In the back seat beside his brother, Talam shivered. His clothes were still wet from the downpour earlier. Their den wasn’t very rain-proof.
The van bounced crazily as Mr. Wendell drove down a dirt road filled with ruts and holes.
When the vehicle stopped, Talam undid his seat belt. Peering out the window, he saw a log cabin with a light burning over the porch. Black forest surrounded the clearing.
“Where are we?” His voice cracked on the last word.
“This is the job.” Mr. Wendell pointed to the house. “You’re going to burn that place down.”
What? The shock held Talam silent, but beside him, Sky squeaked like a mouse getting eaten.
I don’t want to burn anything. After a second, Talam asked carefully, “May I ask why, Mr. Wendell?”
“A bad person—a human male—lives there and needs to be driven out of the territory to keep our females and cubs safe. So we’ll burn his house down and make him move.” Mr. Wendell’s voice was sharper than the lava rocks on the high slopes.
A bad human like the ones who’d killed shifters last summer? What had Mateo called them—Scythe mercenaries? If it was one of them, they might hurt the females and little cublings in town.
Talam swallowed, wanting to ask more questions. Wanting…proof.
Because Mr. Wendell sometimes lied. Like how he’d promised all the boys fifty dollars apiece, then only gave them half. Or saying he’d never abandon them in a human town, but when a storekeeper caught Farlan and Padraig, he’d left. Driven away. Those two had never come back to Ailill Ridge.
“I don’t think we should,” Sky whispered. Talam could feel him shaking. “It’s not right.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you think.” Mr. Wendell was getting louder and louder. “You’re going to burn the fucking cabin, right the fuck now. If you ever tell anyone I was here, I’ll shift to bear and rip you into tiny pieces. Got that?”
Fear shot through Talam so hard he almost pissed his pants.
“Yes, sir,” Sky whispered as he gripped Talam’s hand.
“Yes, sir.” Talam added, real fast, “But everything’s wet. Nothing will burn.”
“It will.” Mr. Wendell pointed to the back. “Take the tire iron and the bundles of clothing. Put three bundles on the porch, up against the wall. Break the windows and drop the other two inside. Then come back here.”
Talam wanted to say they wouldn’t do it. Sky was right. They shouldn’t burn someone’s home.
“Move!” When Mr. Wendell raised his fist, Talam jumped out. Sky followed.
“I don’t want to,” Sky whispered over the sound of the rain sprinkling the trees. At least it wasn’t pouring down like earlier.
“Me, neither.” Mr. Wendell might’ve promised money and to use them as workers again, but…Talam didn’t want to work for him anymore. Not never.
Opening the back of the van, he grabbed a twine-wrapped bundle of what looked like old clothes. It was huge, coming to his thighs, and he staggered as he carried it onto the porch.
They got the first three bundles placed on the porch. But then…
Breaking somebody’s window felt wrong. Mama wouldn’t want him to do this; she’d be really upset. He didn’t want to do this.
A scary growl came from the car, and he flinched. Mr. Wendell would hurt them if they didn’t finish this job.
Holding his breath, Talam swung the heavy tire iron. The glass broke with a horrible crash. He and Sky hefted up the bundle of fabric and pushed it through the window.
Almost crying, he busted out the other front window and helped Sky shove in the last bundle.
They ran back to the van.
“Good.” Mr. Wendell still sat in the front seat, and Talam scowled. The male wasn’t going to help at all? “Leave the tire iron on the ground. Get those containers and pour the gas onto the bundles. Use it all.”
The big red containers were really heavy. It took both of them to hold a container up and pour gas onto the giant bundles on the porch and inside.
They ran back.
“Toss the containers in the bushes.” When they returned, Mr. Wendell handed them each a box of matches. “Light one, toss it onto a bundle. Don’t get too close.”
As they ran back onto the porch, Talam’s stomach was twisting so hard he almost threw up. This isn’t right; it just isn’t. “I’ll light the ones inside.”
“Okay.”
Talam leaned in one window, lit a match, then remembered Mr. Wendell saying not to get too close. After taking a few steps back, he tossed the match.
PHOOM! Flames exploded from the bundle.
“Scat!” Heart hammering, he watched for a second. At the other window, he lit the next bundle—standing much farther away.
