Fell.
By the Gods, it’s good to see them again.
All the shifter-soldiers in the area had come to the festival in answer to the summons from Wells.
Since the Scythe were eager to capture more Daonain—especially those who’d escaped them, Wells was wise to arrange a meeting far away from shifter towns. This remote festival was a perfect location.
Near the open space for speakers, the Cosantirs settled in a cluster of tables. Calum, the North Cascades Cosantir was there, seated with Alec, and their mate, Vicki. Patrin had come to respect the small brunette female who’d served in the human military and as a spy before being turned Daonain.
Wells sat with Calum. Older, medium height, lean as a wolf after a hard winter, he had the eyes the color of ice and a mind more calculating than any feline. The human spymaster had been Vicki’s boss when she was human and was now the caomhnor of one of her cubs.
Wells wanted to destroy the Scythe almost as much as the shifter-soldiers did, and since the Scythe were human, the Daonain had let him take the lead.
When the spymaster rose, everyone went silent.
Wells didn’t bother with pleasantries or welcomes. “When the Scythe Seattle compounds were destroyed, the Director and the Colonel escaped.”
Patrin scowled at the reminder. That night, the Director had been called from his supper to meet the Colonel in downtown Seattle—and missed being trapped and killed in the compound by only a few minutes.
Wells continued. “Thanks to the shifter-soldiers’ effectiveness as assassins, the Colonel has a lot power. He was—and has been—careful that no one outside his Pacific Northwest division learned that his assassins were anything other than skilled humans.”
“Secrets have a way of coming out,” someone said.
“Yes,” Wells agreed. “The Colonel’s reputation suffered when the compounds were destroyed and the hostages released. He’s now scrambling to regain his influence.”
“What does that mean for the Daonain?” Patrin asked.
Wells gave him a nod. “First, the Director and Colonel have prioritized capturing shifters. Your territories, especially in the Pacific Northwest, already know this.”
The Cosantirs were nodding.
“Second. Because the information about you hasn’t been shared, if we can eliminate the Colonel’s division, a major danger to you would be gone.”
The Cosantir from Colville Territory frowned. “They’re manipulating your human government, breaking your laws. Why haven’t you eliminated them already?”
Wells’ mouth flattened. “I would if I could find them. Because of the risk to the Daonain, I haven’t called on my own resources to locate them. But, gentlemen, I can’t justify that for much longer.”
“You need help,” Alec said from where he sat.
“Exactly. I have leads. I need trained help to pursue them.”
Patrin eyed the spymaster. The human had proven his worth during the battle in Seattle. He was a canny fighter with a catlike talent for sneakiness.
Patrin glanced at Fell.
Gaze dark, Fell nodded. Even more than Patrin, Fell craved vengeance. Neither of them could move on with life until the danger to the Daonain was eliminated.
And they were experts at elimination.
“We’re in,” Patrin called.
A few of the cahirs added their voices. Almost all the shifter-soldiers did.
Patrin noticed one who was silent.
After meeting Patrin’s gaze, Oliver looked down. Physical strength, fighting and warfare skills—the werebear lacked them all. He wasn’t stupid. He just had more of a prey than predator personality. From the way his shoulders curved inward, he hated that about himself.
Guilt was a stupid emotion.
Patrin slid his chair over. “Oliver, we’ve had this talk before. You’re not a fighter. You won’t be useful for this kind of hunt, but there are other things you can do to help. Even when the Scythe are dead, the Daonain won’t be safe in this technological human-ruled world. If you want to defend our people, learn that technology. Fight with your mind. That’s where your strengths are and where you will have victory.”
Without waiting for a response, Patrin slid back to the table.
Fell nodded his approval.
The two of them had been the leaders of the shifter-soldiers, and although no longer in charge, it was difficult to let go of the responsibility.
Oliver was smart. Creative. He simply needed to use those talents to make a new life for himself.
Sympathy was an edgy weight in Patrin’s heart because starting over was easier with a littermate at one’s side. And Oliver had lost his.
Patrin bumped his shoulder against Fell’s. If Patrin ever faltered, his brother would be there. Together, they could face anything.
And when the Scythe were gone, if they were still alive, they’d see where the wind would take