

The small, dark gray female wolf. Her scent filled the air. Moya.

She yelped in pain.

Fuck no. Frantically, Patrin struggled to get a foot under himself, to?—

A man stepped in front of him, blocking him from the Colonel.

Bang, bang, bang.

Heart already wailing in grief, Patrin rammed into the legs. Snarling, trying again. He'd kill the Colonel, just as he'd killed Moya.

"Brawd. Brawd, ease down. It's all good." Fell's voice and scent broke through Patrin's fury.

"Mmmph, mmmph." The duct tape removed his ability to tell his brother to help Moya.

Smaller arms wrapped around him. "Gods, Patrin, he almost shot you. Are you crazy?" Moya grabbed his shoulders, shook him, and hugged him again so hard his bruised ribs sent up an ache.

Alive. She is alive. Two cubs landed on him—Sky and Mateo, both crying. They all were. Moya and Fell eased back slightly and squished the cubs between them all in another hug. He closed his eyes against the overwhelming joy and relief, then opened them to reassure himself it really was true.

"C'mere, pups." Fell drew a knife and cut through the ropes around their wrists. Ripping off a sleeve, he folded it and pressed it against Sky's chest. "Hold that till we find the real bandages."

Moya kissed the top of Sky's head. "You were so brave. You both were."

Then she turned to Patrin. "I suppose we better fix it so our alpha can talk."

The younglings giggled a bit hysterically. At least they were alive.

And the pain in his beard as she carefully pulled off the fucking sticky tape served as a confirmation he was alive. "Thank you, cariad . Fell, the keys to the collar and cuffs are just inside the door."

A minute later, Fell unlocked the handcuffs, tossing them to one side. The rope, eyebolt, and part of the baseboard were still attached. It'd taken several lunges with all his weight to break the tether free.

"This is gonna hurt, brawd." Fell unlocked and carefully eased the spiked collar off.

Blood from the gouged areas made warm trails down Patrin's neck and chest. "Thank you." With Moya's hand under his arm and Fell's help, he managed to stand.

The Colonel lay nearby. Three headshots had erased most of his face. Patrin eyed his brother. "You?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time. He was trying to slice up our little wolf."

Patrin scowled and turned to Moya.

"Not so bad." She showed a long, shallow slice across her upper thigh.

Yes, she was all right, thanks to Fell. Patrin grinned. "You're my favorite brother."

"I'm your only brother, you maggot." Fell ripped off his other sleeve and wrapped it around Moya's leg. "Looks like there's only cleaning up to be done."

Tears burned Patrin's eyes, and he hugged them all again—cubs and brother and Moya. His gaze met Fell's. "It's over, brawd."

Their past was done, finally done. Now, as he rubbed his cheek against Moya's hair and felt his brother's arms around him, he could look forward to the future with a clear heart.

Followed by Zorion, Ramón leaped over the porch railing and shifted to human. Ears still ringing from the gunfire, heart still pounding, he used his arm to wipe the blood from his mouth and chin. Maybe it was psychological or something, but humans didn't taste good at all.

On the porch, Moya was squished with Mateo and Sky between Patrin and Fell. Like a shifter sandwich. They looked so good together it made his heart happy.

Nonetheless .

He scowled at her. "By the Gods, sis, you were supposed to stay with us."

"That was the plan," Fell agreed and also frowned at Moya.

"Hard to guard her when she takes off like her tail's on fire." Zorion crossed his arms over his chest.

She rubbed her cheek on Patrin's shoulder. "It's not my fault if you two can't keep up."

"Yeah, as it happens we were right behind you until four Scythe ran out a side door. They'd've flanked you."

Patrin's gaze met his. "You got them all?"

"Aye, we did." Ramón's gut clenched. Four humans with weapons against him and Zorion—it'd been far too close. They weren't small wolves, and construction work kept them strong. Still… He wanted to be tougher. Faster. Bigger.

What with ferals, hellhounds, Scythe, even shifters like Brett and Caleb, sometimes it felt as if the clan was up against far too many dangers.

We need more fighters.

Zorion met his gaze. His side and thigh were still bleeding.

Ramón's chest tightened at the memory of a human shooting at his brother. Thank the Mother that Zorion was almost as fast as Moya and good at dodging.

They'd both done some fancy paw-work before getting within teeth range of the humans.

Ramón had killed the one who'd shot Zorion. And collected a knife slice across the top of his shoulder from the next human. Since the bastard had tried to shove the blade through his throat, a shoulder wound wasn't a bad outcome.