“I’m done.” He turned.
His brother had already fired the first bundle by the door. Now, Sky was trying to light the one at the end of the porch, but the wind kept blowing out the matches when he tossed them.
He was too close. “Sky, stay farther—”
The match lit, flames exploded up and out, and Sky screamed.
“No!” Talam tore across the porch. Grabbing his brother, he yanked off the burning jacket and slapped the little flames out off his shirt.
Sky was crying, half screaming. Spotting a birdbath, Talam pulled his brother there and splashed cold water onto his face and chest. And hands. Patches of his skin were horribly red and black.
“It’s okay, Sky, you’ll be—”
With a popping sound, the porch light burst leaving the area in darkness except for the burning cabin.
“C’mon,” Talam helped Sky to his feet. “Mr. Wendell probably has—”
Over the noise of the crackling fire came the sound of a car starting. And moving away.
“He left us.” Talam swallowed hard. Mr. Wendell had left them here—miles and miles from home.
In her Jeep, Heather yawned and opened the window to let in more of the cold dawn air. A couple of hours on Vicki’s couch hadn’t been nearly enough sleep, but she’d had one too many beers to risk driving back right away.
Some tiredness was worth it to see her friends in Cold Creek. Although if she’d been thinking, she’d have rescheduled the communal house meeting with André to later today. As it was, she’d have barely enough time to feed Greystoke, shower, and change her clothes.
Ah well.
Slowing, she turned the car onto her tiny dirt road, squinting against the slanting rays of sunrise.
The long night drive had been pleasant. She’d had time to think. And to enjoy the moist air after the rain. Soon, the snows would come to strand her in her little house for days at a time. Snow tires could only overcome so much, after all.
But this year would be—
Is that smoke? She sniffed the air. No one lived close enough for her to smell their fireplace or woodstove, and after last night’s rain, there sure wouldn’t be a wildfire.
She stepped harder on the gas pedal.
Smoke thickened as she sped down her muddy dirt road fast enough to slide around the curves. The flickering light through the trees set her heart to pounding.
Her cabin was on fire.
No, oh gods, no. In the middle of the clearing, she stomped on the brakes, and the Jeep skidded to a stop. Shutting it off, she ran across the stubby grass.
The whole front of the cabin was on fire all the way to the wood-shingled roof. Flames shot high into the gray sky.
Greystoke. He was inside. Trapped.
Panicking, she tore around the house to the back. It wasn’t yet on fire. Fumbling her key, she unlocked the back door and rushed in, snatching up the small cat carrier from the laundry room on the way past. “Greystoke. Greystoke, where are you?”
No answer.
But he hid when he was scared. He’d be under something.
The acrid smoke dulled her nose as she tried to scent him out. Flames licked up the living room walls. The feral crackle and roar had every instinct screaming to run. Surely, Greystoke would have retreated from the fire.
She ran into the bedroom.
He wasn’t under the bed. “Where are you? Please.”
The closet door was ajar. There he was, huddled in a corner.
She grabbed the back of his neck and tucked him in the carrier. “Shh, it’s okay, Greystoke.”
No it wasn’t.
Something crashed to the ground in the main space.
Gods, the roof was going. Sweat poured down her face, her back.
Jump out the window? No, the iron grillwork would take too much time to open. The back door it was.
As she raced through the kitchen to the laundry room, a ripping, cracking noise came from overhead. Burning timbers fell all around her. Bending, she raised her free arm to protect her head and jumped over a flaming, fallen rafter.
There was another ripping sound, and something heavy slammed into her from above. The sharp snap of her arm breaking shook her body. A log rafter scraped and burned down her back, driving her to her knees.
No! Screaming defiance, she regained her feet and threw the carrier through the back door with all her strength. Live, Greystoke.
More timbers hit her, and she fell again. Get up. She was burning.
On three limbs, she crawled out the door, fell down the steps. Burning, hurting, she rolled in the wet grass, screaming as her broken arm caught. But the flames went out.
Dragging her arm, she crawled away from the house. Pain, so much pain.
When the black swallowed her, she was so very thankful.
The clan’s communal house was a fucking mess.
