Healing of the Wolf Read online

  Under a vine-covered arch, a middle-aged female served as the lodge’s gatekeeper. Spotting Margery, she motioned her forward and said in a rough voice, “You’re the new one in town. Angie’s waitress, right?”

  Small towns were so fun. Introductions were almost unneeded. “That’s right. I’m Margery.”

  “Rosie. I work at the Wild Hunt. Next time you’re in there, I’ll buy you a beer. Us waitresses have to stick together.”

  Margery grinned. “We do.”

  “Go on in—and be warned, Breanne’s drafting people to help.”

  “I’m up for that.” A quick sniff said Rosie was a shifter. “It’s an honor to serve an alpha like her.”

  “That’s the spirit.” Rosie gave an approving nod. “Bright Beltane to you.”

  “And you.” Feeling thoroughly welcomed—and betting that Rosie and Angie were good friends—Margery walked past and stopped to get her bearings. Because…people.

  Whew. She hadn’t been expecting such a large party.

  Along the back wall of the lodge, long tables held a wealth of food, from appetizers to desserts. Nearer at hand, Shay was turning steaks and burgers on a huge grill. A closed grill gave off the fragrance of smoked barbecue.

  Across the wide patio, people at tables were eating, playing board games, and socializing. On the grassy area between the patio and the stream, cubs were playing soccer.

  A darling small playground had a batch of kits swinging and bouncing and climbing. So cute.

  “Margery, I’m glad you came.” Blonde hair pulled back in a long braid, Bree hurried up and gave her a one-armed hug before stepping back to study her face. “Shay told me about the trick Tynan pulled on you at the tavern last week. Zeb said you cried. Are you all right?”

  The alpha female’s concern warmed Margery’s heart. “I’m fine. Really.”

  Bree’s eyes narrowed. “Tynan can be damn intimidating when he goes all authoritarian. But you’re fine.”

  “Really, I am.” Although Bree had a point. The commanding cop was daunting. Scary.

  And disconcertingly captivating. How could someone make her anxious, yet melt her insides at the same time? Every night since then, she’d dreamed of being in the circle of his hard arms, her cheek pressed against his muscular chest. What if he hadn’t been trying to comfort her, but to do something else? Something…intimate?

  Oh, wow.

  Shaking off the unexpected carnal thoughts, she tucked her hair behind her ear. “On Friday, Tynan took me for another run and explained why he pushed me. He said if I panicked at seeing a uniform—and shifted in front of humans—it could be deadly.”

  Breanne’s expression went tight. “He’s right. Revealing our existence is a death sentence. I almost broke that Law when I was a new shifter, and Zeb, Shay, and I came close to being terminated.”

  Gods, that sounded bad.

  Margery puffed out a breath. “So, Tynan was right, and honestly, his intervention and explanation helped. Yesterday, I walked past the sheriff’s office a bunch of times and worked on my reaction to seeing Alec and his deputy in uniforms.”

  There was nothing like half-panicking, over and over. However, after a few trips, she’d started to relax.

  “Good for you.” Responding to a greeting from across the patio, Bree smiled, started to wave, and winced.

  “You’re hurt.”

  “No. Well, maybe a little.” Bree scowled at her left arm. “I chased a wood rat and caught my foreleg between a couple of rocks. I think my wrist is a bit sprained, nothing worse.”

  Margery held her hand out. “Let’s see.”

  The joint was swollen, slightly warm, no obvious break. “The healer would be able to mend it right up.”

  The ever-so-gorgeous healer who didn’t like her.

  Bree grinned. “You sound like Zeb. Donal’s helping at a birth, but he’ll be here later.”

  No, Margery’s pulse did not just pick up. She didn’t want to see that grumpy, bull-headed male. “Until then, how about if I wrap it and put your arm in a sling to remind you not to use it.”

  “That’d be great. I keep trying to pick up pans and embarrass myself when I yelp.”

  After raiding the lodge’s medical supplies, Margery settled Bree in a quiet corner of the kitchen and tended the injury. After the sling was on, she finished by settling an ice pack on top of the ace-wrapped wrist.

