In the end it was the cold that drove Anna. She couldn't stay any longer staring at the bodies: the man who had died for her and the woman she'd killed. But it was the cold, leaching the heat from her body that gave her the impetus to move.
Wearily, she got to her feet, disturbing the wolves who were piled around her in the futile effort to keep her warm. She looked apologetically at Charles. "I know the cars are only a couple of hours away-can you show me how to get there?" She looked at the corpses and then back to Charles. "I can't stay here anymore."
With a groan, Charles stood up. Bran steadied him a little when he staggered. Asil rose with the others. Only Bran looked fit for travel.
"I'm sorry," she said, "but I can't eat enough to stay warm. And I can't manage to change to the wolf." As soon as night had fallen, the temperature had started to drop, and it was only getting colder.
Charles bumped her with his head and started off, limping badly. Bran stayed by her side just like Walter had. She clenched her fingers in the ruff on the back of his neck, forgetting that he was the Marrok in her need for tactile comfort.
In the dark, the forest should have been eerie, but either she'd gotten used to them, or Charles's woodland spirits were being helpful at last. Weariness dogged her steps, and her jaw chattered unmercifully. She took an incautious step and her foot broke through the crust on the top of the snow and she found herself waist deep in snow, too tired to pull herself out.
The pack on her back rattled, and then Asil pushed a candy bar under her hand. Unenthusiastic, she tore the package open with her teeth and started chewing. It tasted like cardboard, and she wanted to put her face down in the snow and sleep. But Asil growled at her-subsiding unrepentantly when Bran growled back. Charles didn't make any noise, just stared at Asil with yellow eyes. It was the threat of violence more than anything that made her swallow and swallow until the sticky stuff was gone.
She struggled out of the snow and tried to stay away from places where the white stuff spread out in smooth sheets. Not that she didn't fall into drifts again. The wolves had trouble, too, but not as much as she did.
When she first saw the vehicles, she thought she was hallucinating.
The truck was behind the Humvee, so she went to it. She fumbled with the door until she got it open. There wasn't really room for three werewolves and her, but they managed somehow. She shut the door, turned the key, and waited with numb patience until warmth started filling the cab.
It was only then that she realized that the wolf sitting on the bench seat next to her was Bran. Charles took shotgun, and Asil settled on the passenger floor and closed his eyes. Bran curled up against her and put his muzzle on her thigh. He was shivering now and again-and she didn't think it was the cold that was bothering him.
When the truck was blowing hot air, she pulled off her gloves and held her fingers against the heater vent until she could feel them-and then untied her boots and took them and her wet socks off, too. There were puddles of water under her feet, but the melted snow had warmed, so she didn't mind it too much. She stuffed all of her discards behind the seat.
Backing the truck down the narrow road was miserable. The road rose and fell, so half the time she couldn't see it out her rear window and had to depend upon the side mirrors. By the time she was driving forward down the road, her hands were shaking with stress, sweat ran down her back-but the truck was still in one piece.
The cab smelled like warm, wet fur; the clock on the dash said it was three in the morning, and her toes ached and throbbed as they warmed up at last.
She'd driven for about a half hour when a gray Suburban, coming up the opposite way, flashed its lights at her and stopped. Even though they were on the highway, she stopped beside it and rolled her window down. She hadn't seen another car all night, so she decided not to worry about traffic.
The windows of the other SUV were dark, so the only person she could see was Tag in the driver's seat. He frowned at her, "Bran told me to gather a few of the pack for a cleanup. Everyone okay?"
It took her a moment to realize how Bran had told him. She glanced around at her comrades, none of whom looked okay to her. "What did Bran tell you?" Her voice was tired and slurred.
Tag's frown deepened, but he answered her. "That there are two dead bodies up there, a witch and a wolf. We're to gather up everything and do a general cleanup."
Anna nodded. "The Humvee is at the top of the road. We left the keys in it. I suppose Asil has a vehicle somewhere, but I don't know where it is."
Tag's face went still for a moment as if he were listening to something she couldn't hear. He gave her a little smile and tapped his temple a couple of times. "Bran does. We'll bring them back. Are you all right to drive back?"
It was a good question, and she wasn't sure if she was lying when she told him, "Yes."