Lumpy, sagging couches and chairs. Stained, filthy bed mattresses that Madoc wouldn’t dream of touching. The interior paint was faded and chipped, and there were fist-sized dents where shifters had punched the walls. The rugs were ancient. Half the windows were broken and covered with plywood.
At least the boarders had tried to leave the place clean.
The kitchen smelled of new wood and tile where the water-damaged floor had been ripped out and replaced. Good job there.
Finishing his walk-through, Madoc stepped outside to report to André, who’d inspected the outside with Niall.
Off to one side, Niall was talking on his phone while André stood silently staring down the cul-de-sac street.
Seeing Madoc, André raised his eyebrows. “What did you find?”
“Needs new furniture and carpeting. Appliances are ancient. A few drywall repairs are needed. The residents will need to paint the interior.”
“Then we’ll make it happen.” André glanced at the street again.
“You expecting someone?”
“Heather was supposed to meet us here an hour ago. She’s not answering her phone.”
“It could be because she doesn’t have cell service at the cabin.” Niall pocketed his phone and joined them. “Calum’s mate said Heather left around four so she wouldn’t be late for our meeting. She was going home first.”
Madoc frowned. “Why didn’t she come directly here?”
“She has a cat,” Niall said.
Seriously? Madoc almost laughed. A wolf with a pet cat? Interesting.
André rubbed the back of his neck. “So, the question is—did she make it home?”
As if he could see through the dense forest, Madoc looked toward the mountains where her cabin was located.
A thin line of darkness rose into the clear morning air. Madoc stiffened. That was smoke. With everything drenched from the rain last night, the forest couldn’t be burning. “Yo, look there.” He pointed.
Niall turned. “By the God.”
Madoc didn’t remember seeing many other homes in her area. The smoke could well be coming from Heather’s place. “André, we need to—”
“We will.” André thought for a second. “I’ll drive. Niall, you’re with me. Madoc, lock up and take your SUV.”
“Meet you there.” Madoc ran to shut up the house.
The drive seemed interminable, although Madoc’s bones vibrated from the speed he was taking on the rutted roads. He’d even caught up to André.
As the SUV emerged into the clearing, his heart sank. Even knowing her cabin must be the source of the smoke, he’d still hoped.
Only partial walls stood as the heaviest bottom logs hadn’t caught. The roof had collapsed, leaving smoldering coals. And her Jeep was here.
Parking next to it, he jumped out.
Niall shouted, “Heather!”
They all stopped to listen. No answer.
Gods, please don’t let her have died in there. Madoc’s heart felt as if it would crack.
André motioned to him, then Niall, sending them around the house from different sides.
A minute later, Niall shouted. “Back here!”
Rounding the corner, Madoc sped toward him, fear clamping his throat closed.
She lay, belly down, eyes closed. Her shirt was scorched off her back, exposing blackening burns.
He stood, paralyzed, then saw the slight movement. She was breathing. Alive.
The relief almost buckled his knees.
The red coals of her cabin pouring out heat had kept her warm—and perhaps from going into shock. However, they needed to move her. “I’ll get your first aid kit and blankets.”
When he returned, André had turned her over to do a quick assessment.
“How bad?” Madoc asked, setting the first aid kit down.
“Burns, mostly on her back and arms. And one arm’s broken.” He used a splint from the kit, curved it around her arm, and secured the straps. “Cahir.”
Carefully, obviously trying to find unburned areas of skin, Niall lifted her. When he transferred her to Madoc’s blanket-padded arms, she moaned in pain.
By the Gods. “It’s all right, little wolf. We’re here,” Madoc whispered.
As Niall wrapped the edges of the cotton blankets around her, she opened her eyes and looked around blindly. “Greystoke. Where—”
What did she mean?
“We’ll look, Heather. Hang on.” Niall glanced at Madoc. “Her cat.”
Herne help them. Madoc couldn’t imagine telling her of the death of her pet. He glanced around, desperately hoping to see a small feline. But…wait.
Holding her carefully, he caught Niall’s gaze and jerked his chin toward an odd-looking box. “What’s that?”
Niall jogged over to check. “Thank the Mother, it’s Greystoke.” He knelt. “Hey, buddy.”
A low complaining meow came from the box.
“Looks fine to me,” Niall called.