  “That feels a lot better.” Bree smiled as she rose. “It’d really started to ache.”

  “Because you kept using it.” Margery glanced around the busy kitchen. “What’s my assignment? Angie said the pack was helping out.”

  “We had no idea quite so many people would show up today. Thank the Goddess for the pack’s help.” Bree gave the kitchen an assessing look. “Can you take a pitcher of iced tea and refill drinks?”

  “Absolutely.” Margery grinned. “Waitressing has turned into one of my favorite things. It’s such a great way to meet everyone.”

  “Thank you. And thank you, banfasa, for the tending.” Bree patted the sling.

  At Bree’s gratitude, Margery felt as if the sun had grown brighter.

  She pulled in a breath as the realization shook her. Being a banfasa was who she was. What she loved. Nothing, not even waitressing, fulfilled her quite the same way, and…face it, she missed it.

  Two hours later, Margery joined three other pack females to eat.

  Although eat was perhaps not the right word—she almost inhaled the food. “This barbecued pork is…I’ve never had anything so good.”

  Bonnie, who was a dispatcher in the sheriff’s office, laughed. “You can thank Alec for that. He fostered in the south and talked one of his uncles out of the recipe.”

  “Did I hear my name?” The relaxed masculine voice had them all turning.

  Huge male—wearing a badge, firearm, baton, uniform.

  Margery froze, her hands closing on her fork, ready to…

  He wasn’t moving. In fact, he was holding perfectly still. Her gaze lifted to his face, to the sympathy in the dark green eyes.

  Oops. She breathed out and set the weapon down. “Hi, Sheriff.”

  She’d seen him at the station and strolling the streets off and on yesterday. One more breath, and she could lean back. Her muscles relaxed. Thank the Goddess for Tynan and his shock therapy. “Bonnie says we have you to thank for this amazing barbecue.”

  “I merely persuaded the recipe out of my uncle. Shay did the actual cooking.” Alec grinned. “I far prefer talking to cooking.”

  The sheriff was a charmer. No wonder he caught Vicki.

  Margery studied the golden-brown hair, green eyes, and easygoing smile. So familiar. “You’re Sorcha’s daddy, aren’t you?”

  A dimple appeared. “Calum and I are the sires for all of Vicki’s litter, but, aye, Sorcha might have caught a few genes from me.”

  For few minutes, he chatted with them all before sauntering away.

  And Margery realized she would no longer have trouble seeing past the uniform to the good male who wore it.

  Just as she now saw Tynan rather than his badge. Even when he’d come into the diner for breakfast on Friday and Saturday mornings, she hadn’t been afraid.

  Okay, Margery Lavelle, admit it. There’s more.

  All right, yes. She’d been disconcertingly happy to see him. To hear his Irish-accented voice and to tease him and watch the way his austere face changed when he smiled.

  Glancing around, she checked the party for him…again.

  There he was, standing next to Zeb. Looking right at her.

  His eyes were warm, and his approving nod indicated he’d seen her overcome her fears when the sheriff caught her by surprise.

  Seen her victory.

  Wanting nothing more than to be closer, she smiled at the other females. “I’d better get back to work before Bree tries to do it all herself.”

  Grinning at the groans as they agreed and rose, she headed for the kitchen. Pitcher filled with iced
tea, she made the rounds…working her way over to Tynan. Laughing at herself all the way.

  Obvious much, Margery?

  As she filled his glass, he grinned at her. “Nice job with overcoming the panic. With Alec—and with me.” He motioned to his uniform.

  “Actually, I hardly notice your uniform now,” she admitted. Her gaze lingered on where his shirtsleeves fit over the hard curve of his biceps.

  “Good to hear, since I like being a law officer, and I’d rather not have you fleeing—or punching me—because of my badge.”

  When she snorted, his smile widened.

  “It’s pretty obvious you like what you do.”

  “I love it. Law enforcement—for some of us—is a calling.” His eyes held a determination, a purpose that she recognized in herself. That was how she felt about being a banfasa. Or it had been.

  Her grandmama would be so disappointed in how she’d turned tail and fled. Because it was also her heritage, in a way.

