screams, and shouting, she wouldn’t hear a yell of warning. She wouldn’t realize the danger until the two Scythe mercenaries shot her.
There was only one way to keep the brave female safe. Margery shivered. Two mercenaries. No diversion.
She wouldn’t survive this.
Regret washed through her—and anger. She’d barely found her life, found love. She almost whimpered as the ache of wanting to be with Donal and Tynan squeezed her heart.
But her time had run out.
The tallest merc leaned forward, his rifle coming up. Vicki was rising for her next shot.
With a howl of fury, Margery charged the closest soldier. Her shoulder struck, knocking him sideways. She lunged at the one with the rifle.
He wasn’t braced against her, and her weight hit him in the side. He landed on his back.
Spinning, she dove for his throat.
“Get clear, man!” the other soldier yelled.
Even as she ripped at her prey’s neck, he rammed a knee into her ribs and threw her back.
She saw the other human’s rifle pointed at her.
Something sprang at him. The muzzle of his rifle flashed.
The crack of the gunshot accompanied her into darkness.
The night was interminable. By the Gods, time seemed to flex and contract, seemingly only breaths between healing one wound and when another shifter was brought to him.
Earlier in the night, Donal had followed the scent of blood to find each wounded shifter and healed them there. But a while back, Tynan had found him and helped set up a healing station a short way north of the festival grounds. The clearing was surrounded by densely packed trees, so the injured were somewhat protected from stray bullets.
After positioning wolves to guard the area, Tynan had returned to the fight.
Donal scrubbed his hands over his face. There were too fucking many injured. They kept coming, and he had little power remaining, even though he was healing only the most critically wounded, leaving the less serious damage for others to bandage.
Nia, a female he’d mated last moon, carried in a young wolf, then frowned at Donal who was moving to the shifter. “Goddess bless, you look terrible, Donal. You need energy.”
He nodded, but…she wasn’t the first to try to help. He had no hope.
And, when she hugged him, he tried again, seeking the bond that should be there from the mating. There was no bond. None at all. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said gently, not willing to tell her she hadn’t helped.
She kissed his cheek, shifted, and headed back out into the fighting. Mother of All, watch over her. Over every shifter.
And while you’re at it, the gift of some extra power wouldn’t hurt, he thought cynically.
Groans and whimpering came from the wounded lying on the ground around him. This was his worst nightmare—not having enough power to save everyone.
He went down on one knee beside a rough-looking werecat from eastern Washington.
“Sounds like the gunfire’s moved.” The shifter turned his head to hear better. “Gone farther away to the southeast and southwest.”
As Donal put a bandage on the bleeding thigh wound, he listened. “My littermate said the wolves plan to attack any Scythe roadblocks.”
“Ah, that’s it. Good.” The male’s voice was weak. Too weak for only that knife wound.
Donal frowned. “Roll over.”
With a groan, the male tried, needing help for even that.
Donal ran his hands across the male’s back. Ah, there. “You got struck here?”
“Rifle butt.” A smile. “Before he died.”
“He got revenge. Your kidney’s hemorrhaging.” Hands positioned over the area, Donal concentrated, repairing the intricate blood vessels and tubes of the kidney. Normally, he’d mend the damaged flesh over it as well.
Not this time. “You’re going to piss blood for a day or so, but you’ll live.”
“Thanks, healer. The North Cascades is lucky to have you.”
Luck? It seemed in short supply this night. “Get the cubs to bring you water and drink it before you sleep.” With an effort, he pushed to his feet, although his knees felt like stems too thin to support his weight.
His shoulders sagged as moonlight revealed all the wounded in the clearing. Some lying on the ground, some sitting. He wished to hell Margery was here to help with first aid, to calm them, even to tell him which one to see next.
Each few minutes, he had to reassess the injured and assign priorities. And take the time to give instructions to the uninjured on how to help the ones he couldn’t see yet.
Given the way he felt, he doubted he’d get to them all.
He staggered toward the one he thought was most urgent.
Tynan’s