"You're bleeding! Both of you." Moya started to rise.

"Nah, nah, nothing critical." Zorion motioned for her to stay put. "We're going inside to get bandaged up."

"In fact"—Ramón eyed the two cubs—"come with us, lads, so we can get Sky taken care of and then find your brothers."

In dangerous times, brothers did better when side-by-side.

The younglings ran over, and Ramón grinned at Zorion as Patrin and Fell hugged Moya again.

Looked like their sister had truly found her mates.

Sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, pistol in hand, Wells crossed the snowy expanse to the house. The chill from the long wait in the cold was gone, chased away by the adrenaline still coursing through his blood.

He'd come through the firefight with only a few nicks here and there, mostly from trees splintering under the Scythe's answering barrage. He and the other snipers had eliminated the men who'd been using tranquilizer guns, but there'd been a houseful of operatives armed with real bullets.

A bleeding gash on his forehead was streaming blood into his eyes. Damn thing. After slicing a strip off his shirt, he tied the makeshift bandage around his head. Made him think of the old Rambo movies from way back when.

The body count seemed similar too.

Looking around, he felt heartsick at the waste of lives. Garish blood-splatter marred the white snow. Black-clad Scythe still lay here and there.

Two Daonain from the rescuers also lay dead.

They hadn't been with his team—the snipers in the forest with him were all up and walking.

Thorson with Leland and a few other cat shifters had orders to enter the house through the side windows. They should already be inside.

Reaching the porch, he spotted Patrin and Fell with a naked, lovely little brunette snuggled between them. Now that was worth a smile. He couldn't think of a pair of soldiers more deserving.

He gave them a quick once-over. Nothing pouring blood, but they were dinged up good.

A couple more steps away was the Colonel's body. He'd been killed by expertly placed head shots.

Very nice.

Wells never had any need to be the one pulling the trigger. Getting the job done was all he needed to be satisfied. This death, though, brought a huge amount of relief. Finally, he could release all the shifter-soldiers with an easy mind.

He glanced at the body again. In the cold world of spy versus spy, some opponents were worthy of respect.

The Colonel wasn't worth spitting on.

Wells walked past and entered the house. One of the Daonain snipers gave him a respectful chin-lift.

Nodding back, Wells turned his gaze away. As much as he'd been around the shifters, he still wasn't accustomed to seeing more naked bodies than at a nude beach.

Unable to face the hostages—not yet—he climbed the stairs to begin his evaluation of the action and what the Scythe might have left behind.

In the front bedroom, he checked the dead Scythe snipers, one under each of the three windows. The head shots proved he hadn't lost his touch.

Many more Scythe had died in the upstairs rooms. A few from bullets, the rest from claws and teeth.

The ground floor was littered with black-clad bodies.

In the dining area, shifters were freeing the caged children. Others were unlocking the savage spiked collars and cuffs that'd been used on the women.

Fucking Scythe.

His gut tightened. Were all the captives alive?

He moved farther into the room.

There was the skinny blond boy the Colonel had used a knife on. The kid had a shirt on with a lump under it; someone had dressed his wound. The boy was glued to Madoc's side.

Niall was opening cages, despite being handicapped by the brown-haired boy tucked under his arm.

"Madoc." Wells' voice came out harsh when he asked, "Did you and Fell get inside in time to keep the children from being hurt?"

"We did." Madoc tilted his head. "Was it you who started the shooting?"

"It was." It'd been the best decision at the time, but he still felt damned guilty. "I started the action early. The Colonel had already cut that child there"—he motioned to the blond boy—"and when Patrin knocked the Colonel away, it seemed the best time to attack. It's my fault if anyone in here got hurt."

His gaze swept over the room. All the hostages seemed to be alive. Most were crying and terrified.

"No one got shot, Wells." Madoc reached out a big arm and thumped Wells on the shoulder.

Relief filled Wells, the guilt lightened…even as his arm went numb. He took a quick step sideways to maintain his balance. Ah, right, the big shifter is a bear.

"You timed it nicely. Fell was starting to text you when the shooting started. The crying is because of that gods-be-damned device." Madoc pointed to the few bits and pieces of the stun grenade lying in the living room. "My ears are still ringing."

"If it isn't our spymaster sniper." At the sound of a woman's deep, slightly harsh voice, Wells turned. "Good to see you survived."

