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consequences, but death will not be one of them.”
    Not die? Her breath caught on the influx of hope.
    The Cosantir glanced at Ben.
    The grizzly shifter’s square jaw went tight. “Brace yourself, darlin’. This is going to hurt.” His hands slid under her body, and he lifted her into the air.
    The pain rose to intolerable, and she screamed before blackness took her away.

Chapter Five
    ‡
    Cold Creek, North Cascades Territory
    Human “Easter Day”
    P lanted in a folding chair out of the healer’s way, Ben studied his inadequate guest room. He’d done well enough with the preliminary decor. The queen-sized bed was adequate. The Oriental rug over the hardwood floor was a diamond pattern in the same gray-blue as the walls. The cream trim and moldings were crisp and clean. The curtains were a traditional Victorian style in a brown, cream, and blue floral.
    However, he’d only provided the minimum necessities. To his eye, the room looked stark and unwelcoming, not nearly good enough for the honey-colored female in the bed. Maybe he could ask Angie to pick up a few things. Making a mental list, Ben watched the healer silently start to examine the female.
    About time.
    Before the healer’s arrival, Angie, owner of the diner, had shown up. The Cosantir had asked her to give Emma a quick bed bath. When done, the pretty bear had been white and shaking, but had thanked Angie with a heartfelt graciousness.
    “Uh-huh.” The healer made an unhappy sound, drawing Ben’s attention to the bed. “You, bear, are about as hydrated as the Sahara at high noon.”
    Emma blinked.
    Ben regarded her. Why did she seem surprised each time someone spoke to her?
    “Malnourished and underweight.”
    Ben enjoyed Donal’s blunt commentaries. Inscrutable healers were a pain in the tail. Whatever Donal learned, he shared with his patient, and in Emma’s case, per the Cosantir’s orders, also with Ben.
    Donal pulled the sheet to one side and ran his fingers down the bear’s right arm to where two of her fingers were swollen and dark red-purple. “Two fingers busted.”
    Her pretty lips curved up. “Is busted proper medical terminology?”
    Donal smiled for the first time. Light from the delicate, wrought-iron chandelier illuminated the crescent-shaped scar over his right cheekbone—the Mother’s mark designating a healer. Good thing, since Donal preferred jeans, boots, and flannel shirts to the more conservative healer’s attire. “Why confuse my patients with gobbledygook? I bet you knew the diagnosis the first time you tried to move your fingers.”
    Her mouth twisted ruefully. “Oh, I did.”
    Ben watched the various expressions cross her face—pain, amusement, gratitude. Amazing. He’d seen young females when they were in pain. They’d demand attention and snap at anyone trying to help. Not this one. By the Hunter, she was a mess, underweight and pale, yet the sweetness of her character came through so clearly that all he could see was beauty.
    As Donal continued his examination, grumbling over the various scars and scrapes, Ben averted his gaze. Most shifters weren’t body-shy, but the pretty female hadn’t had a choice about Ben’s presence. Since shifters occasionally lost control and trawsfurred when hurt, the Cosantir’d ordered him to stay during the exam.
    At a gasp of pain, Ben turned back.
    The sheet covered the female’s torso, but not her legs. With the dirt removed, the wound looked even worse. Red lines streaked upward toward her thigh. White bone poked out of the gashed area—and Angie hadn’t attempted to clean away the embedded dirt and leaf debris.
    “Happened how long ago?” Donal’s fingers hovered above the wound as he assessed the damage.
    “I-I’ve lost track of the days.” She bit her lower lip. “It was the last dark of the moon, whenever that was.”
    Donal’s expression turned grim.
    Dark of the moon? As a chill crawled up his spine and tensed his muscles, Ben rose.
    Startled, Emma