Following his brothers out of the B&B, Niall took a deep breath. The days had been warm and dry, and the air held the dusty scent of evergreens mixed with the less-appealing odors of humanity—petroleum, cooked food, along with the artificial perfumes of soap, deodorants, and that odd, sticky spray humans used on their hair.
He wrinkled his nose.
Then again, it smelled far better than Calgary, and here, in a Daonain territory, his strength was enhanced by the God. “I’ve made a decision—I’m never going into a city again.”
Madoc slapped his arm—and wasn’t it nice his shoulder no longer hurt. “’Bout time you came to your senses. You should have told your company to take a long leap off a high cliff.”
“Yeah.” Niall followed André across the brick-paved square toward Espresso Books—a combined bookstore and coffee shop. “That won’t be a problem in the future.” Yesterday, he’d sent an email, tendering his resignation.
The cybersecurity company’s carefully worded acceptance held an apology for what he’d been through, gratification he was all right, and understanding for his disinclination to return. Not expressed was their undoubted relief at losing an employee who might be a source of unfavorable publicity, not to mention investigations and trials.
André dropped back to walk beside him. “It’s a shame. I know you liked your job, brawd.”
Niall shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. It was odd. He knew he’d loved working cybersecurity, yet ever since Trevor and Sydney were murdered, that life seemed…distant. All he wanted right now was to disappear into the wilderness. To bury himself in his animal’s head and forget the grief, the deaths, the guilt.
And he couldn’t right now, so he’d have to use other techniques. Talking with his brothers was helping, probably more than anything else. He’d had to tell himself he’d been through this before. Violence, even for a cahir, was a shock to the system. He was working on taking care of himself—eating healthy, sleeping, and starting to get out and about…like today.
Silently, he followed his brothers into the coffee shop portion of the place and did a quick scan in hopes Heather might be there. But she wasn’t.
The twenty-something, freckle-faced barista looked up from messing with a machine. “Hey, Madoc. The usual three or just you?”
“Corey.” Madoc held up three fingers. “Please.”
Niall grinned. Of course the coffee shop guy would know Madoc. Hating Gretchen’s weak brew, the bear had been making frequent coffee runs. He was still grumbling about the lack of Tim Hortons in the territory and insisting the American Starbucks couldn’t compare.
They chose pastries to go with the drinks, and Madoc paid.
Niall poked at the bills—all the same dull green no matter the denomination. “Boring. What do Americans have against color?”
André laughed and led the way to a table.
Taking a seat, Niall realized nothing hurt. He was definitely stronger. “When can we head back to Canada?”
André took a sip of his coffee and considered Niall with a frown.
Even if not wolves, littermates tended to defer to one sibling. André had always been their alpha. Leadership suited neither Niall nor Madoc, and André couldn’t stop exuding authority if he’d tried. Being a Mountie fit him as closely as did his fur.
“You’re better,” André said finally, “but not steady or strong enough to manage the Cascade Range over the border. Not yet.”
Well, fuck.
“Can we, at least, get out of this messed-up territory?” If Niall had been a wolf, he’d probably have whined.
“Did the cat and dog fight wake you up last night?” Madoc chuckled.
By the God, it had. From the screeching, hissing, and growling, a couple of werecats had been brawling with werewolves. “Hearing the scat-for-brains fighting in the center of town set off every cahir instinct in my body. Humans live here. Do these shifters care nothing about the Law?”
“It’s perplexing, aye?” André’s brows drew together. “Animosity between feline and canine Daonain should never have been allowed to reach open battle. I almost went down to break it up, but the presence of a foreigner would probably have upped the violence.”
“And a Mountie can’t arrest someone in this country.” Madoc rubbed a finger along his short beard. “This kind of idiocy should be handled by shifters in the territory or the Cosantir. Where is he—hibernating for the winter?”
“He does seem rather ineffectual. And the shifters appear disinclined to act.” André smiled slightly. “However, we’ve met some good Daonain here. The grocer was helpful, and of course, there’s Niall’s female, Heather.”
“Not mine.” He’d be getting teased about her for years…and he didn’t even care. “But it’s a shame you poor males missed out. You’d like her.”