Although the town's Chief of Police had annoyed him when she killed the Director during the fucked-up operation last month, she was still quite a woman. Damned tall—his height—with a muscular build, short black hair, and an attitude that just didn't quit. If she'd been male, he'd have pegged her as a Navy SEAL. She had a Daonain designed pack clipped to a cloth belt and had already donned a long-sleeved hiking shirt and trail pants snug enough to show off her sleek form.

Hey, he was male, and admittedly, violence got his blood moving. And being well-taught, after a quick glance, he kept his eyes on her face—which was spattered with blood. "Nice work upstairs, Chief."

She inclined her head in acknowledgment. "Thank you. When you killed off the snipers at the front of the building, everyone rushed forward to shoot at you. You make an excellent diversion."

He snorted. "Happy to be of service."

Leaving the intriguing Chief, he continued checking the house while looking for Thorson and Leland with growing worry.

He found some Daonain in the kitchen, fetching bottled water for the wounded. One was the black-bearded shooter named Lorcan.

Wells pointed to the sodas in the fridge. "Give those to the children," he suggested. "Works great for shock."

"Aye, good idea." Lorcan picked up a six-pack of Coke and headed for the dining room.

Two more dead Scythe lay in a downstairs hallway with another in a doorway to a bedroom.

And there was Thorson.

Inside the bedroom, Thorson was bent over someone lying on the floor. A couple of Daonain, wearing only shorts, knelt beside him.

Wells halted, recognizing Kennard and Fletcher, the eighteen-year-old shifter-soldiers. Whose grandfather was…

Oh fuck.

"Leland." Wells went down on one knee beside Thorson.

"Ah, the human." Beneath a dark tan, Leland's face was gray. A light blue blanket covered his body except for his shoulders and arms. Blood soaked the blanket over his chest and stomach.

Wells glanced at Thorson. "How bad? Has someone called an ambulance?"

"I won't be with you long." Leland's huff of a laugh ended in a groan. "By the Gods, couldn't the gnome-brain have shot cleaner?"

"Grandsire." Kennard's eyes were filled with tears. "Don't leave us."

"Cub, when the Goddess calls us home, we answer." He lifted a shaking hand to the young man. "Say goodbye, youngling. I'll give your mum your love if she's still there." He smiled slightly. "Maybe I'll see Helen again."

Choking on a sob, Fletcher leaned forward to kiss his grandfather's forehead.

Dammit. Thorson's eyes blurred with tears. This was why civilians shouldn't be allowed anywhere near?—

"I sent two of them off to their human hell," Leland said smugly. "Would've been fine but…" His voice failed as he grimaced in pain.

Fletcher motioned toward a Scythe lying on top of a… Damn, was that an AK-47?

"The man was at the top of the stairs with the machine gun," Fletcher said. "He was gonna spray the room with the cubs to kill them all. Grandsire was below and jumped in the way. Gave us a chance to kill him."

If the AK-47 had been on full auto, it was a wonder Leland was alive at all. Wells bent his head in respect. "It was an honor to fight with you."

Leland's smile took an obvious effort. "You're a good male, human." Then his eyes narrowed. "And caomhnor to one of our cubs. Yes…yes, why not?"

"Grandsire?" Fletcher leaned forward, tears spilling over.

Leland ran his hand over the boy's wet face. "Water, the shapeshifting source of all life." He plucked a leaf from his other grandson's hair. "Earth, the green of the mother."

Beside Wells, Thorson stiffened.

What the fuck is going on?

Leland rested his hand in the blood pooling in his stomach. "Fire and passion in blood." He puffed on his fingers. "Air to lift us up."

"Leland…" Thorson gritted out.

Leland tilted his chin up a fraction. His voice had faded to just over a whisper. "Joe, you got a gift from Lachlan. Here's one from me. You need a brother, my friend."

The old werecat's eyes filled with tears.

Leland's gaze turned to Wells. "Human." The word was barely audible.

Chest tight, Wells leaned forward. "Whatever you need, just tell?—"

With a grunt of effort, the shifter lifted his hand. He pushed up the wrap around Wells' forehead, and his fingers dug painfully into the bloody gash. "My spirit to bind the gift together. You're ours now, warrior."

His hand fell, and Wells caught it.

But the werecat was gone. If there was any fairness in the world, he'd returned to the Mother Goddess they all seemed to revere.

Gently, carefully, Wells closed Leland's open eyes and held his hand there, feeling the emptiness of the body under his palm. With a resigned sigh, he sat back, then looked up.