  She winced away from the uncomfortable thought. “Is your mother or father a cop?”

  “No, our mother was a healer. Since Donal and I were Gather-bred, we don’t know our sires. But I fostered in Ireland with Mother’s old clan, and my uncles were in the gardaí.”

  Seeing her confused look, he added, “The Irish police force.”

  “Oh. The law is in your family, in a way. You wanted to be like your uncles?”

  His smile was crooked, the right slightly higher than the left, adding a rakish charm. “Absolutely. I was a pup with an advanced case of hero-worship.”

  How could she not love how humble he was? “But isn’t what you do dangerous?”

  “Aye, it can be.” He ran his big hand up and down her arm as if to dispel the goosebumps that had appeared.

  And more goosebumps appeared at his touch. His palm was warm. Callused.

  “But someone must stand between danger and the cubs, aye? That’s my job.” He chuckled. “Or maybe it’s to provide good stories for the clan. Like when Uncle Turlough saw a flock of sheep on the road and tried to herd them back to their field. A pushy ram knocked him head over heels.”

  “You were there?”

  “Aye, on a ride-along. He bribed Uncle Odhran not to tell that he’d landed in a mud puddle.” Tynan grinned. “He forgot to bribe me.”

  Margery laughed. “You told on your uncle?”

  “For months afterward, the villagers were telling sheep-versus-man jokes.” Tynan’s lips quirked up. “And when I rewired the doorbell to sound like baaaa, Uncle Turlough busted out laughing every time he heard it.”

  Tynan’s uncle was a police officer, but he could laugh at himself. That was totally opposite to how a Scythe guard would react.

  From the fond tone in Tynan’s voice, he loved his uncles.

  Why did the knowledge make her feel all happy inside? She dropped her gaze.

  Then, after a second, she realized she was staring at his chest…at the way the shirt fit over his formidable musculature. How the open top button revealed his corded neck. Her lips could press under his jaw—there—and nibble…

  She gave herself a shake and looked up, trying to recall what he’d been talking about.

  Bending down toward her, he breathed in. “Well, this is more than I’d hoped for,” he murmured and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Turning his hand over, he rubbed his knuckles so gently over her cheek.

  It felt as if her bones were melting.

  “Margery,” Albert Baty called from a nearby table. “Did you try the recipe?”

  She jumped and laughed because the old gruff grocer was grinning at her. “I did. It’s great.” Okay, maybe she’d scorched the bottom a little, but the rest had been really tasty.

  Besides, the gnome that lived under the street grate had enjoyed the burned part.

  “Told you.” He turned back to his chess game against Joe Thorson, the owner of BOOKS.

  “Collecting recipes?” Tynan asked.

  “I lost out on the usual housekeeping training, so I’m trying to make up for lost time.”

  “Good for you. Perhaps I could help to get you up to speed.” The flickering smile softened his stern jaw. “I have a recipe for rosemary chicken and potatoes. It’s one of my favorite meals.”

  “Oh, that sounds good. Can I have a—”

  “No, little wolf. You can come over, and we’ll make it together.”

  Her mouth dropped open.

  He ran a finger over her lower lip, and his eyes warmed. “Come for supper, Meggie. I have next Thursday evening off.”

  Her breathing lost its rhythm, but under his clear blue gaze, she could find only one answer. “Okay. Yes. I’d like that.”

  It wasn’t until later that she remembered Tynan lived with the healer.

  Chapter Nine

  Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory - day before dark of the moon

  * * *

  On Thursday evening, Margery leaned against the kitchen counter as she watched Tynan toss potatoes into the roasting pan. Although she’d had second thoughts about coming to his house—to his and the healer’s house—to learn to cook, Tynan hadn’t let her weasel out. He’d said her kitchen was simply too small.

  Well, it was true. And Tynan’s big kitchen was wonderful. The dark gray countertops set off the white cupboards. The teal tile backsplash and matching teal ladderback chairs around the breakfast table added a cheerful pop of color.

  But as they prepared the meal and Donal hadn’t yet made an appearance, she’d grown increasingly nervous. As Tynan put the chicken and potatoes into the oven to roast, she asked, “Are you sure this is all right? I mean with your littermate?”