André took a sip of his drink, studied Niall for a long moment, then smiled. “I think you can tolerate the drive to Cold Creek. We can relocate there where the dog and cat fights won’t bother you.”
“Good.” Madoc swallowed the last of his pastry. “Head for the North Cascades in the morning?”
Three fists thumped the table, signaling a consensus.
“How long did you take leave for?” Niall asked André.
“A month.” André looked up as two elderly women entered the shop. “I also requested a new posting.”
Guilt trickled into Niall’s gut. “Because of me.”
“Partly. It seems expedient to remove us from the area.” André motioned with his cup. “But I enjoy exploring new areas. We all do.”
Madoc chuckled. “After having parents who never settled anywhere, you’d think we’d be the opposite. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to work?”
Niall shrugged. “We never gave permanency a chance after leaving our twenties.”
Upon becoming adults, Daonain males were encouraged to wander from territory to territory for a time. It broadened their horizons—and more importantly, stirred up the gene pool.
“My fault,” André admitted. “In law enforcement, it’s best to be unbiased, not swayed by relationships. Attachments aren’t wise.”
“Logical.” But not entirely the whole truth, Niall knew. André avoided entanglements with anyone except his brothers in much the same way Madoc avoided females outside of full moon gatherings.
Then again, he himself had never wanted to settle down with anyone or anywhere.
They had each other. It was enough.
André led his brothers out of Espresso Books, thinking of a cat-vs-wolf fight in Quebec. His grandfather, the Cosantir, had given the four miscreants a choice: be shaved of their fur or be banished. They’d chosen to be shaved—and had never set a paw wrong again.
The Cosantir here lacked imagination. Or maybe he just didn’t care.
He damned-well should care. This territory was a disaster—hungry cubs on the streets, violence between shifters. Niall had mentioned they had no cahirs and no healer, probably because shifters who could choose their location wouldn’t want to live here.
“Let’s get Niall used to walking again.” To avoid the tourists clogging the square, André headed into the creekside park.
“Yes, let’s.” Grinning, Niall led the way down the sidewalk running beside the water.
The large stream probably was a raging torrent in the spring, but this late in the year, the water flowed smooth and quiet. A footbridge crossed over from the parking area to the park.
André watched three, long, sleek undines play tag around the bridge pillars, darting in and out of the sunlight. “I haven’t noticed many OtherFolk around, have you?”
Perhaps because of the inadequate Cosantir?
“Rather a thin population. A sprite here and there. A gnome behind the grocery.” Madoc grinned. “Maybe they all moved to Canada.”
Niall gave him a laughing look. “Next, they’ll demand we give them hockey sticks.”
“Pixie vs gnomes for the Stanley Cup.” André snorted. “All the gnomes would be suspended within minutes.”
After they’d walked a while, Niall’s gait slowed. Without discussing it, André simply turned and headed back.
Niall scowled. “Okay, I get it. I’m not ready to challenge the Cascade Range yet.”
“Nope, you’re not.” Madoc slapped André’s shoulder. “Why don’t you get your running in. We’ll meet you at the footbridge.”
Niall wasn’t the only one who needed to stretch his legs. “Sounds good.” André broke into an easy jog. Maybe tonight they could shift and run some forest trails.
Passing the square, he kept going, ticking off minutes in his head until the time came to turn and head back. As he neared the bridge, he saw his brothers weren’t there yet.
Loud laughter from the stream bank caught his attention. Another brawl about to happen?
No. A group of males and females were gathered in a circle under a tree. A high-pitched squeak sounded. Had they caught a mouse?
André veered toward them and checked the scent in the air. They were all shifters.
In animal form, a shifter might enjoy a good chase and rodent snack. But these Daonain were in human form—and torturing animals was despicable.
Shouldering a male to one side, André joined the circle, ready to rescue a rodent.
It wasn’t a rodent; it was a pixie. A young one, even smaller than his hand.
A black-haired male dangled the sprite by her long, green hair then tossed her to a beefy, brown-haired male. The little being let out another pained squeak.
