It was still light out and would be for a few more hours, but the air was already stirring with the weight of the waxing moon. She held the door open and turned back to Asil. "You are all wrong about him. You and Bran and everyone else. He is strong, but no one is that strong. He hasn't picked up an instrument, hasn't even sung a note for months."
Asil's head came up and he stared at her a moment, proving that he knew something about her husband after all.
"Perhaps," he said slowly with a frown, rising to his feet. "Perhaps you are right. His father and I should speak."
ASIL LET HIMSELF into the Marrok's house without knocking. Bran had never objected, and another wolf might think he just never noticed. Asil knew that Bran noticed everything and had chosen to allow Asil's subtle defiance for his own reasons. And that was almost enough to make Asil knock on the door and wait for an invitation to enter. Almost.
Leah was on the living room couch, watching something on the big TV. She looked up as he passed by and didn't bother smiling, while a woman screamed shrilly from the surround-sound speakers. When Asil had come to Montana, Leah'd flirted with him - his Alpha's mate, who should know better. He'd allowed her the first one, but the second time he'd taught her not to play her games with him.
So she sat on the couch, glanced up at him and then away, as if he bored her. But they both knew that he scared her. Asil was slightly ashamed of that, only because he knew his mate, dead but still beloved, would be disappointed in him. Teaching Leah to be afraid of him had been easier and more satisfactory than just letting her know that her flirtations were unwelcome and would not gain her whatever it was that she wished.
Had he not expected the Marrok to execute him in short order - which was the reason he'd come to the Montana pack - he might not have done such a thorough job of it. But he was not unhappy that Leah ignored him as much as possible - and less unhappy that the Marrok would not kill him than he had expected to be. Asil found that life still had the power to surprise him, so he was willing to stick around for a little while longer.
He followed the sound of quiet voices to the Marrok's study, pausing in the hallway to wait when he realized the man talking to the Marrok was Charles. Had it been anyone else, he'd have intruded, expecting the lesser wolf - and they were all lesser wolves - to give way.
Asil frowned, trying to decide if what he had to say would play better with Charles in the room or not. Strategy would be important. A dominant wolf, such as him or Bran, could not be compelled, only persuaded.
In the end he decided on a private talk and continued on to the library, where he found a copy of Ivanhoe and reread the first few chapters.
"Romantic claptrap," said Bran from the doorway. Doubtless he'd scented Asil as soon as Asil had walked by the study earlier. "As well as historically full of holes."
"Is there something wrong with that?" asked Asil. "Romance is good for the soul. Heroic deeds, sacrifice, and hope." He paused. "The need for two dissimilar people to become one. Scott wasn't trying for historical accuracy."
"Good thing," grunted Bran, sitting down on the chair opposite the love seat Asil had claimed. "Because he didn't manage it."
Asil went back to reading his book. It was an interrogation technique he'd seen Bran use a lot and he figured the old wolf would recognize it.
Bran snorted in amusement and gave in by beginning the conversation. "So what brings you out here this afternoon? I trust it wasn't a sudden desire to read Sir Walter's dashing romance."
Asil closed the book and gave his Alpha a look under his lashes. "No. But it is about romance, sacrifice, and hope."
Bran threw his head back and groaned. "You've been talking to Anna. If I'd known what a pain in the ass it would be to have an Omega who doesn't back down in my pack, I'd have - "
"Beaten her into submission?" Asil murmured slyly. "Starved and abused her and treated her like dirt so she would never understand what she was?"
The silence became heavy.
Asil gave Bran a malicious smile. "I know better than that. You'd have asked her to come here twice as fast. It's good for you to have someone around who doesn't back down. Ah, the frustrating joy of having an Omega around. I remember it well." He smiled more broadly when he realized he'd once thought he'd never smile at the memory of his mate again. "Irritating as hell, but good for you. She's good for Charles, too."
Bran's face hardened.
"Anna came to see me," Asil continued, watching Bran carefully. "I told her she needed to grow up. She signed on for the hard times as well as the good. She needs to realize that Charles's job is tough and that sometimes he's going to need time to deal with it." That was not exactly what he'd said, but he'd have bet it was what Bran had told her. His Alpha's blank face told him he was right on target.
"I told her that there was a larger picture that she wasn't looking at," Asil continued with false earnestness. "Charles is the only one who can do his job - and that it has never been more necessary than it is now, with the eyes of the world on us. It's not easy covering up the deaths with stories of wild dogs or scavenger animals eating someone's body after they died from something else, not anymore. Police are looking for signs that their killers might be werewolves, and we can't afford that. I told her she needed to grow up and deal with reality."
The muscle on Bran's jaw tightened because Asil had always had a talent for imitation - he thought he'd gotten Bran's voice just about perfect on the last few sentences.
"So she gave up on me," Asil said, back in his own voice. "She was leaving while I sat content in the smug knowledge that she was a weak female who was more concerned with her mate than with the good of the whole. Which is only what a woman should be like, after all. It really isn't fair to blame them for it when it inconveniences us."
Bran looked at him coolly, so Asil knew he'd hit hard with that last remark.
Asil smiled ruefully and caressed the book he held. "Then she told me that it's been months since he's made any music, viejito. When was the last time that one went more than a day without humming something or playing that guitar of his?"
Bran's eyes were shocked. He hadn't known. He rose to his feet and began pacing.
"It is a necessity," Bran said at last. "If I don't send him, then who goes? Are you volunteering?"
It would be impossible; they both knew it. One kill, or maybe as many as three or four, and his control would be gone. Asil was too old, too fragile, to be sent out hunting werewolves. He would enjoy it entirely too much. He could feel the wild spirit of his wolf leap at the chance of such a hunt, the chance of a real fight and the blood of a strong opponent between his fangs.