When she moved around his table, their gazes met again. Her big hazel-brown eyes held a greenish tint reminiscent of deep summer forests. Lovely eyes. And haunted.
She seemed familiar, but from where? A Gathering, maybe? No. Although he pushed himself to mate with many females, he’d never been so uncouth as to forget someone he’d been with.
They’d never mated. More’s the pity. Perhaps—
Beside him, Sarah deliberately rubbed her breasts over his arm and growled at the little female. A canine warning off another.
“Sarah,” Donal warned and moved far enough to create space between them. Territorial behavior wasn’t permitted at Gatherings, and Sarah had no reason whatsoever to act possessively. As a healer, he would never attach himself to one mate, even if he could find someone who appealed to him and Tynan.
The lovely stranger pulled open the door. For a second, the light from the wall sconce gleamed off the sun-lightened streaks in her rich brown hair, and then she was gone.
Sarah crossed her arms over her breasts and scowled. “Where did that female come from? I never saw her before.”
“She’s from Ailill Ridge, as it happens.” Followed by a big, over-muscled male, Sarah’s sister, Gretchen, sat down at the table. Tall, fair, and blonde, Gretchen was nothing like her sister…except in personality. The Daonain usually birthed males, and more than one female in a litter was exceedingly rare. As a result, the sisters had been thoroughly spoiled.
“Good morning,” Donal said politely. He didn’t know the male. Or Gretchen either, despite her flirting at Gatherings. He saved his time and efforts for local females—the ones who would be available to donate power if an emergency arose.
“Healer, this is Caleb, one of the beta wolves from Rainier’s pack,” Gretchen said. “Caleb, this is Donal, the healer in North Cascades Territory.”
“Good to meet you,” Donal said, getting a nod from the male who was built like a beefy bull.
“So, Gretch”—Sarah pointed toward the door—“who was the female?”
“Margery Lavelle,” Gretchen said. “She’s one of those Dogwood captives.”
Ah, perhaps that was why she seemed familiar. A shame that night was such a haze in his memory.
“She’s the female assigned to Ailill Ridge,” Gretchen said. “More’s the pity.”
Donal frowned. “Why a pity?”
Having treated Darcy, Donal knew something of the horrors the hostages had suffered. If the little stranger was having problems, maybe he could intervene.
“She’s as nasty as a weasel,” Gretchen said. “Like how she pretends she’s a banfasa, only we all think she’s lying.”
A banfasa? Donal stiffened. Although healers and banfasas worked well together in some territories, sometimes, one or the other grew territorial. Although his birth town had lacked a banfasa, he’d run into them later. Like during his apprenticeship. There, the local banfasa, Gil, had not only been incompetent, but he’d hated Healer Quany—all healers, actually. Donal winced, thinking of the damage the banfasa’s lack of skill had caused.
“Gretch, what else?” Sarah leaned forward. “Go on.”
“This week, Caleb almost bled to death because Margery insisted on caring for her friends first.” Gretchen scowled.
Caleb nodded. “Even though Gretchen asked her to see to me first.”
“That’s not good.” Playing favorites was unethical. Wrong.
Gretchen’s mouth twisted, turning her platinum beauty into something hard. “You’d think she’d be good for the town, but she’s always disappearing—like today.”
“Doesn’t she tell Pete or someone when she’s going to be unavailable?” As Cold Creek’s healer, Donal had taught the sheriff’s dispatcher—another Daonain—where to send the injured for first aid when he wasn’t around. Leaving town without warning, especially during a Gathering night, was deplorable. With tempers and testosterone high, a full moon was the worst day of the month for injuries.
“She didn’t talk to Pete,” Caleb said. “Fuck, he’s going to start shredding things.”
Rainier’s Cosantir had the temperament of an annoyed badger.
Gretchen shook her head. “Really, although she knows one end of a bandage from another, she’s not very good at the job. I don’t think she had any real training at all.”
“Of course not.” Sarah shrugged indifferently. “She was in that Scythe place during the years she should have been an apprentice.”
True enough. The poor female. Sympathy softened Donal’s tone. “Tell Pete he can send her up here, and I’ll train her.”
Donal wasn’t about to go to Ailill Ridge. Years ago, looking for a home, he’d paused there, but the town had an unhappy atmosphere. Pete had never forgiven him for walking away.
“You’re so wonderful, Donal. But it wouldn’t work.” Gretchen gave him a sweet smile. “Margery resents the God-called—and