Rage roared through André with the force of a summer wildfire. “By the God, you will stop.” As the idiot shifters jumped in surprise, he struck the male’s forearm with the edge of his hand.
The shifter’s grip loosened, and André swept up the pixie. He glanced down, relieved to see no obvious damage. “One second, sprite, and you’ll be safe.”
She didn’t try to escape his gentle hold.
Moving to the tree, he reached up and set the young pixie on a low branch. With a happy leap, she disappeared into the foliage.
Now for the beetle-headed boggarts. He turned toward the shifters.
Two looked down in shame. The rest were openly unrepentant. Sneering, even.
What was wrong with this clan? “Take out your aggression on other shifters, not the OtherFolk…assuming your Cosantir lets you live after your behavior today.”
“Our Cosantir?” The beefy brown-haired male let out a laugh. “Pete wouldn’t get upset over this—not even if the stinking pixie went toes-up.”
André crossed his arms over his chest. “Have you forgotten all you were taught as cubs? Tormenting OtherFolk is against the Law of Respect. If your Cosantir won’t deal with you, then—”
“Back off, stranger.” The voice came from behind him.
“I will not.” André turned and recognized the soft-looking male as the rude Cosantir he’d met his first day in Ailill Ridge.
Pete Wendell.
Wendell lifted his chin as if he had a crown on his head. In a way, he did. With the power of high, low, and middle judgment, a Cosantir could banish and even kill a shifter with a touch. “I said leave.”
No honorable Daonain would walk away from the abuse of the OtherFolk—and Cosantirs must act when the Laws were flagrantly disobeyed. “What kind of a Cosantir are you? Your people deliberately harmed a pixie, and you don’t care…or are you afraid they won’t listen?” Anger flaring even higher, André set his feet. “Are you toothless or simply incompetent?”
Wendell’s face darkened. “You fucking asshole. Burn.” He slapped his hand on André’s shoulder.
André stiffened, knowing right down to his bones he was going to die here. The power of the God flared…and continued to grow until the light around him was so bright he had to close his eyes.
And then the fire sank inside him, searing along flesh, veins, down to his bones…and deeper. Flames burned through his defenses until his very soul lay open and exposed.
He heard his name called, but the voice inside him could be heard by no ears. His name—and a call. The Call. There were no words, yet he had no doubt.
Herne was calling upon him to be Cosantir of this territory. To serve this clan.
No. I don’t belong here. This isn’t my territory or my country.
Sensations and images filled his head. The ragged cubs, the sounds of werecats and wolves fighting, the pixie trembling in his palm, his request for help denied.
The territory needed a true Cosantir. The clan needed him.
Within the space of a breath, of a thought, he answered.
Aye.
Power surged through him, filling him until it spilled outward, past his skin and into the air around him.
Over the roaring in his ears, he heard an agonized cry. The grip on his shoulder disappeared.
André didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Could only stand and endure as the God made him into His Own.
Strolling across the pedestrian bridge toward the square, Heather tilted her head back, enjoying the sun on her face. She’d accomplished a lot the past few days. The business papers were signed. Packing was done. Cabin was ready to close for a time.
Now she needed to pick up some supplies for the road—and a box of lightweight kitty litter.
Tomorrow, she and Greystoke would be off for places unknown.
She smiled at the cloudless blue sky. Surely a herald of happier days to come.
Although, she had to admit, she missed Niall. The cabin seemed awfully empty without him. Oddly enough, in just those few days, Niall had turned into more of a friend than most of her previous lovers.
Maybe the shifters were doing things backward, what with mating first, then trying to be friends.
Should she go call upon the Gods and suggest full moon Gatherings be ended? She grinned, visualizing a lightning bolt hitting a little, red-furred wolf on a cliff. Nope, that idea was not something she’d be taking to the Gods.
Reaching the park, she noticed a group of shifters. Ugh. Obnoxious Brett and cockroach Caleb were there.
Being his usual overbearing self, Pete had just slapped a hand on a dark-haired stranger’s shoulder.
She shook her head, veering away from the group.