“Did you hear him?” Walking carefully toward their vehicles, Madoc tried to smile reassuringly, but fuck, she looked bad. “Your cat’s all right.”
She blinked as it apparently took a few seconds for his words to penetrate. Then she relaxed. “Thanks, bear.”
“Let’s get her to…” André opened his car door, then stopped. “This territory has no healer.”
“Cold Creek does. We can take her there.” Niall stowed the meowing cat in André’s car. Then sniffed the air.
A second later, he’d stripped, shifted, and was nosing around the remnants of the porch, then the yard.
“What’s he scenting?” Madoc asked André.
André’s voice came out a low growl. “The fire started in several places, and the window glass is inside the house. It was broken from the outside.”
“Arson.” Madoc’s mouth tightened, and he glanced at Heather. Eyes closed. She hadn’t heard them. “You think he’s picking up their scent?”
Shifting to human, Niall grabbed his clothes and joined them. “I recognize the scents—two boys, only twelve or thirteen years old. The trails go back and forth to where a car was parked at the edge of the clearing…and then down the drive.”
“Cubs did this?” Madoc stared at him.
Niall glanced at André. “They’re the pickpockets I told you about. The ones I’ve been trying to find.”
“Ah.”
“One boy keeps falling. Might be hurt.” The cahir looked furious—and worried.
A hurt cub. All Madoc’s instincts were to find the child, no matter what he’d done. But Heather needed healing.
André tilted his head to study the sky. “It’s going to rain soon. Their trail will get washed away.”
“Their trail went down the drive. If their ride left them…” Niall spoke slowly. “It’s too far to town for younglings.”
“Aye.” After a minute, André said decisively, “One to take Heather to the healer. One to track. One to drive the other car to pick up the tracker and younglings.”
“I’ll track. I have the scent.” Niall gazed toward the road, obviously ready to get moving.
André turned to Madoc. “Brawd, my bond with the territory is too new. As Cosantir, I can’t leave yet.”
Madoc nodded. “I’ll take her. Flatten out the passenger seat so I can keep an eye on her while I drive.”
While giving directions to the healer’s clinic, André reclined the seat.
Gently, Madoc settled Heather on her side.
As he started up the vehicle, her tiny groan made his hands tighten on the steering wheel. He’d never felt so fucking helpless in his life. Her eyes opened. “Madoc?”
“I’m taking you to the healer. Can you hang in there? Please?”
Even though her brow puckered with what must be fucking horrendous pain, her lips tilted up slightly. “Sure, anything for a bear.”
The pain in his chest felt like he’d torn a muscle.
Anger raged through Niall. The two cubs had progressed from picking pockets to burning down houses? What was the world coming to?
But they’re cubs. Need help. They might not be Daonain. He didn’t know. Didn’t care. They were still only younglings.
André had tossed Niall’s clothing into his SUV and was following him down Heather’s private road out to the bigger gravel one.
In cat form, Niall padded down the road, following the scent trail. At least the children had chosen the flattest part of the road and walked side-by-side.
A thought hit him.
He sniffed his way from one side of the road to the dense undergrowth on the other side, then trawsfurred.
André got out of his car. “What did you find?”
“There’s only one trail—the cublings leaving. No trail for them arriving.”
His brother’s eyes darkened. “As you thought. Someone drove them here and abandoned them.”
“Seems like.”
“This is getting murkier than a dwarf’s treasure cave.” André’s frown grew. “Move out, brawd. Let’s get to the end of this trail.”
In agreement, Niall shifted back and picked up the pace once out on the road. The cublings were taking the most straightforward way home.
He broke into a lope, checking frequently for their scent. They’d dodged into the brush a couple of times—probably to avoid being seen.
Talam’s brother fell more often, leaving imprints of hands and knees. There was the stink of pain and fear sweat, the gut-wrenching odor of burned skin. The cub was definitely hurt.
And there they were, ahead of him on the edge of the gravel road.
Probably having heard André’s car, Talam turned and spotted Niall. Like little mice, they disappeared into the brush.
Sorry, cublings. Mice might be able to hide from a cat. You can’t.
Bounding forward, Niall dove into the forest after them.
Talam dodged through the trees—the boy had skills—then realized his littermate had fallen. Spinning, the lad sprinted back to stand between his brother and Niall.
