“Almost packed.” In her small cabin’s bedroom, Heather grabbed a pair of fuzzy socks to tuck into the suitcase. “We just have… Oh honestly.”
The corner of the suitcase held a plump, gray cat.
When Greystoke gave her a smug look, she could only laugh. “You’re not being helpful, you little wretch.”
Five years before, she’d rescued the starving juvenile from the streets of Cle Elum, then had been terrified at how he’d react to living with a shifter.
It turned out Lord Greystoke was a very flexible fellow. As long as he was supplied with adoration, petting, and food, he’d ignore her little idiosyncrasies—like changing into a wolf. Unfortunately, he had no hesitation in telling her exactly what he thought of canines.
She glanced at the window. Through the surrounding forest, the light of the sun was slanting toward evening. She needed to leave for the Gathering in Ailill Ridge soon.
She wrinkled her nose. Normally, the time before a full moon would set up an anticipatory tingle in her body, preparing her for being fertile and in heat and in a place filled with eager males.
This time? Nothing. Her body probably needed more time to recover from miscarrying. “I’m sure not in any mood to mate with anyone. And the males better not push me.”
Greystoke rubbed his head against her fingers in sympathy.
Well, in the mood or not, she still had to go to the Gathering. Attendance was required of every fertile Daonain.
“I guess I’ll finish packing tomorrow.”
The sale of her company and office building was proceeding at breakneck speed since neither Heather nor Shaquana wanted to drag matters out.
“Soon we’ll be exploring unknown territories.” She picked her kitty up, and her snuggle set him to purring. “I love you, Lord Greystoke, my mini-Tarzan. And I’d be so, so lonely without you.”
Oh look, I think I’m turning into a crazy cat lady.
Giving a half-laugh, Heather eyed her closet. “Now, what can I wear tonight that says, leave me alone, or I’ll bust your face?”
Hours later, in the Gathering house in Ailill Ridge, Heather pointed toward the side exit. “Moya, I need to get out of here.” The babble of too many people was abrading her skin—and her temper.
And the smell.
Testosterone wasn’t supposed to have a scent, but she called bullshit. On Gathering nights, the scent of males wanting to mate thickened the air.
Not that she was interested. She hadn’t mated with anyone this evening. The idea of sex simply didn’t appeal.
She escaped out the side door and heaved a groan of relief at the silence and fresh air. “So much better.”
Moya, her short, curvier friend, had followed her out. “Maybe you’re not into sex yet, but you’re looking better. Can we start our mini pack runs again?”
Heather nodded. Yes, it was time to get back to normal. “Next month. If I’m here.” She was leaving her options open as far as how long she’d be traveling.
“Good. I’ll tell Talitha.” Moya leaned against the railing, then scowled at the paint flakes stuck to her sweater.
Frowning, Heather ran a finger over the rough wood. “This place is falling apart.”
“I’ll say.” Growling under her breath, Moya straightened. “In the mating room, the cushions were so old that when Daniel got enthusiastic, the stuffing poofed out with each…um…”
Heather snickered. Her brother had probably roared with laughter. “Did it help the mood?”
“Not.” Moya’s brown eyes danced with laughter. Brushing paint flakes off her ice blue sweater, she dropped onto a bench that creaked in warning. “You know, it’s great to have you at our Rainier Gathering for a change, but is there a reason?”
Heather stiffened. She usually attended the North Cascades Territory gathering and then would run up to Elder Village to see her mother. “Cold Creek would remind me too much of Mama.”
“I’m sorry, so sorry about your loss.” Moya reached out to squeeze her hand.
“Thank you.” But Mama’s loss wasn’t the sole reason for avoiding Cold Creek.
The North Cascades were where her friend Vicki and her cubs lived, including Sorcha, Heather’s goddaughter. And Heather couldn’t face them, not just yet.
Vicki totally deserved to be happy, to have such adorable cublings. So Heather would stay away until she could take joy in her friend’s happiness, rather than feeling envy and grief.
She shrugged. “And Talitha was happy to have more females here as moral support for the newbies.”
Being a lesbian, Talitha was only occasionally interested enough in a male to mate and didn’t experience the overwhelming lust that often terrified females new to being in heat. Tonight, Heather’s disinterest in mating meant she had time to sit with the new females and supply advice and sympathy.
“She has a kind heart, our Talitha.” Moya waggled her dark eyebrows. “So do you, even if you try to hide it. I’m glad she didn’t ask me.”