Then, Pete stiffened. Back arching, he gave an anguished cry and staggered away from the stranger.
What in the Mother’s name had happened? Reversing direction, Heather moved closer.
The dark-haired male stood motionless, every muscle rigid. His chiseled features seemed carved from the hardest granite in the mountains as his brown eyes darkened to an unfathomable black. The air around him shimmered in a palpable aura, one with the unmistakable presence of the God.
Heather froze.
“You asshole! What did you do to Pete?” Brett lunged at the stranger who obviously couldn’t fight back.
“No.” Stepping between them, Heather shoved Brett back.
“Bitch.” Brett swung. His fist caught her high in the face, knocking her sideways.
Pain exploded in her cheekbone. Regaining her balance, she jumped back between him and the stranger. “Leave him alone, Brett.”
He loomed over her, and her jaw tightened. He’d not get another punch in. She set her stance, ready to—
A huge blond-haired male gripped Brett’s arm and threw him across the park, almost into the creek.
Heather’s eyes widened. Niall.
The cahir’s green eyes were blazing with anger.
Beside him was an equally furious male with shoulder-length brown hair, a short beard, and hazel eyes. Turning to the dark-haired male who Brett had attacked. “André, what…” His voice died.
Heather put her hands over her mouth to suppress the gasp.
Because André’s eyes were the color of night—the color of a Cosantir’s eyes when he channeled the power of the God.
Heather stared at Pete. The Cosantir—the previous Cosantir—sat, shoulders slumped. Any trace of the God had disappeared. He looked stunned, like he’d been hit over the head.
“By the Lady,” Niall snapped. “What’s happened here? André—brawd?”
André slowly turned his head toward Niall, and his eyes began to focus.
Niall called him brawd. Was he one of Niall’s brothers? Oh no.
At the startled sound she made, André’s gaze focused on her.
The punch of the God’s presence was so potent she took a hasty step back. “Cosantir,” she whispered, bowing her head instinctively.
He flinched.
Niall grunted as if he’d been struck, then he bowed too. “Cosantir.”
“So it seems.” André paused, his mouth twisting. “But why, I do not know.” The resonant voice held a faint accent. “This isn’t even my country.”
Dismay closed like a vise on Heather’s skull. The God had called André to be Cosantir of her territory…and he wasn’t American?
Of course, he wasn’t, if he was Niall’s brother. Niall was Canadian.
Oh Gods, she’d been the one to ask Herne for a new Cosantir.
What had Herne done? The male could never go home. Couldn’t return to whatever job he’d done before. Would have to deal with this disaster of a territory, a place where he didn’t belong and knew nothing about. His clan would be made up of strangers.
Even so, hope bubbled up inside her. She’d asked Herne for a new Cosantir…and the God had come through.
But seeing the pain in the new Cosantir’s face, all she could think was: I’m so sorry.
André felt the power of the God inside him, pulsing as if his skin was too tight to hold it in.
He could still feel Herne’s anger at the previous Cosantir who’d failed the God. Could feel his own anger at the circumstances binding him to this territory. In the States.
“Gods.” His knees started to buckle.
Slinging an arm around him, Madoc held him steady.
André pulled in a breath. He could always count on his brothers. “Thanks.”
“Trust you to shoulder a whole new mess of trouble,” Madoc grumbled.
André’s eyes refused to focus, but he felt shock from the shifters around him. Some were furious.
The former Cosantir sat on the grass, his expression panicked.
As the shifters began cursing and shouting, André shook his head. Fire continued to burn inside him, shooting raw jolts of lightning through his soul. He straightened his spine and hoped he could still walk. “Niall, Madoc, get me out of here, please.”
To his dismay, Niall answered, “Your will, Cosantir.” Then his voice softened. “We got you, brawd.”
Despite his brothers moving slower than a pair of drunken dwarves, Madoc managed to get them back to the B&B. Leaving them in their sitting area, he made a run to the coffee shop for donuts and coffee. André needed something to ground him.
By the time he’d returned, Niall had sprawled on the couch, keeping an eye on André, who rested in an armchair.
After setting out the food, Madoc handed André a lidded cup of coffee.
