blinked. “How did he know…”
“Know I was having trouble?” Oliver averted his gaze. “I was…drinking. Drunk. And he and his littermate, I guess they were worried. We talked.”
Bless the Canadians. “You found a destination and a goal.” Her muscles loosened as her worries eased.
“Yeah.” He glanced at her. “Want to come with me?”
Surprised, she sat down on the bank.
He joined her…but not shoulder-to-shoulder like a wolf or a cat would. Not as touchy-feely, bears were often more solitary, but Oliver took it to a whole new level.
“Bro, I can’t leave. I have a job, friends.” Tynan and Donal…only, she didn’t have them, did she? They weren’t hers, would never be hers.
All the way on the trail, she’d gone over and over what she should do.
Because, even if Donal didn’t—couldn’t—love her, she had a feeling Tynan might not agree. The fight showed that. Only, as a banfasa, she knew exactly how Donal must feel.
How could he risk his patients’ lives?
So, she’d back away from them if that’s what it took. And she absolutely wouldn’t come between the brothers. She wouldn’t let their feelings toward her turn their love for each other into something ugly. Even if the thought of not having them in her life scorched through her like the worst of burns.
“You could work in Canada,” Oliver said after a moment.
She leaned over to give his shoulder an affectionate shove. “Stubborn bear.”
By the Gods, she was going to miss him.
As a cloud cut off the warmth of the sun, she brought up her knees and wrapped her arms around them. “I’m a wolf. And a social sort of person. I need companions, touch, a pack. You don’t. What are you planning to do when you get to Canada?”
“Uh.” He shrugged. “Hang out in the forest. Enjoy the quiet. The mountains.”
“With me beside you all the time?”
His appalled expression was her answer. And his. “That…wouldn’t be good for you, would it?”
Her brother did have a good heart. He’d simply lost his trail and needed to find it again. But it wouldn’t be with her.
Tears burned her eyes. First, Donal’s rejection. Now, having to watch her littermate head north.
“No. I love being a banfasa—I have a gift for it—and the Mother of All expects me to use my skills and talent. Oliver, you get unhappy when you’re stuck around too many people, and I get the same way if I’m alone too long.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Are you going to be all right in Cold Creek? Guess you’ll probably end up lifemating Donal and Tynan?” The concern was obvious in his voice.
The question was like being stabbed through the heart. “Eh, who knows the future? I love them, though.” That answer she could give without any hedging. “And I love Cold Creek—the people, the town.”
“Okay. Guess that’ll do.”
It would have to. She pulled in a breath. “I’ll miss you.”
“Yeah. I’ll miss y—” He stopped abruptly, and his nose lifted. He sniffed.
All the color drained from his face.
Before she could speak, he scrambled up the nearest tree. With his dark green shirt and brown shorts, he disappeared into the canopy.
A sniff of the air brought her nothing much. Perhaps a faint hint of something nonorganic. As a bear, Oliver’s nose was better than hers. What had he smelled?
Unable to sit, she paced until he dropped down. “What is it?”
His voice was low, almost panicked. “Humans—a whole fuckload of them. Armed and wearing camo.”
Her breathing stopped. “No.”
“They have to be Scythe, sis.” Oliver pulled in a breath. “They’re moving in a line. Toward us.”
“Oh Gods, they must have found out about the festival.” So many Daonain, all in one place.
“Yeah.” Oliver pointed east. “They probably used a back road, then hiking trails for this bunch. Bet they’ll send another attack up the main road—and time it so they all arrive together. Envelop the festival from two sides.”
Margery yanked off her clothes, jamming them into the bag. “We have to warn everyone.”
“No. If we go back, we can’t escape before they attack.”
The stench of his fear woke her own terrors. Revived her memories of that night they attacked Dogwood. Killing and killing. Shoving children into trucks. Blood everywhere. Screams. Fires. Chills ran up her arms as she fought against her churning stomach.
“We must warn them.” She forced the words out, trying to convince herself. “There are cubs. Young ones. Mothers.”
Young Athol who’d just learned to shift. Vicki’s Sorcha, Artair, and Toren. Emma’s adorable Minette. Bonnie’s feisty cubs.
No, she would never let the