Humans had that effect on shifters. Donal switched to the other paw, extending his claws to get the irritating dirt out.
What about the pretty hazel-eyed female—the banfasa? What had she been like before the Scythe? Margery looked to be about Darcy’s age, mid-twenties maybe. Had been captured before her first shift. The thought of Daonain cubs being imprisoned hurt his soul.
He tried to imagine her as a bouncy twelve-year-old cub. As an adult, she had incredible control over her emotions. Even Calum had commented on it. What had the Scythe done to her that she had to learn such restraint?
But she’d survived. Perhaps even grown stronger for the ghastly experience.
The scene in the tavern had been exactly what Bonnie had called it—a mess—but could have been worse. Apparently, Margery had straightened things out with concise directions. She hadn’t done anything wrong medically speaking…not that cat scratches called for much knowledge.
The kits trusted her. Had clung to her. Because of that, although banfasas made him wary, he might’ve chanced working with her…if he hadn’t been warned.
Uneasiness made him change position on the boulder. It wasn’t often that his instincts about a person were wrong.
Nonetheless, considering that the banfasa had worked in Ailill Ridge all winter, the residents must know her well. He wouldn’t put it past Gretchen to deal in rumors, but what she and Caleb had said was far past rumor and quite simply damning.
He wouldn’t—couldn’t—work with an incompetent banfasa or an irresponsible one. Admittedly, he might be fussier than some healers. After all, he’d been at this a long time. The Goddess had woken his healing abilities when he was young, and he was yanked right into the clinic to help. Mother had been a dedicated—almost fanatical—healer with extremely high standards.
By the Gods, he’d envied Tynan for getting to play rather than suffer through anatomy lessons.
As for Margery, well, she obviously knew her skills weren’t up to par. She’d refused Calum’s suggestion, choosing waitressing over being a banfasa. So that was that.
He frowned, remembering the word Tynan had used about her: “Interesting.” His littermate rarely pursued the shifter beauties. No, Tynan was drawn to intelligence, courage, warmth. Surely, he wasn’t seeing that in this incompetent banfasa.
The memory of the two cubs nestled in her lap made Donal pause. She’d shown an abundance of warmth then. In fact, her concern for the kits had almost radiated from her. So very, very appealing.
Cat-scat. It would be extremely awkward if Tynan pursued her.
Really, they both needed to avoid her, so she didn’t get any ideas about working with him.
He snorted. As if that would happen. She’d been very vocal about not wanting to help him out.
Be honest, gnome-brain. He needed to avoid her so he didn’t get ideas.
Because she was as tempting as his favorite patch of catnip.
Chapter Six
Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory - third quarter moon
Cold Creek was a wonderful place to be.
Margery stepped into her backyard and reached for the sky in a long, painful stretch. And groaned. Her arm and shoulder muscles ached from carrying heavy trays of food at the diner. Her feet were swollen and sore from the hard floors. Her left ankle felt like a bear was chomping on it for lunch. And after a week of cleaning everything in the entire house, her joints throbbed like she was a hundred-year-old granny.
Ow.
None of it mattered…because her heart was happy. The soreness was simply from exertion, not from being hit by a guard.
Besides, working at the diner was fun. People were in great moods when they went out to eat.
Everyone had been kind—and she’d received generous tips. Real money.
Tilting her head back, she smiled up at the faint hint of a moon in the daytime sky. “Thank you, Lady, for the town. For the job. For the house. And for the bicycle, too.”
She’d found a bicycle in the garden shed. With a bit of oil and pumping up the tires, she had transportation. ’Twas a good thing since, whenever her limping grew too pronounced, her boss got worried.
Getting fired for her own good would be infuriating.
Yes, she’d exhausted herself. Been on her feet too much. She’d been a bit frenzied about getting the house cleaned.
She glanced back inside with a sense of satisfaction. The windows and back door were open to waft away the last of the cleanser smell. She’d washed the floors, walls, even the ceiling, scoured the oven and fridge, cupboards and counters. The bathroom was spotless. The steam vacuum she’d borrowed from