Asil started to move toward the wolf, but Charles grabbed him, holding him back.
"Sarai?" Asil said hoarsely, limp in Charles's grip.
The wolf lowered her head and dropped her tail in a classic submissive pose. She whined again. Beside Anna, Walter growled and placed himself between her and the other wolf. But the witch's werewolf had eyes only for Asil.
The wolf made a pleading, grieving sound. Then she turned and ran. Anna was watching her, so she didn't see what Asil did, only that he was suddenly free from Charles's hold and running after the wolf who wore his mate's semblance.
Charles didn't give chase. He just watched as the pair of them disappeared into the darkness.
"That's not good, is it?" Anna murmured.
"No." Charles's voice was grim.
"So what are we going to do? Should we track them?"
"No." Charles looked at Walter. "But I don't think we need to, do we? The witch is still staying at that old forest-service cabin."
Walter yipped a soft agreement.
"We're not going to tell the Marrok?" The wind picked up again, and Anna shivered. "Are you sure that's wise? Does your father have a witch in his pay who could help? My old pack shared one with the other Chicago pack."
"Asil's witch has found a way to control a werewolf who has the protection of a pack," Charles said. "I've never heard of anything like that-so I don't think she's been spreading the word. Thankfully, witches are so jealous of each other. But if she's the only witch who knows how-we need to keep it that way. We can't bring a witch into this."
He was still watching the place where the witch's pet had disappeared into the darkness.
"What about your father?"
"Asil is right. He'd want to handle the witch on his own."
"Could he?"
Charles started to shrug but stopped halfway, as if it hurt. "She didn't have any trouble with me. That doesn't mean that my father couldn't fight her off-but if not...my father controls all the werewolves in North America, Anna. All of them. If she took him, she could have them all."
"Is that what she wants?"
Charles was swaying a little, she saw. "I don't know. She's been looking for Asil for a long time-but my father is quite a prize."
Anna took a step closer to Charles and wrapped an arm around his waist to steady him. "Are we safe here for the rest of the night? Or will she come for us?"
He looked down at her and sighed. "Safe as anywhere, I expect. She has Asil to occupy her. Poor old Moor. If I were in any kind of shape, I'd have gone after them. But he's on his own tonight." A humorless smile came and went on his face. "We don't have any choice but to spend the rest of the night here," he told her. "I need food and rest before I'm good for another mile of travel."
She parked him on one of the downed trees, in a place that was somewhat sheltered from the wind, and rebuilt the campfire. Walter blocked the wind as she used a glob of Sterno and the lighter to force a fire out of the driest chunks of wood she could find. While the water heated, Anna rebandaged Charles's ribs with strips of a clean shirt. Docile as a child, he let her do it.
She fed him two of the freeze-dried meals, gave one to Walter, and ate another. When they were finished, she kicked piles of snow onto the struggling fire until it was out completely, then urged Charles back into their original shelter. She was too tired to try changing again, and Charles was in worse shape. Walter curled up in front of them both, effectively blocking the wind and snow that tried to reach them.
* * * *
Anna opened her eyes in the darkness, certain that something had wakened her again. She raised her head from Charles's warm, sweet-smelling skin and looked around. Walter was nowhere to be seen, and sometime in the night, she and Charles had reversed positions, so he lay between her and danger.
The wind and snow had ceased, leaving the forest silent and waiting.
"Me transmitte sursum, Caledoni," she murmured. Too bad Scotty wasn't around to beam them to safety. There was something about the heavy atmosphere that was frightening.
She listened hard but heard nothing. The weighted silence pounded on her ears and made the beat of her heart even louder in the stillness of the winter night.
Her heartbeat, her breath was the only thing she could hear.
"Charles?" she whispered, touching his shoulder tentatively. When he didn't respond, she shook him.
His body fell away from her. He'd been lying on his side, but he rolled limply out from under their barely adequate shelter and onto the snow. The moonlight illuminated him almost as well as daylight could have.
Her breath stopped in her chest, followed by a rush of pain that made her eyes water; blood had drenched his back all the way through his coat. Black glistened on her fingers: blood, his blood.
"No," she sat up, hitting her head on the dead tree they were sleeping under, but she ignored the pain and reached out to him. "Charles!"
* * * *
Bran sat bolt upright in his bed, heart pounding and breathing rapidly. The cool air of his bedroom brushed over his sweating body. Witch.
"What's wrong?" Leah rolled over and propped her chin on her hands, her body relaxed and sated.
"I don't know." He took a deep breath, but there had been no strangers in his room. Though his head cleared quickly, the memory of his dream eluded him. Everything except that one word: witch.
His cell phone rang.
"What's wrong, Da?" Samuel's voice was wide-awake. "Why did you call me?"
It took Bran a moment to understand Samuel wasn't talking about a phone call. He rubbed his face and tried to remember. Witch. For some reason the word sent cold chills down his spine.
Maybe he'd been dreaming of the past. He didn't do it often anymore. And when he did, it wasn't about the witch-it was about all the people who died beneath his fangs after the witch was dead.
No, it didn't feel like a dream of memories. It felt like a warning. As soon as he thought that, he felt again the urgency that had woken him up. Something was wrong.
"What did I say?" His voice obeyed him, sounding only calm and curious.
"Wake up," Samuel said dryly.
"Not very helpful." Bran ran his fingers through his hair. "I'm sorry for disturbing you, I was asleep."
Samuel's voice softened, "Was it a nightmare, Da?"
As if in response to his question, Bran saw an image- part of his dream-"Charles is in trouble."
"From a rogue?" Samuel spoke with polite incredulity. "I've never seen a rogue that could make Charles break a sweat."