"All right." The sound of his motor changed as he shifted it into gear, but he didn't drive off or roll up the window. Instead, he said hesitantly, "Something happened...I felt such..."
"Witch," said Anna firmly-and truthfully as far as it went.
If Bran wanted everyone to know about what Asil's witch had done to him, he could tell them himself. She rolled up her window and started down the road again.
She'd been worried she wouldn't be able to find Charles's house, but she made it just fine. It looked snug and safe covered with a new fall of snow.
She let them all into the house and staggered off to the bathroom, then the bedroom. She stripped off her filthy and wet clothes, then crawled under the covers in her underwear. She fell asleep while the three wolves were sorting out how they were going to fit on the bed with her.
"Is she all right?" his father asked.
Charles closed his eyes and listened. All he could tell was that the bond between him and his mate was strong and solid. He couldn't tell yet what their bond would mean, what gifts it would bring. His ears, though, told him she was singing.
"She'll do," he said.
Asil raised his cup of tea in salute. Like his father, Asil was freshly showered and dressed in an extra pair of sweats.
A car drove up his road and parked in front of the house.
"My car," said Asil, not bothering to get up.
Sage opened the door without knocking and peered cautiously through the opening. When she saw Bran, she stomped snow off her feet and came inside. "Someone needs to shovel," she told Charles. " 'Sil, I brought your car, and you can have it back if you'll drop me off at my place."
"Cleanup finished?" Bran asked mildly.
Sage nodded. "Tag says it is. He took Charles's truck to the crematorium to take care of the bodies. He told me to let you know the wolf will be scattered the usual place, and he's got four pounds of salt to mix with the witch's ashes. He'll bring the results to your house for disposal."
"Very good," Bran said. "Thank you."
While Sage had been speaking, Asil had gathered his dishes and taken them to the kitchen. "I'll head out with Sage." He took a deep breath, then bowed formally to Bran. "About the things I did not tell you-I'll expect your visit in the next few days."
Sage drew in a sharp breath, but Bran let out a sigh. "You're a little old for a spanking. I don't have anything to tell you that you don't already know"-he raised an eyebrow-"unless you have another witch or something worse after you that might endanger the pack? No? Then go home and get some rest, old friend." He took a sip of tea, and then said, "I hope this means you'll quit asking me to kill you. It gives me indigestion."
Asil smiled. "I expect I'll continue to give you indigestion-but probably not for that reason. At least not for a while yet." He turned to Charles and gave him the same formal bow. "Thank you for your help."
Charles tipped his head behind him toward the bathroom where the shower was still running. "Anna killed the witch."
Asil's smile grew sly. "I'll have to thank her properly, then."
Charles gazed coolly into his eyes. "You just do that."
Asil threw back his head and laughed. He took Sage by the shoulder and walked her out, stepping barefoot into the snow without a wince.
After the car drove off, Bran said, "You'll still have trouble with that one-but he won't mean it anymore. I think I'll head home, too. Leah will be concerned."
Charles shrugged off Asil-he was more worried about other matters. "Are you sure? You are welcome to stay here for a while more." d never forget that Other, the berserker who lurked underneath his father's easygoing facade.
His da smiled, but it only emphasized the haunted look in his eyes. "I'm fine. Take care of your mate-and let me know when you'd like to make things official. I'd like to get her formally linked with the pack as soon as possible. This week is the full moon."
"This moon is good." Charles crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head. "But you must be tired if you think you can lie to me like that."
Bran, who had been halfway to the door, turned back. This time the smile lit his eyes. "You worry too much. How about-I will be fine. Is that better?"
That was truth.
"If you run into trouble, call me, and I'll bring Anna right over."
Bran nodded once and left, leaving Charles to worry. Only when Anna, warm and damp from her shower, came into the room whistling a familiar tune did his concern for Bran subside.
"Crep, strep, venefica est mortua," she told him.
"What is dead?" he asked her, then he thought about the tune and smiled.
"Ding, dong, the witch is dead," she clarified, taking the seat next to him. "And so is a good man. Do we celebrate or mourn?"
"That's always the question," he told her.
She stretched her fingers out on the table. "He was a good man, you know? He deserved a happy ending."
He covered her fingers with his own, searching for the right words, but they didn't come.
After a moment, she leaned her forehead against his shoulder. "You could have died."