“Thank you, brawd.” André’s usually smooth voice was ragged.
Madoc waited until his brother successfully navigated a drink. “You all right?”
A muscle in André’s cheek twitched. “Ask me tomorrow.”
“Right.” Madoc couldn’t even imagine. Cahirs occasionally mentioned the horrendous hours after being God-called, but Cosantirs didn’t. Maybe because the process was more spiritual than physical?
Leaving André to sip his drink and stare at the wall, Madoc handed Niall a coffee, then took the other chair.
Niall rubbed his chin. “A Cosantir. What the fuck was Herne thinking?”
“Maybe the God noticed how the arsehole named Wendell sucked at the job?” Madoc took a drink of coffee. “And here was André, someone already dedicated to law enforcement with the right mentality to be guardian of a territory.”
“True enough,” Niall conceded. “Yet…”
There was always a yet, wasn’t there?
Good Cosantirs were profoundly involved with their clan, and that wasn’t André’s way. The three of them never formed deep attachments to anyone or anything besides each other—not to people, clans, or territories.
Madoc sighed. No more moving.
“A Cosantir and his territory are…one,” Niall echoed his thoughts. As the bards would have it, the mountains were a Cosantir’s bones, the streams his blood. The clan and animals in the territory were his heart.
“He’ll change,” Madoc murmured. He’d have to. So would they.
Because Cosantirs didn’t move.
“No, Gretchen. We’re here to talk with the Cosantir—not you.”
The firm tone in the older woman’s voice drew André out of the hole he’d fallen into. From the angle of the sun in the room, he’d been staring at the wall for a couple of hours. By the God, he felt like a slug squashed under a heavy paw.
Ah, right, that was essentially what’d happened, wasn’t it?
Niall set aside his laptop, Madoc his book, and his brothers rose.
Three older people climbed the stairs and entered the sitting area. They halted, studying his brothers before their gazes settled on him.
And three clan Elders bowed their heads in respect.
Herne help me, I’m not ready for this.
He almost laughed because Herne was the one who’d dumped this duty on him.
Hands on the chair arms, he leaned forward to rise, hoping he wouldn’t land on his ass.
“No, no, Cosantir. Please, stay seated.” The short, thin female with chin-length, silver hair clucked her tongue. “I was present when the God called Calum to be Cosantir of the North Cascades. It took Calum hours before his legs worked—and even longer to stop calling Herne foul names.”
Calum? The incredibly competent North Cascades Cosantir hadn’t wanted the job?
Oddly heartened, André relaxed. “In that case, would you please be seated?”
Madoc and Niall were already pulling chairs from the corners, setting them close enough for conversation.
“Thank you, cahir.” The female sat, then told André, “I’m Ina Donnelly.”
“Good morning, Ina.” André turned his gaze to the short, white-bearded male he and Madoc had met once. “You’re the grocer, yes?”
“I am. I own the grocery.” The male put his hand on his chest. “Bernard Murtagh—just Murtagh.”
The other male had steel-gray hair and wore a business suit. He bent his head to André. “Cosantir, welcome to Rainier Territory. I’m Friedrich Schumacher, and I own the bank.”
André nodded in acknowledgment. “I’m André. My littermates, Niall and Madoc.”
Greetings were exchanged.
The banker leaned forward. “Cosantir, we’re interrupting your day because… Ah, before there are…complications, it would be wise to transfer the clan funds to your care.” In most territories, Cosantirs managed the money and properties for the good of the clan.
André eyed the male. It was interesting the way he’d spoken the word, “complications.” “Please explain.”
The banker’s jaw tightened into a grim expression. “We spoke with the previous Cosantir before coming here, and I’m afraid Pete refused to sign the paperwork transferring the money to you.”
Niall stared. “Why?”
“He considers the account to be his.” Friedrich’s bulldog face was set in a disapproving mask. “I warned him over and over about using clan money as his own. In fact, in July, we transferred almost all the checking account money into the savings account which requires the Board’s sign-off for withdrawals. However, at this point, he still has a legal right to the accounts and could cause problems.”