“You start too many fights—like tonight—which makes you a bad example.” Moya’s brothers had taught their sister to hit first and apologize later. Earlier, when two young males had harassed Moya after being refused, she’d smacked them down…with her fists. For a short nerd, she had an impressive right hook. “I’m surprised the Cosantir didn’t toss you out.”
“Pot, kettle, girl,” Moya sniffed. “You knocked their friend on his butt when he tried to blindside me. And please. Pete doesn’t toss anybody out these days. Everyone does just as they want with no oversight from our lazy-ass Cosantir.”
“The worthless garbage-guts.” Pete Wendell, the God-appointed guardian of Rainier Territory, was a spineless coyote.
Moya pushed away from the railing. “C’mon, let’s walk.”
“Does it seem like our imperious leader is getting even worse?” Heather winced as boards creaked under her feet on the wraparound porch.
“Noticed, did you?”
She had. Rather than supervising the Gathering, Pete had spent the night drinking, talking with his cronies, and ignoring everything else. Occasionally, he’d exert himself and find a female who wanted to mate.
As they passed the living room window, shouting came from inside.
“Hands off, scat-for-brains. She’s my female.”
“Yeah, like you can even get it up.”
Heather shook her head. “You know, in the North Cascades, Calum has rules about bullying and brawling—and he enforces the rules.”
“No wonder you prefer to go to Gatherings up there, despite the drive. Calum’s the Cosantir?”
“He is.” As they rounded a corner, Heather looked toward the north. Realizing her hand was on her belly—over her empty womb—she forced it down. “Although being in a car for hours makes me itch, avoiding this kind of turmoil is worth it.”
“I bet. Last month, Talitha got hurt when she couldn’t get out of the way of a brawl. Pete didn’t do a thing.”
“No surprise there. Why couldn’t we have someone like Calum in charge?” Heather detoured around a smiling female who was flirting with an older male. Neither noticed her or Moya.
“Or no one at all would be even better.”
That would be a disaster. Heather gave Moya a disbelieving look.
The little brunette had a problem with males in authority. All of them, all of the time. And since Cosantirs were essentially thought-melded to Herne, they were always male.
Moya scowled. “Fine, the Daonain need their Cosantirs. Unfortunately, unless the God calls another, we’re stuck with Pete.”
“’Fraid so.”
Moya eyed Heather. “Hey, could you, maybe, ask Calum to tell the God about our worthless Cosantir? You’re friends, right?”
“We are.” As cubs, she, Daniel, and Tanner had often hung around with Calum and Alec. “As it happens, I asked him already.”
Heather shook her head at the memory.
The Wild Hunt bar had been empty.
Waiting for her friend, Vicki, she sat on a barstool while Calum—who owned the bar—inventoried his stock and listened to her complain about Pete and how much of a mess the territory was. “Calum, why doesn’t the God remove Pete? He’s not what a Cosantir should be.”
“Herne might not have even noticed, depending on how open Pete keeps the channel between them.” Calum leaned an arm on the bar top. “Time flows differently for deities. To them we are…” He paused. “I think of it as the Gods being landlords who live far away and hire managers to maintain their properties. The Gods might drop in if in the area, but otherwise, they don’t bother with their rentals unless they get a call about a problem.”
“How disappointing.” She shook her head. “But they do check on us, right?”
“Indeed. Yet what they consider frequent checkups in eternal time might be decades to us mortals.”
She had been disheartened at his words. How could Rainier Territory survive more years of Pete’s indifference?
“Hey, earth to Heather.” Moya waved her hand in front of Heather’s face. “Well? What did Calum say?”
“Oh, sorry. After he told me the God might not notice how crappy Pete is, I asked him if he couldn’t get Herne to remove Pete—since Calum’s a Cosantir too.”
Calum’s expression had changed to disappointment…in her. “His answer was—and I quote—‘My charge does not include oversight of another territory. If a Cosantir’s clan is dissatisfied, it’s up to the shifters there to take action.’ ”
His answer had made her feel as if she’d tried to shove her responsibility off onto someone else. Which was exactly what she’d tried to do.
“Huh. He’s no help, telling us to deal with it ourselves. How typical.” Moya growled. “Yo, Calum, just watch—I’ll run right out and perform the ritual to call upon the Gods. Not.”
Moya sounded more bitter than cautious. Heather tilted her head. “Why are you down on the ritual?”
“Girl, shifters die doing that shit. My cousin wanted lifemates of her own so bad she went to the Gods to ask.” Moya’s mouth twisted. “We found her body a couple of weeks later. I think she got so tired she became careless.”
“I’m sorry.”