"Yes."
"Me, too."
"Yes."
"I think I'll take the happy ending he gave us and make it matter." She wrapped both arms around him fiercely. "I love you."
He turned and pulled her onto his lap. His arms were shaking, and he was very careful not to hold her so hard he might hurt her. "I love you, too."
After a long while she looked up. "Are you hungry, too?"
Bran felt the monster stir uneasily as he left his son's house. He'd thought he'd had it caged at last-unpleasant to discover that the cage he'd devised was flawed. Very nearly more than unpleasant.
The last time he'd felt that way was when Blue Jay Woman died. He'd held on to the Beast by the finest of threads-and it had scared him. He couldn't afford to love someone like that ever again.
It was still dark when he parked in the garage. They'd slept the clock around at Charles's house, and it was a couple of hours still before dawn came. He entered his house quietly and eased up the stairs.
Leah wasn't in her room.
He knew, before he got to his door, that she was sleeping in his bed. Silently, he let himself in and shut the door behind him.
Curled up on his side of the bed, she hugged a pillow. Tenderness welled up in him; asleep she looked soft and vulnerable.
He pushed the tenderness away in that there was too much danger. He knew his sons had never understood his marriage, his mating. It had taken him a few years after Blue Jay Woman's death to find Leah, a woman so selfish and stupid he was certain he could never really love her. But love wasn't necessary for the mating bond-acceptance was, trust was-and love was a bonus he couldn't afford.
With Blue Jay Woman he'd found that the mating bond was the answer to the Beast-spreading out the cost of control. He needed the mating bond to hold the monster he could become at bay. But he could not afford to lose anyone else he loved the way he had loved Blue Jay Woman. So he'd found an acceptable compromise in Leah.
He stripped off his clothes, making noise now. Leah woke when the sweatshirt hit the floor.
She sat up and rubbed the sleep from her face, but when his pants followed the shirt, she pouted at him, and said, "If you think that you're-"
He closed her mouth with his, and fed the Beast with her skin, her scent, and the noises she made as he pleasured her. She stopped resisting after the first kiss. When he finished with her, she cuddled close, trembling a little with aftershocks.
And the Beast slept.
The pack ran through the cold-silenced forest like the Wild Hunt of the old stories, fatal to any creature unfortunate enough to cross its path.
Anna was just as glad that nothing did. She didn't mind a good hunt, at least the wolf in her didn't, but she could still taste Bran's flesh and blood, given to her to cement her place in his pack. The flavor was sweet and rich-and that bothered Anna a lot more than it did her wolf-and she would rather decide how she felt about it before she replaced it with the flesh and blood of something else.
Charles had been dropping steadily back, and she stayed with him, following when he broke free of the pack. In front of the other wolves, he'd behaved with solemn dignity. When they were alone, he dodged suddenly sideways, knocking her off her feet before she could brace herself-and the game was on. She and Charles played until she noticed he was favoring his bad leg, and then they rested.
They'd been married that afternoon in the little church in town. Sage had whisked her away for an emergency trip to Missoula the day before, so she'd even had a proper gown. Asil had supplied the bouquet and decorated the chapel with his roses.
She hadn't known that Charles had contacted her family until she'd stepped into the chapel and her father had been waiting in the aisle to escort her in instead of Bran. Her brother had been standing with the groomsmen, next to Samuel.
So she'd been married with tears streaming down her face. The minister had stopped the ceremony and handed her a tissue to wipe her nose, which had made her laugh.
Her favorite moment, though, was after the ceremony, when her father, thin and tall and stooped, had shook his finger at Charles and threatened him with death and dismemberment if he didn't take care of her. All the wolves who'd heard-which meant all the wolves in the room-had watched with amused awe as Charles had meekly bowed his head as if her father had been the Marrok.
Anna settled against Charles as they rested in the woods, his fur soft and thick against her own. He'd taken them in a circle, she saw, because they were above Bran's house and she could see the lights inside, where her father and brother were still up-probably talking about her. She hoped they were happy for her. Judging from the past few days, this new life of hers wasn't going to be easy, but, she thought, she would like it just fine.
Somewhere in the wilds surrounding them, a timber wolf called to his mate. Anna jumped to her feet, nipped Charles's nose playfully, and took off with him in hot pursuit.
