"Why would he do that? What does it mean?"
"I don't know." He looked down at Anna. "I want you to take Walter and drive to Kennewick, Washington, where my brother is."
She folded her arms and gave him her stubborn look. "No. And don't try that again. I felt that push. You can be as dominant as you want, but remember it doesn't work on me. If she's using the pack bonds, Walter and I might be your ace in the hole. I'm not going to leave you here, and you might as well stop trying to make me."
He frowned at her fiercely-a look that had cowed older, more powerful people-and she tapped her finger on his breastbone. "Won't work. If you leave me here, I'll just follow you."
He wasn't going to tie her up-and he had the sinking feeling that was the only way he'd be able to leave her behind. Resigned to his fate, he organized them for another trek into the wilds. They'd travel light. He repacked Anna's pack with food, fire-starting equipment, and their pot for heating water. He found the pair of snowshoes that lived behind the seat of his truck in the winter. Everything else he left in the truck.
"Do you think he's found her already?" Anna asked, as they trudged back into the mountains, following his father's tracks.
"I don't know," he told her, though he was afraid he did. Unless Bran really could read minds, the only way Charles could see Bran knowing the witch was using their pack magic against them was if he'd seen it for himself.
He wished he knew if following his father was smarter than getting in the car and driving to southern Mexico. Part of him wanted to believe in the myth of the invulnerable Marrok, but the smarter part, the part that had stood meekly answering the witch's questions, was all too aware that his father was a real person, however old and powerful: he wasn't invulnerable.
Charles drew in a breath. He was bone-deep tired, and his chest hurt, and his leg. Worse than they had earlier this morning. He was not so stupid that he did not know why. His father had been feeding him strength from the pack.
Even with his spare snowshoes walking was hard. If she had Bran, Charles was no longer sure they had even a chance of saving themselves.
He didn't tell Anna. Not because he thought it would frighten her-but because by voicing his fears, he might make them real. She knew anyway; he saw it in her eyes.
Watch out, my son. The witch is after you. Run.
"Now that was useful, Da," he said out loud. "Why don't you tell me where you are, or where you're going?"
"Charles?"
"My father can talk in people's heads," he told her. "But he claims not to receive. Which means when he tells you something, you can't argue or ask him for what you need."
"What did he tell you?"
"The witch has him, and she's coming after us. She has Asil-she can find us. He didn't give me any useful information, like where they are or anything like that."
"He told you to leave."
"He told me to run." Charles glowered at her. With the pack bonds constricted so far, his father's order had been more like a suggestion. "Damned if I'm going to leave him to her."
"Of course not," Anna said. "But we're going the wrong direction."
"What do you mean?"
"I think they'll be headed to the cabin we blew up."
Charles stopped and looked at her. "Why?"
"If she asks Asil to find us, that's where he'll go-to give us a chance to escape." She gave him a tired grin. "Asil is practiced at hedging orders-I've heard the stories."
It sounded like something the old bastard would do at that. If he hadn't been so tired, he might have thought of it himself. At any rate, it was better than wandering in his father's footsteps.
Charles looked down at Walter. "You know the fastest way to the cabin from here?"
Even as they turned around and followed Walter, Charles knew they were making a mistake. His father was right, they should run. Every instinct told him so. But as long as there was a chance to save Bran, Charles couldn't leave him to his fate. Listening to your instincts, his father liked to say, was not the same thing as being blindly obedient to them.
* * * *
Anna understood the impulse that had driven Charles to try to send her and Walter to his brother and out of danger. She felt the same way.
Charles was slowing down. Some of it was walking through snow that was two inches thick one place and hip high in others; even with them both in snowshoes, it was hard going. Most of it, she was pretty sure, was from his wounds.
Walter, still in wolf form, had taken to walking next to Charles and steadying him unobtrusively with a well-placed shoulder.
When she saw Charles shiver, she stopped.
"Change." She knew it wouldn't help much, but the wolf had four legs to bear his weight instead of two. The wolf would generate heat better than the human, and his fur coat would retain it. She knew from her own extensive experience that the wolf could function better wounded than her human form.
It was a measure of Charles's exhaustion that he didn't bother arguing but simply stripped. He stored his snowshoes, bandages, boots, and clothes tidily in some brush.
When he was naked, she could see all of his wounds clearly. They looked horrible, gaping desecrations of the smooth perfection of muscle and bone.
He crouched down so he didn't have as far to fall if he lost his balance when he changed. The new view of the hole in his back wasn't as bad as the last time she'd seen it. Despite everything, he was healing.
His change took almost as long as most wolves would have. The bullet hole looked odd on wolf-shaped ribs; the entry and exit wounds no longer lined up, the larger exit wound above the smaller hole.
"We'll need to rest and eat before we get there," she told him. "We won't do your father any good if we are exhausted. "
He didn't answer her, just put his head down and followed Walter.
Walter's shortcut was the roughest ground so far, leaving Anna cursing her snowshoes and the brush that caught at her bindings and hair. They were scrambling up a steep bit when both the wolves stopped and dropped to the ground.
Anna followed suit and tried to see what had alarmed them.
Chapter THIRTEEN
She hadn't told him how to find Charles, so Asil started them back toward her cabin. He'd carefully explained to Mariposa that he'd felt Charles there, that Charles might have decided to wait where he thought they would come.
It was possible that Charles had done just that-so he wasn't lying to her, precisely. Bran had somehow shut down the pack links, so Asil couldn't check, but he was pretty sure Charles was nowhere near the cabin. The boy was cautious, and he had his fragile new mate with him. He'd have taken off to contact Bran before the last sliver from the cabin's explosion had fallen. The witch and Sarai's wolf was one thing-but the boy would know he stood not a chance against Asil as well.