“Thorson,” Donal called to the older one. “Can you bandage her up, please?”
The grizzled male scowled. “You’re not going to heal the youngling?”
“Goddess help them, I can’t. We’re not in territory, and I’ve barely enough power left to locate the trackers.” Donal motioned to Gallia to sit on the bench a few feet down.
Power? What kind of power did he have?
“Herne’s hooves, I hadn’t realized.” Thorson motioned to Alice. “Come, cub. Let’s get that bleeding stopped.”
Alice cringed away from him. She’d been captured so young that the only males she’d known were her brothers—and the brutal human guards. At least Margery could—sometimes—recall that most males weren’t like their captors.
“Sir.” Margery braced for a blow in case the tough old male reacted badly. “I can bandage Alice and the others.”
“You know first aid?” Thorson growled the question.
Having given Vicki her infant, Idelle took a timid step forward to address both males. “Margery is…” She hesitated—smart captives didn’t volunteer information. “Our young are comfortable with her.”
“Makes sense, Thorson. Remember how Darcy was terrified of us?” Donal patted Alice’s hand and nodded to Margery. “The help is appreciated.”
His eyes held a silver hue, so like the moon she’d dreamed of, mesmerizing. Beautiful.
He moved down the bench to Gallia, breaking the spell.
A bit stunned at the impact of the silver-gray eyes, Margery shook her head and smiled at Idelle. “Will you help hold the younglings for him?”
“I will.” Idelle settled beside Gallia on the bench.
“You’ll need this.” Thorson set a backpack of medical supplies next to Margery. As she rummaged for saline and dressings, he gave her a nod of approval and walked away.
One by one, as Donal finished with them, the younglings came to Margery, bleeding and shaking, and she bandaged the incisions. Afterward, each settled at her feet, crowding tightly around her legs. Taking comfort like little chicks from their mama hen.
“Thorson, the front gate is cleared. Load ’em up,” a male yelled.
Thorson opened the door of the closest SUV and pointed to the youngsters around Margery. “Youngest cubs first.” He turned and motioned to the new mother. “Vic, you and the babes, too.”
Hope rose inside Margery. Maybe, maybe, they’d all get free. Not willing to court disappointment, she shoved the emotion down and turned to the cubs around her. “Alice. You go. Gallia and…” She picked out enough to fill the van.
They rose, oh, so reluctantly, unwilling to leave the safety by her side.
“Younglings,” she told them firmly, “that new mother over there has three little babies. She needs you to help her.”
“We will, Margery,” Alice promised.
Given a task to accomplish, the others chorused their agreement. Surrounding Vicki, the small group climbed into the van.
The SUV started up, and Margery smiled in relief. Some would make it out.
As Thorson started loading the next vehicle, older teens settled down around Margery’s legs. And she resumed her bandaging job.
Farther down the bench, Donal was removing Idelle’s tracking devices. No more captives waited in line.
“Done. Go get bandaged.” Still on one knee, the black-haired Donal needed a couple of tries to rise before he could stand.
Idelle dropped down beside Margery on the bench, silently pointed to her bleeding arm, then blinked. “I can simply ask for help, can’t I? No one will hit us if we talk? I think I’ve almost forgotten how.”
Bitter chuckles sounded from the females sitting in a circle around Margery.
“I know. Me, too.” Margery patted Idelle’s shoulder, then bandaged the incisions.
“Donal, are you finished here?” A male with short brown hair walked over, pulling on a shirt. Broad-shouldered, big-boned, and tall, he radiated authority like heat from a bonfire.
Like a Scythe guard.
Margery froze. The females around her clustered closer.
Gaze on Donal, the male didn’t notice them. “We’ve got injured over there in the back.”
“All done here, Tynan. Take the—” Donal saw Margery, and his black brows drew together. “No, I missed one. Come here, lass.”
His deeply masculine voice made everything inside her want to comply.
But…move? Exhaustion had turned her legs to jelly, and her damaged ankle burned like a shackle of fire enclosed it. “Idelle, help me up,” she whispered.
Rising, Idelle offered her hands and pulled Margery to her feet.
After testing her ankle, she found her balance, and everyone scooted back to let her pass.
The intimidating male—Tynan—stood a few feet away, strapping on a big black weapons belt. Gun, black baton—all the gear needed to destroy someone.
He was a guard.
No, Margery. He was a shifter, not a Scythe brute. Yet past