The young men cried silently. Thorson's expression was tight. And all three were staring at Wells.

He frowned. Lifted his chin slightly.

And Thorson barked a laugh. "You are so fucked, Wells. Welcome to the Daonain side."

"Yeah"—through his tears, Fletcher almost smiled—"we got the best cookies."

André's head hammered as if a dwarf was using it for an anvil. Dizziness came and went, and he was grateful Heather had an arm around him as he climbed out of the Jeep. She wasn't happy he'd insisted on coming here.

But as Cosantir, he needed to see to his clan. To witness what had happened. And to find his loved ones.

Heartsick, he looked over the white lawn with dark splotches of blood and long drag marks showing the removal of the slain. He could only hope the human god had mercy on the Scythe, for he couldn't find any in his soul. Because, tied to the territory, he'd felt the loss of each Daonain whose spirit returned to the Mother.

"André." Niall jogged out the front door and down the steps. Seeing him relieved one worry in his heart.

From the littermate bonds, he knew his brothers were alive—but not whether they'd been injured. "How badly are you hurt?" Since Niall wore only a pair of shorts, André scanned him for damage. Blood-covered, oui , but the scent was mostly human blood.

"I'm good. The plan went like clockwork." Niall gave Heather a long, hard hug before putting a steadying hand under André's arm. "Madoc and the cubs are inside—all are fine. Sky was hurt?—"

A high yell interrupted him. "Heather!" "André!" Their cubs jumped off the porch. Sky hugged Heather.

And Talam tackled André. At the bodily contact and the scent of the youngling he'd come to love, André felt his spirit begin to mend. Turning, he wrapped another arm around Sky, pulling him away from Heather long enough to know in his innermost heart that the youngling was alive.

He scented blood on the cub and could feel a bulky dressing beneath his shirt, but nothing worse. "Thank the Mother you're both safe." Managing a smile, he passed them to his mate.

Heather sobbed once as she hugged them tight, and André exchanged smiles with Niall. Carrying their unborn made their tough female adorably emotional.

He himself was blinking against tears.

"Cat." Madoc had followed the boys.

"Bear." Like Niall, blood smears covered Madoc. At the visible reminders of the danger his brother had been in, André gave him a hard hug. "How is our aunt?"

Niall snorted. "The Chief is fucking terrifying when she gets going. I think she made more kills in that master bedroom than I did."

At the sound of a vehicle coming up the long drive, André turned his head and winced at the pain.

An extended cab pickup pulled to a stop behind the Jeep. Daniel climbed out, walked around, and lowered the tailgate. Tanner jumped out of the passenger side.

Hearing his mate huff, André took their cubs back, one under each arm.

"Now you show up." Crossing her arms over her chest, Heather frowned at her brothers. "You left with that spy and never came back."

"S'okay, sis. Your lady spy is in the back passenger area, all trussed up." Daniel smirked. "You know how much Tanner likes to play with rope. Don't think Renee appreciated his skill though."

"Where have you been , gnome-brain?" she asked again.

The cubs huffed little laughs, and André grinned. Her interactions with her brothers made him wish he and his littermates had been blessed with a sister.

Then Daniel motioned toward the open pickup bed—and the bodies in it. "See, sis? We were being productive."

"Productive," Heather said in a faint voice.

"Where did those come from?" André asked.

Tanner shrugged. "We were too late to help with the round-up here. But on trail drives, we used to ride drag and round up stragglers. So we did that."

"Bears have good noses," Daniel said. "We caught a couple of Scythe observers west on High Rigger, and then dealt with the ones who ran after realizing they'd lost."

More deaths. But necessary ones. "You did very well. Merci."

"Where should we put them?" Tanner asked.

André glanced at Niall.

"We're dumping them in this cargo van for convenient disposal." Niall pointed to the vehicle closest to the house.

"We'll get them moved," Daniel said.

"Merci, Daniel, Tanner." André sighed. Erasing years of memories would not be pleasant. "Bring the woman spy in when you're finished."

As Heather's brothers began, André moved away with the cubs. No need to see more death. "Does your chest hurt, Sky?"

"I'm fine," the pup said, chin up.

André could only smile—and turn to Niall. "How was Sky hurt?"

The muscles in Niall's cheek went rigid. "The Colonel sliced his chest to get the shifters to attack."

"What?" Heather pulled up Sky's shirt.

The cub's blue eyes fastened on her face. "I'm okay. Really." The bandage showed drying blood, but nothing fresh.

André's stomach unclenched. "And?"