Hiding would be the normal reaction to facing a cougar. The cub had courage.
Talam’s brown eyes met Niall’s. His small hands closed into fists. “Take me. Leave Sky alone—he had nothing to do with anything.”
Ah, he recognized Niall was a shifter. So they were Daonain. That made things easier…in a way.
Niall trawsfurred. “How badly is your brother hurt?”
“He—the burns. They’re bad.”
So were Heather’s. Anger flared…and died. With a sigh, Niall knelt beside the blond cub.
Sky’s chin, neck, chest, and hands were badly burned. His blue eyes were filled with tears, his lower lip quivering, but he didn’t make a peep.
“It’s to the healer with you, cub.” Niall scooped him up gently and led the way out of the forest to where André was waiting.
Years as a Mountie had been no preparation for tangles like this. Even worse, he’d lost the emotional distance he’d maintained as a law enforcement officer. As a Cosantir, the clan was not only his to guard but also to nurture.
What hurt them…hurt him.
Pulling up in front of their house, André set the SUV to idle and got out.
In the corner maple, a pixie chittered annoyance at the vehicle, visitors, and the stink of wood smoke. André glanced at her, grateful that sprites rarely threw things at Cosantirs.
After removing the carrier with the unhappy cat from the back, André opened the rear door. The distressed lad there had barely spoken, nothing more than to tell André their names. But there was time to get more information from him. “Talam, you’re staying here with me.”
Reluctantly, the lad slid out of the car, shooting a worried look at his brother in the passenger seat.
Niall had already moved to the driver’s seat.
Setting a hand on the open window, André told him, “Bring Heather and Sky back here when the healer is finished. Heather will need someone helping her for a while.”
“Yeah.” Niall’s exhalation held a growl. “Especially with her home in ashes.”
“What? No!” Standing beside André, Talam stared at Niall. “That wasn’t Heather’s cabin. We wouldn’t—”
“He said a bad human lived there. A man.” The burns on Sky’s chin were ugly, and he winced as he spoke—but he didn’t stop. “He said.”
Talam had gone pale. “We wouldn’t burn down Heather’s house.”
Niall eyed the cub. “You didn’t want revenge on her because she caught you pickpocketing?”
“We weren’t mad.” Tears were in Talam’s eyes. “She’s nice. She leaves us food sometimes like you do.”
“Oh?” André studied his brother…who hadn’t mentioned anything about food.
“I couldn’t find them, but I did find their nest,” Niall admitted.
And apparently, so had Heather. Naturally, his brother and a soft-hearted female would feed the cubs.
“Head on out. We’ll have food and beds ready.” André closed the driver’s side door, then thought to add, “Don’t break my car, brawd.”
Niall’s mouth tipped into a cat’s smirk. “Just a dent or two…this time. No worries.”
Gnome-brained cahir.
As Niall drove away, André picked up the pet carrier and looked at Talam. “Let’s get the cat settled.”
With Sky in Niall’s care, his brother wouldn’t run. Silently, the cub followed André into the house.
André kept the boy busy as he set up the corner guest room next to his. A plastic-lined box with dirt, a can of tuna, and a dish of water should work for the cat until they could get better supplies.
He’d opened the door to the carrier, but the gray feline was still huddled in the back. Talam sat down to pet him. “He smells like smoke. Was he…was he in the cabin?”
André nodded, guessing Heather’s injuries had happened when she’d tried to rescue the cat.
The boy’s eyes filled with tears, and André heard him whisper, “I’m sorry, cat.”
André watched a minute. He’d been furious at Heather’s injuries. But the cubs hadn’t known whose cabin it was, and their open horror and guilt at their actions had washed away his anger with them.
Mind clear, he saw the young pickpocket was protective and loyal to his brother. Had a sense of empathy for the little cat. Had a conscience.
Why had this cub been left on his own?
“Let’s give Greystoke time to sniff around and settle in.” André waved the cub out of the room and closed the cat in.
As they headed downstairs, Talam bristled with anxiety. The youngling needed a shower and food, but perhaps they should talk before the lad made himself sick.
“Let’s sit for a minute.” At the dining room table, André gave Talam a glass of milk and a couple of Madoc’s molasses cookies before getting himself a coffee.