  Turning, Tynan met her gaze in the straightforward fashion she’d come to love. “Admittedly, he’s less people oriented than I am, but we both live here. If I can put up with shifters coming to get healed, he can welcome an appealing female into the kitchen.”

  Margery felt her cheeks heat. “I’m not appealing. I’m scarred and—”

  “Sweetling.” Tynan moved forward, forcing her to retreat until she was trapped at the corner of the counters. With one hand on each side of her face, he tangled his fingers in her loose hair. “You have scars…as do I. Most male shifters do. Are you saying I can’t attract the females because I have white lines here and there?”

  Her mouth dropped open. He did have scars, and she’d insulted him, albeit unknowingly. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. You’re really…” Her face felt as if it was on fire.

  The satisfaction in his smile didn’t help. “Ah, progress. Does that mean you find me appealing?”

  Appealing was such a small word for how much he attracted her.

  She could feel the warmth of his body, so very close to hers, and…and unable to help herself, she leaned into him. He was all hardness.

  His breath brushed her face, and oh, she wanted more. If she moved, just a little, she could…

  She tipped her head, rose on tiptoes, and brushed her lips over his.

  Like wildfire, heat lit his blue eyes.

  With a rumbling growl, he slid an arm behind her, pulling her fully against him. His other hand was in her hair, holding her head as his mouth came down on hers.

  Slowly, devastatingly thorough, he kissed her, plundering her mouth before withdrawing to nibble her lips, her jaw, her neck.

  Desire opened like a summertime flower within her.

  He gently bit the curve between her neck and shoulder, then returned to take her lips, deepening the kiss in a way that had her knees sagging.

  “Tynan, could I get you to help with—” Donal’s voice stopped abruptly.

  Margery froze, then tried to push Tynan back.

  Chuckling, the cop captured her hands in his, taking the time to kiss her fingers before he turned. “Sure, I can help. What do you need?”

  Donal stared at her, his gaze dark, then turned to his brother. “Can you hold a wound open so I can irrigate it? Get it cleaned out?”

 
“All right.” Tynan frowned. “Unless Meggie would work better. As a banfasa, she’d know—”

  “No.” Donal scowled, not looking at her. “Your help is all I need.”

  What in the world had she done to make the healer so dismissive of her? Or maybe that’s how he felt about all banfasas? Even as she thought that, the happy warm lust she’d been feeling disappeared. Anger turned into an icy flame directed at Donal.

  “Donal.” Tynan’s brows drew together.

  It was time she stood on her own. Margery stepped away and faced Donal. He was a superb healer, she knew. Someone she admired for his work. A male who drew her as powerfully as his brother did.

  That he disliked her so openly… It hurt. A lot.

  But, over the past few days, she’d thought of how much she’d loved caring for Breanne’s injured wrist. How much she missed tending the ill and injured. Being a waitress wasn’t going to be enough for long.

  It was time she told this…this badger-butt exactly that. She lifted her chin, stared him straight in the face, and ignored the quiver of anxiety in her gut. “Your clinic is your own, healer, and you choose who helps you.”

  Donal gave her a very human look. Like, well, duh.

  She flushed. Of course, it was his clinic; he sure didn’t need her permission to keep it the way he wanted.

  When he started to turn away, she sharpened her voice. “However, elsewhere? I’ll tend wounded shifters and sick shifters if they need and want my help.”

  Donal’s face darkened. “You aren’t—"

  “I’m a banfasa, and it appears that you don’t like my profession much. I don’t care. In fact, you can take your opinion and shove it in a gnome-hole.”

  The healer stiffened like she’d stomped on his tail. “You…” After a glare at Tynan, he turned and stalked out of the clinic.

  Oh Goddess, what had she done? Clutching the counter edge, she kept her knees from buckling and dared to look up at Tynan. Did he hate her for angering his brother?

  “He sure got his fur ruffled.” Tynan stared after his brother, then met her gaze, and his eyes softened. “Meggie, relax. You were right to set out your limits.”