"Somehow, Moya and Patrin kept the shifters from attacking. One of the wolves said something about pack bonds along with an impressive command voice." Niall looked impressed.

"Patrin had handcuffs on." Sky put his hands behind his back—and winced as it obviously pulled on the wound. "An' he knocked the Scythe man—the Colonel—away from me."

Still tucked under André's arm, Talam shivered. Oui , the lad had come close to losing his littermate. Having experienced the gut-wrenching fear before, André pulled him closer.

"Wells yelled for the shooting to start then," Niall added. "He took out the snipers upstairs. Bron and I saw them fall. He's terrifyingly accurate."

"Moya jumped on the Colonel," Sky added, "and then Fell shot him."

"Fell has skills," Madoc agreed. "He flashbanged the room and shot the Scythe guarding the cubs before they could move."

"We owe him and Patrin a debt," André said slowly.

"No, Cosantir," Heather said formally. "The alpha and beta were protecting their pack—and their clan."

André inclined his head in acknowledgment of the truth.

"Actually, for the Colonel, they very much needed him dead." Heather sighed. "When they were shifter-soldiers, the Colonel tortured and murdered some of their fellows."

"Fuck." Niall rubbed his face, his expression hard. "Yeah, I get it."

Giving his brother a pat on the shoulder, André stayed silent. The cahir had lost a couple of younglings in Canada—and had slaughtered their murderers. Niall understood how the shifter-soldiers felt.

Moving inside the house, André checked on the Daonain who'd been captured. Thank the Mother, most had only bruises. While he talked with them, Heather was calling shifters for transport for them.

Within a few minutes, the first frantic family member arrived.

"Eileen!" Talitha rushed inside, looking around. "Mateo, Alvaro!"

"Over there," Heather grabbed her friend and redirected her toward the other side of the room.

"Here!" Mateo jumped up, and a second later, the slender wolf had two cubs in her arms. They were all crying…and André had to blink tears from his own eyes as the three settled down next to a still groggy Eileen.

If the lads had been a few inches smaller, they'd've been in the two females' laps. Still, an almost palpable sense of contentment came from the group as they cuddled together as closely as possible.

There was no doubt at all in the lads' hearts that they were loved.

Smiling, André watched a few more of his clan arrive and be reunited. Then he had to turn to less enjoyable activities.

Because, the Scythe had also captured humans…

Thankfully, their minds were still shaken from the stun grenade. Despite his throbbing head, he managed to remove their memories of waking in cages or handcuffs and the subsequent battle.

Drafting more help, he had them taken to the Shamrock where the volunteers would explain they'd been knocked out by the explosions and get them home. Simple explanations were best.

The Daonain had lost only three in the battle. Surprising, yet still tragic. One older wolf. A young male bear. The third wasn't part of André's clan, but an older cat visiting his shift-soldier grandsons.

When André talked to the grandsons, they said they'd take their grandsire's body home to Cold Creek for the Return to the Mother Rite of Passage. And then they said their Grandsire had performed the Death Gift…on the spymaster Wells.

Merde.

Still trying to wrap his aching brain around that surprise, André tracked down the spymaster who was in the company of a tough-looking older shifter. "Wells. This is rather unexpected."

Wells gave him a sardonic look. "Isn't it, though."

"I fear you will not be allowed to resume your previous occupation—at least, not for several months. Not until you have shown acceptable control in trawsfurring." André studied the male. Was he going to cooperate?

"Cosantir." The grizzled male with him nodded in respect. "I'm Joe Thorson. With your permission, I'll take him back to Cold Creek. He already has ties there."

When André lifted an eyebrow, Thorson added, "He's caomhnor to one of Calum's cubs."

Ah, Calum had mentioned his mate was fond of her old employer. André remembered Vicki from the summer solstice battle. A most formidable female. Naturally, she appreciated a warrior like the spymaster.

Wells had more than one bond with the Daonain, actually. As Cosantir, if he wanted, André saw more than most realized…like a faint bond between the two males. Bonds made for healthy shifters. All right then. "Because of your…friendship, and since Calum has experience with orienting a new Death Gift recipient, I will permit this."

He'd call the North Cascades Cosantir to ensure he'd monitor the spymaster.

"Thank you, Cosantir." Thorson bumped a shoulder against Wells in an obvious prompt.