Watching André with wary, brown eyes, the cub didn’t touch the food.
André wanted to pat him on the head and tell him everything would be fine, but it would be a lie. “Now, please explain why you burned down Heather’s cabin.”
“We didn’t know. Mr—” The cub jerked straight and shut his mouth tight. After a moment, he said, very carefully, “Sky and me, we got told how the human in the house was bad, and we needed to burn it down so our females and cubs would be safe. So the man would leave the territory.”
Someone had fed the boys a carefully thought-out lie about a bad human and a danger to females and cubs.
“It appears someone lied to you.” André took a sip of his coffee as he studied the cub. Big-boned, dirty brown hair. Filthy, threadbare clothing. Admittedly, youngsters this age were gangly, but the hollow cheeks spoke of near starvation. “Is this someone a friend?”
“Ha.” As if shocked at the angry sound, Talam cringed. The lad was exhausted, his mind not working quickly.
All the better for André.
Talam took refuge in drinking his milk. After a sip, he half-drained the big glass. “Um. It’s… He’s not a friend. He hired us for this an’ promised he’d let us work…” Stopping abruptly, he finished the glass of milk instead.
So an adult male hired the boys to burn the cabin. Someone who apparently hated Heather. Could Niall have missed his scent at the cabin? “Did your employer ever get out of the car?”
Talam shook his head, eyeing the cookies.
André pushed the plate closer. “They’re good. Madoc makes them for us.”
One bite and the first cookie disappeared as fast as the milk.
“Talam.” André kept his voice soft. “I need to know who paid you to burn Heather’s house.”
Shoulders hunching, the cub slid down in the chair and shook his head. And started to tremble. It seemed he was more frightened of the man than of André. Had the criminal threatened the cubs?
André could get the answers. Coercing a mind lay in the realm of a Cosantir’s powers. Unfortunately, the effect was like taking a baseball bat to a brain. As with erasing large amounts of memory, what remained after a coercion might not be the same.
Well, finding out the male’s name wasn’t urgent. They could wait and possibly gain information another way.
Would the cub be able to look Heather in the face and still refuse?
Meantime, he had other questions.
“It seems as if you’ve been living rough. Do you have parents in the area, Talam?”
“Uh-uh. We’re gather-bred. And a hellhound killed Mom.”
André sat back. Hadn’t Niall mentioned something about hellhounds here? “In July?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Who’s been caring for you? Didn’t anyone realize you’re on your own?”
Talam shrugged. “We just moved here when school let out. ’Cuz Mom liked humans and wanted to live in a bigger town.”
And their lazy slug of a Cosantir hadn’t bothered to see if a murdered female had cubs? André growled.
The youngling tensed.
“Nay, lad. I’m not angry with you.” André rubbed his neck. How many pieces of this territory were broken? “I’m not happy you and Sky were left to fend for yourselves.”
Talam didn’t look as if he thought it was unusual. Instead, he nibbled at the second cookie, obviously trying to make it last.
“After you have a shower, I’ll make us sandwiches. And there are more cookies for later.” André chuckled as the treat disappeared in two bites. “Talam, are there more cubs who aren’t being cared for?”
Talam was watching André carefully, obviously trying to decide if telling him would betray his comrades.
André shook his head. “Youngling, I’m not going to punish children who are only trying to stay alive. Part of my job as Cosantir is to be sure our cubs are safe and taken care of.”
“You’re really the Cosantir?”
“I am.”
Talam shook his head. “I heard the other one says he still is.”
And how could a cub possibly know who was lying?
With a sigh, André opened to the power within, knowing his eyes would be turning black, and the air around him would shimmer.
The cub’s eyes went wide.
Cutting off the flow, André felt Herne’s faint amusement. Because, unlike with a territory, the God remained very aware of his guardians as long as the Cosantir didn’t close off the channel. Was that what Wendell had done?
Turning his attention back to the lad, André leaned forward. “Tell me about the other cubs, Talam. Let me help.”
Heather woke as Madoc lifted her out of the car. Clenching her teeth, she managed not to scream at the pain. The fire was out; why did it feel as if she still burned?
It hurts so bad.
“Hang on, little wolf,” Madoc crooned as he climbed the steps onto the covered porch and kicked the door several times. “Yo, need the healer!”