Isn’t this just a dog’s breakfast. André rubbed his face. How in the God’s green forests was he going to turn this territory around?
With an effort, he straightened. This was now his task, and he’d give it everything he had. His brothers would help because that was who they were.
Murtagh’s voice held an apologetic note. “Pete always had a bit of an ego and maybe wasn’t exactly energetic, but he was a fair Cosantir in the beginning. Around five years or so ago, he and Roger were courting a fine female when an avalanche killed her. He grew…bitter.”
“Almost like he blamed the God.” Ina shook her head. “He acted as if, being the Cosantir, he should be immune to loss.”
“We all want that, don’t we?” Murtagh sighed. “After that, he was different. Well, no one stays the same all their lives. Life changes us, aye?”
André exchanged glances with Madoc and Niall. Their parents had grown increasingly narrow-minded as the years went on. People did change and not always for the better.
Murtagh stroked a hand down his beard. “Truth to tell, he stopped putting in any effort. He liked the way things come easy as a Cosantir. Having the respect and no one questioning him.”
The banker scowled. “And not having to earn his own way.”
“Really?” Madoc tilted his head. “I didn’t think the stipends for the Gods-called were especially generous. Don’t most supplement their clan income?”
Since the Gods-called—healers, cahirs, Cosantirs, blademages, soulweavers—worked erratic hours for the clan, the territories provided stipends. Aside from healers, the amount was nominal.
Niall stretched out his long legs. “So Wendell grew lazy, stopped enforcing the Laws, and used clan money as his own.”
“You have it in a nutshell, cahir.” Ina smiled at Niall—then André. “We’re most pleased to have you with us, Cosantir.”
“Thank you.” Heartened by her obvious approval, André studied the Elders. Apparently, along with his littermates, here were three he could count on.
He noted the folder in the banker’s hand. “You three are here for a reason.”
“Very good. We’ll get right to it, then let you rest.” Ina straightened in her chair. “The Board of Directors of Rainier Territory Company is hereby convened. I appoint”—she hesitated—“I’m sorry, Cosantir, might I have your full name?”
“André Crichton.”
The banker spread the papers out on the coffee table and printed André’s name on one.
“Excellent.” Ina continued, “The three directors appoint André Crichton as CEO of the Rainier Territory Company to replace Peter Wendell. Mr. Wendell is removed from his post, effective immediately, and an audit of the company books will be conducted to ensure all is in order.”
Murtagh snorted. “You and your fancy wording. Good job, Ina.” He took a paper from the banker, scrawled his name, and handed it to Ina.
After adding her signature, she leaned forward and gave the paper to André. With his acceptance, the clan accounts would be under his control.
Financial matters weren’t anything he enjoyed.
No choice. Running a territory required money. He signed.
“Does Wendell have a personal bank account?” Niall asked.
“He does.” The banker shook his head. “But it has almost no money in it—Pete doesn’t use it for anything.”
André’s jaw tightened. Wendell wouldn’t take being cut off from his usual funds well. Ina had spoken of an audit. “We’re going to need an accountant. A Daonain accountant.”
“Good luck.” Madoc shook his head. “Shifters don’t usually become—”
“Heather Sutharlan is an accountant,” Ina interrupted. “She’s one of those CPAs and has a business degree, as well.”
Heather. Wasn’t she the female who’d hit Niall with her car—and saved his life?
Niall leaned forward. “She’s a CPA?”
“I don’t figure she has time to help us out, Ina.” Murtagh shook his head. “She doesn’t like it here in Rainier Territory and has her own business to run.”
“Actually”—Ina tapped her lips—“she sold the business. Just recently. But I think she’s planning to leave on an extended vacation. Tomorrow, in fact.”
“Perhaps we can get her to lend a paw first.” André said.
“I’ll ask her.” Niall straightened. “First thing in the morning before she takes off. Can I borrow your car, André?”
André studied his brother who’d been so subdued since the deaths in Canada.
He looked more alive.
Smiling, André tilted his head. “Of course.” It appeared he’d get to meet the female who had such an effect on the cahir.
A brother had to get his amusement where he could find it.