Moya sighed. “Me too. And her littermates were devastated. Anyway, I guess Pete is safe from getting his whiskers clipped—at least from me.”
A movement out on the front lawn caught Heather’s attention. “What’s going on down there?”
In the shadows of the shade trees, someone stood at the end of the long private drive. No one was on guard there, which was negligent. Other territories posted sentries to ensure humans didn’t blunder into their activities, because while in the mating heat, none of the shifters were observant or careful.
“Huh, it’s our mangy-tailed Cosantir,” Moya said.
Three much shorter people joined Pete beneath a tall tree. Females, maybe? No, they had no curves. So cublings, probably teenagers.
Two of them handed something to Pete. The third showed empty hands.
Pete slapped the youth hard, knocking him into the tree trunk, making the youngling cry out in pain.
By the Lady, the mangy-tailed weasel had struck a child.
Outraged, Heather shouted, “Don’t you hurt that cub!”
Even as she stepped off the porch, Pete motioned, and the younglings raced away, back through the gate.
Pete stomped toward the house, a growl in his words. “What are you doing out here? Females should be in the house. Mating.”
As he climbed the steps, then swept past them into the house, fury filled Heather, and she raised her fist. She’d knock the patronizing words right back down his throat.
“No.” Moya gripped her hand, fingernails digging in like claws.
Heather stopped, appalled at her action. The Cosantir was the avatar of the God. To disrespect the God was…unthinkable.
And the God would probably strike her dead. There was that too.
A Cosantir had many gifts from Herne, including the power to kill a shifter with a touch.
Biting back angry words, she followed Moya inside.
The living area was in an uproar.
As they joined Talitha, Moya asked, “Fairy farts and demon dung, what is going on?”
Slender and graceful as a willow tree, Talitha shook her head. “Caleb wanted a female who was going upstairs with Jens. The female had turned Caleb down, but he attacked Jens anyway.”
Caleb was a big beefy male, outweighing young Jens by a hundred pounds at least. Punching Jens with a huge fist, Caleb knocked him down—and then stomped on his leg.
The sound of the breaking bone and scream turned Heather’s stomach.
And infuriated her. The Law of the Fight forbade maiming and crippling. Like the others in the room, she turned to see what the Cosantir would do. Banishment was the minimum penalty.
Standing by the fireplace, Pete shrugged and walked away.
She stared, unable to believe the Cosantir would just ignore this. Others around her grumbled their displeasure in low voices.
“Now, you fucking cockroach, let’s finish this.” Caleb grabbed Jens’ collar, and the young male yelped in pain.
Anger roared through Heather like a fire, burning away any hesitancy. These were her people, her clan…and no bully beta would keep her from protecting them. Turning, she grabbed the small armchair, hefted it up, and threw it with all her might.
It hit Caleb right in the nose. With a shout of pain, he released Jens and staggered back.
“Leave Jens alone.” Heather grabbed another chair, and she planted herself in front of the young man.
Hands in fists, Moya joined her, then Talitha, followed by other shifters, forming a line.
Heather’s eyes stung as she realized she wasn’t alone. There were still honorable Daonain in Rainier Territory.
With a frustrated growl, Caleb strode away.
As shifters who knew first aid tended to Jens, Heather leaned against a window frame and looked out at the setting moon behind the trees. The first glimmers of sunrise limned the leaves in gold.
The Gathering was over. Until next full moon.
She had an ugly taste in her mouth from the violence. This couldn’t—mustn’t—continue. But it would if no one enforced the Laws of the Daonain.
There were too few shifters to lose any to crippling and death from stupid fights. And Gatherings should be a time of joy, of mating—not fear.
This was all wrong.
She realized she was touching her belly again. Just two weeks ago, she’d promised her unborn she’d keep them safe. They didn’t need her protection, not any longer.
But what about the babies who weren’t hers? What about the cubs to come, like those her brothers, Moya, or Talitha might eventually have? What about the youngling Pete had struck?
She shook her head. I can’t take on all the weasels—let alone the Cosantir.
But…this mustn’t continue. The Territory needed a guardian who would actually guard.
A mountain storm of frustration swirled inside her. What could she do? But when the storm died, the wind sweeping the sky clear, there was only one solution uncovered.
The ritual to call upon the Gods.
A chill ran up her spine. Shifters who called on the Gods often died. But…who better than her? She wasn’t pregnant any longer. Her mother was gone; she had no mates. Not even a damn job.
Her brothers had each other…and they’d understand why she needed to do this.
Herne the Hunter needed to be told about his Cosantir, about Pete. The task was up to her.
And if she didn’t survive, at least she’d have tried.