a bite of the sandwich. After swallowing, he added, “I had a female move in once—not for lifemating. Just a relationship.”
“And?”
“Didn’t work. She wanted more.”
Tynan studied his littermate’s disgruntled expression. “More what?”
“More time, more attention. An injured shifter who’d been gutted by a boar was brought into the clinic. She yelled at me because we were supposed to meet people at the diner for supper.” Donal’s jaw went tight. “Did she think I’d let him die while I ate pizza?”
“She did realize you’re a healer, right?”
“By Herne’s holy prick, yes. She kept telling me how sexy healers were.” Donal rubbed his jaw. “It seems we’re not so sexy when covered in blood and guts.”
Tynan snorted. For someone so perceptive about his patients, Donal could be stupid-blind sometimes. “Someone whose priority is status probably isn’t a good fit for someone whose priority is saving lives.”
“I figured that out. Eventually. I’ll stick to mating the females at the Gatherings.”
Tynan started to speak and stopped. He’d assumed they’d find a mate at some point. Together.
But Donal wasn’t thinking that way.
On the other hand, Donal changed his mind faster than the wind changed on a mountaintop. He didn’t like pizza until Tynan talked him into trying it. Thought flannel shirts were unprofessional—and look at what he wore now.
If they found the right female…
Glancing at the clock, Tynan grabbed his jacket off the chair. “I need to head out.”
Donal rose. “Where to?”
“Calum sent a message he wanted to speak to me.” A small worm of worry crawled into his gut. A Cosantir held the power of life and death over all the shifters in his territory.
Tynan didn’t know the Cosantir here all that well. When a cop in Seattle, he’d had contact with Calum only when shifters visiting the city got lost, arrested, or died.
Donal’s black brows drew together. “What’s he want with you?”
“No clue.”
Donal scowled. “No more separations. I couldn’t follow you to the city”—The God-called were damaged if they lived outside the God’s influence—“but you’re not leaving again. You tell Calum if he thinks to send you off somewhere, he’ll be looking for a healer, too. This time, where you go, I go too.”
Defying a Cosantir was a quick way to the grave, but a Daonain did have the right to decide where he lived, and healers were valued everywhere.
Tynan clapped his brother on the shoulder. “If it comes to that, I’ll let him know. It’s probably nothing.”
“I’m not an optimist.”
“Really? I had no idea.” Tynan dodged the punch and headed out the door. Behind him, Donal was muttering about mangy, flea-ridden brothers who were wolves.
Tynan grinned. Could two littermates be more different? His brother was a werecat, an introvert, and as volatile as a pixie.
Their mother had called Donal her air elemental whereas Tynan was pure earth—stubborn and unyielding as the mountains. As a healer, she hadn’t been the most loving of mothers, but she’d been pretty damn observant.
Once through downtown, Tynan strolled up the hill toward the Wild Hunt Tavern. The air held no stink of concrete and metal; it was crisp and fragrant with the moist scent of new growth. Although the mountains still clung to their snowy blankets like wizened old men, here in Cold Creek, the white was receding to expose brown earth and green sprouts. Up in the trees, pixies chittered while nibbling on the tender leaf buds.
At the tavern, he pulled open the heavy oak door and stepped in. Warmth surrounded him along with the aromas of beer and popcorn.
Behind the long bar at the back, Calum motioned toward a corner table where his sandy-haired littermate sat. Alec was not only a cahir—protector of the clan—but also the sheriff of their small county, serving as law and order on the human side.
Cosantir and sheriff. The brothers made a powerful team.
“Good to see you, Tynan.” Alec rose and held out a hand to shake. The blade-shaped blue scar on his cheek marked him as a cahir as did the extra height and heavy musculature. Herne’s gifts to better enable his cahirs to fight for the Daonain.
After shaking hands, Tynan took a chair across from the sheriff.
Alec studied him with a smile. “You’re looking healthier these days, not so much like a rubber band that’s been stretched too tight.”
“The city isn’t a beneficial place for shifters. It’s good to be back in the mountains.”
“Does that mean you’re planning to stay in Cold Creek?” Alec asked with his slow southern drawl. Odd how Daonain clung to habits absorbed after