The spymaster shot Thorson an irritated look before echoing, "Thank you, Cosantir." After a moment, he added, "I have resources that can handle the bodies. Admittedly, questions might be asked. And it might take a few days to get them?—"

"We will deal with the mess." André smiled slightly. Over the last months, he'd learned Rainier Territory had extensive caves. Several of the seemingly bottomless holes were quite suitable for unwanted bodies. "We'll clean out the cargo vans and leave them in the more crime-ridden sections of different cities…along with the young female operative."

"You can't let her tell?—"

"Although a distasteful solution, her memory of the last few years will be removed."

Wells' eyes widened, then narrowed. "Can't believe I forgot your people could do that."

"Your people now, I believe." André half smiled, then turned to watch the two shifters he'd stolen from the spymaster.

With Patrin between them, Moya and Fell were following Zorion to a car.

The shifter-soldiers had done very, very well. Off to one side, he saw Bron watching. When she glanced at him, he knew she was making plans for the two, and he nodded. I approve.

His gaze turned back to Wells. The spymaster was a headache he was happy to hand to Calum.

However, the new pack alpha and beta are all mine . He smiled, seeing the glow of a Mother-blessed bond running between the brothers and the courageous petite wolf he'd grown fond of.

And he could feel the God's satisfaction.

The clan increases.

Feeling like something a coyote had puked up, Patrin tried to walk in a straight line. Moya and Fell had him bracketed between them. And he had a feeling Ramón was walking behind just in case someone had to catch him.

Fuck, he hated being weak… Yet the concern and care almost offset all his aches.

Up ahead, Zorion stopped next to his red SUV.

Behind Zorion's vehicle, Heather's brothers were pulling a tied-up woman out of the passenger seat of their pickup.

Fell stiffened. "What's Renee doing here?" Ah, right, Renee worked with Fell in the coffee shop.

Daniel heard him and glanced over. "She's a Scythe spy."

Face set in stone, Tanner cut through the ropes securing her ankles. "Now, she can walk her ass inside."

The woman stared around her at a few bears and cats and the barely dressed shifters in human form. "You…you're animals ."

"Well, duh," Moya muttered, making Patrin choke on a laugh.

"Here, Jens, can you take her to the Cosantir?" Tanner said.

The young wolf took a step back and held his hands up in protest. "Tanner, that's Renee, one of Talitha's baristas."

"Yep, and Renee is a Scythe spy." Daniel's jaw tightened. "She suggested the sledding day just to make it easier to kidnap the cubs."

Patrin realized he still wanted to kill the female. "She selected Sky and Mateo for the Colonel to torture."

Oh, that did it. None of the shifters within hearing had any sympathy for her.

A rumbling growl came from Bridget, the clerk from the fishing shop. The bear had insisted on joining the fighting…because her cubs had been kidnapped.

Tanner gripped her arm. "Into the house with you." He paused as two shifters carried the Colonel's body down the porch steps.

Renee saw them, and her expression turned to violent rage. "You killed him. You stinking mutants, you killed him."

The ugly slur, so often used by the Colonel while he was growing up, rubbed against Patrin's nerves like sandpaper. His feet came to a halt.

"Did I remember to thank you, Fell?" Moya's voice and his brother's answering snort broke through Patrin's memories. When Moya rubbed her silky head against his bare upper arm in a gesture of sympathy, the grating sensation in his chest dissolved.

"Animals!" Renee rammed a shoulder into Tanner's chest, knocking him back a step, even as the ropes dropped from her wrists. A short knife gleamed in her right hand.

She stabbed it toward Jens' throat. He yelped and jumped back, barely in time.

The way clear, Renee sprinted for the forest.

Still in bear form, Bridget broke into a run, her big paws moving fast. Patrin almost smiled. If pushed, bears could reach wolf speed.

A tawny cougar sprang over Zorion's SUV and chased after. Maura from the diner, mother of Riona.

Together, the black bear and cougar took Renee down. The human was screaming as she disappeared under the two animals. The abrupt silence marked her end.

Ears flat, tail twitching, Maura expressed her opinion of the spy by scraping a pawful of snow over the body. Then the two mamas bounded back to the house…and their offspring.

Daniel leaned against his pickup, arms crossed over his chest. "It appears the Cosantir won't be forced to erase her memory after all. He'll be relieved."

Patrin exchanged wry smiles with Fell. Protecting females—even human ones—was a deep-seated Daonain instinct.

But when justice was dispensed by an angry mama bear?

Even Herne would approve.

"Patrin, Fell." Moya smiled up at them. "Come on, let's go home."

Home.

Yes.