“By Herne’s holy prick, use the doorbell or—” Donal’s annoyed voice broke off. “Heather?”
Her scorched throat only allowed a whisper to escape. “Donal.”
“Bring her in here.”
“Heather, oh no.” Margery appeared. Her friend had the softest, calming voice. “Where all is she hurt?”
“Busted up left arm. Bad burns across her back.” Madoc’s deep voice sounded like her brothers’, and his open concern made tears fill her eyes.
“Lay her on her uninjured side until we see what’s what.” Margery patted the long exam table. “Here.”
Madoc laid her down carefully, and it still hurt, hurt, hurt. Removing the blanket jostled her arm, and tears streamed down her face.
Pulling off the remains of her shirt and bra was even worse. She clamped her teeth together to keep from screaming.
“What happened?” Margery asked. “Oh, and I’m Margery, banfasa, and he’s Donal, healer.”
“Madoc from Rainier. Her place burned down.”
“Oh Gods. Her cabin?” Margery’s distress sent sorrow spiraling through Heather again.
My cabin. Gone.
Drying his hands, Donal ran an assessing gaze over her. “By the Gods, you look as bad as Darcy did when she showed up here.”
“Let’s take a look at the break first.” Donal scowled as he examined her aching arm.
Owww. At her whimper, Madoc closed warm fingers around Heather’s other hand, and she gripped the comforting hold with all her strength.
Far too soon, Donal drafted the big bear to pull on her arm. Two different places in her forearm had been broken and lining everything up took forever. She didn’t scream…not quite, but tears filled her eyes until the whole room blurred.
“That’s it.” Donal set his hands on her. “Don’t move.”
Madoc’s powerful hands held her forearm in place.
Donal coaxed the bones to fill in the break, mended the ripped flesh, and scoured away any potential infection. She knew how healing worked, but the wretched, scratching feeling still felt horrible.
“Done.” Donal stepped back. “Wear a sling for five days and no using your arm until after that.”
She might have argued, but he touched her burned back, and she yelped instead.
“Gods, Heather,” he muttered. “Cleaning and healing this is not going to feel good.”
The mere thought made her want to cry—and Margery looked as if she’d join in.
The worst part of being a Daonain was not receiving pain killers. Narcotics on top of pain meant a shifter could lose control, trawsfur, and attack the nearest person.
“I need someone to…” She swallowed hard. “If you touch my back again, I’m liable to hit you, Donal.”
“Let me help,” Madoc said quietly.
“I can do—” Margery paused, then smiled at Madoc. “Yes, your help would be good.”
Sitting beside the exam table, he put his hand behind her neck, his other on her butt, and pulled her against him so her arms were trapped against his hard chest.
Under the acrid stink of smoke, she caught the fragrance of citrus…and his own masculine scent. The one she’d smelled the night of the full moon. When she buried her face against him, he made low rumbly sounds.
And his gentle hold was unyielding as the cleaning and healing of her burns went on and on.
Slowly, far too slowly, the searing fire in her back lessened and eased to a lingering ache. And a ghastly memory.
“I hate burns.” Donal sounded as grumpy as a badger with frostbitten paws. “You can let her go, Madoc.”
Madoc loosened his arms and sat back. “You did good, little wolf.” He helped her sit up,
“Thank you.”
He smiled his answer, then glanced at Donal. “Her voice sounds better.”
“I fixed her throat and lungs.” Donal shook his head. “Next time, don’t breathe the smoke.”
“Donal.” Margery hit him, then handed Madoc a damp washcloth.
With two fingers under her chin, Madoc wiped her face. Who knew the bear could be so gentle?
When she winced at an unexpected pain, he frowned and tipped her head to the light. “Donal.”
“Ah, hold still, girl. One more scorch.” Donal touched Heather’s face, and her cheek stopped hurting. Until her seared back had been healed, the smaller burn hadn’t even registered.
“Anywhere else?” Donal asked.
Heather shook her head.
Taking Heather’s hand, Margery smiled. “You’ll ache for another couple of days, but you won’t have any scarring. Would you like a shower to get the rest of the dirt off?”
“Yes.” Every breath with the nauseating stench of smoke brought the memory of her cabin burning. “Please.”