Charles should be well on his way to the cars by now. Asil didn't know the mountains here that well, but he had a good head for distances. He'd have to track him after they got to the cabin-or what was left of it-but if Charles was smart enough to drive away, the witch's search would be fruitless.
Of course, if Charles found out his father was out here, too, the damn fool would probably head right back into the maw of danger; he was that kind of heroic idiot.
Still, it would be a while before they reached the cabin, so Asil had bought Charles that much of a head start. He didn't know what to do that might help more than that.
Besides, he wanted to see Mariposa's face when she saw the wreckage. Destroying the cabin had been smart, smarter than he thought Charles was. Maybe he hadn't been giving Bran's pet assassin a fair shake.
He hoped that Charles had killed the poor coyote trapped so near death but held alive by Mariposa's will and magic. He never wanted to spend another night listening to some poor tortured creature breathe in ragged gasps in the space beneath the floor he lay upon. It had taken him most of the miserably long night to figure out what it was. For the longest time he'd had the terrible suspicion that it had been the lost hunter everyone had been making such a fuss over.
He never wanted to watch someone cut up a live animal again, either. Never wanted to see Sarai's beloved person filled with some stranger who watched the witch as if she were her goddess and did her bidding. His Sarai would never have fetched an animal for Mariposa to hurt. Would never have fetched Asil. She'd done it without orders, too. Mariposa hadn't expected him.
Guardians were supposed to be obedient, incapable of thinking for themselves. He thought there was more to the wolf than Mariposa's mindless guardian. It was the same stupid hope that had led him into this mess.
If only Charles's Anna hadn't been an Omega, he thought, his rage would have rendered the lure of Sarai's form useless. He felt that rage now-helpless tearing sorrow that his Sarai's wolf had been stolen and turned into...a thing.
If he'd stayed with Charles, helped him figure out what to do about Mariposa, maybe they'd have had a chance. But Anna's presence had dulled his pain and left only the knowledge that whatever the witch had done to Sarai, she hadn't broken his bond with her. When the wolf who looked like his Sarai left, he'd had to follow.
No, he was too old to be blaming other people for his mistakes. It had never been Anna's fault, it was his own. He was too old to believe in happy endings. The best thing he could do for Sarai was make certain that her wolf died this time.
When Mariposa had scried with water this morning and discovered a new wolf was coming, he'd known who it was. Had known what a disaster it would be if she got her hands on Bran. So when she'd asked him what other wolf Bran would send after Charles, he'd lied. And he'd lied with the truth. The next wolf Bran would have sent was Tag.
Asil didn't look at Bran, pacing beside them with all the ferocity of a golden retriever. Bran was always a deceptive bastard, gentle and mild right up until he ripped your throat out. He had many other fine qualities as well.
Asil'd been sure that, even with the weakness he, himself, had left in Bran's defenses, the old one would somehow wiggle out. Maybe if he'd been able to give him more warning? If he'd told Bran everything when he'd first come to Aspen Creek years ago?
Too late, too late.
Asil wasn't troubled by modesty. He knew his own strengths, which were many-and he'd fallen victim to her. He didn't know why he'd managed to convince himself that Bran would be able to resist her when he hadn't been able to.
At least she didn't know who Bran was. Yet.
He wished it had been Samuel in the woods instead of Charles. Charles was a thug, a killer. He didn't say much, just lurked silently behind his father to inspire the terror that Bran should have been able to cause by himself if he weren't so concerned with looking like a harmless boy.
Asil'd seen Charles in action a time or two-and he was impressive, Asil had to give that to him. Charles might be strong and swift, but what they needed here was subtlety, not brawn. Samuel was old and canny. Educated. Charles was a killer who'd be half-distracted by his new mate, a helpless and fragile mate. She wasn't much like his Sarai, who had been a warrior in her own right.
Something brushed his hip.
He glanced down, but didn't see anything, even when it touched him again. Unobtrusively, so as not to attract the witch's attention, he dropped his hand and it landed on a furry back-that wasn't there to any of his other senses. Even so, he knew what he touched. Foolishly, hope grew in his heart as his fingers closed on a silky coat he'd once been very familiar with.
Can the witch change shape?
Bran again, dragging him back to reality. Unfortunately Mariposa noticed his hesitation.
"Is there something wrong?" she asked.
"A lot of things," Asil told her. She'd been right, he was happy to mislead her with the truth as much as he could. She hadn't yet acquired the ability of all good Alphas to ask specific questions. Bran was a lot harder to deceive.
"My Sarai is dead, and I am not." He unobtrusively sampled the air and relaxed as the wilderness gave him a better answer for her. "And there is something in the trees- a large predator that is not a bear. I have heard that there are wolverines in this place."
She shrugged off the predator and quit paying attention to him. He wondered if she knew she was humming Sarai's favorite song. Did she do it to torment him with the memory of what was lost, or because she derived comfort from it?
Bran waited until Mariposa was occupied with her own thoughts before he talked to Asil again.
The witch has the immortality, the strength, and the speed of a werewolf. Can she change shape, too? Is she really a werewolf? Disguising her scent somehow, so she smells human and witch, but not werewolf? Or is she just borrowing from her creation?
Asil shrugged. He'd never seen her change. He looked down at the hand still buried in invisible fur. Maybe there was a chance to learn more about Mariposa.
For almost two centuries, as soon as he realized that the mating bond gave Mariposa access to him, he'd blocked the connection as best he could. But the worst had happened, so what was the danger in it anymore?
He dropped his shields and only iron control allowed him to keep walking as if nothing had happened as Sarai's love flooded him like an ocean wave. For a while all he could do was put one foot in front of another.
Some few mated pairs could talk to each other mind to mind, but with Sarai it had always been emotion. Over the years, practice had allowed it to develop into something not so much different from telepathy.