Though he dare not do it with the proper motion, and it had been a long time since he'd been a good Muslim, he could not stop the impulse to pray. "Allaahu Akbar-"
THE witch flung out her hands, and even as far away as Charles was, he could feel the stain of her magic-corrupt and festering magic, but powerful. Very powerful.
Charles saw his father fall-and then Bran was gone.
He froze. Breathless with the suddenness of it. The cool presence that had been there for as long as he could remember left a huge, empty silence. His lungs didn't want to move, but suddenly he could get air in and all Brother Wolf wanted was to howl to the heavens.
Charles fought and fought to keep Brother Wolf quiet, but there was an odd undercurrent of savage rage that he'd never felt before, deeper and darker than the usual violent urges; and he understood, or hoped he did.
Bran wasn't gone. He was Changed.
His father mostly talked of the present or near present. Ten years, twenty, but not a hundred or more. It was something Charles had grown to appreciate as he himself grew older.
But Samuel could sometimes be persuaded to tell stories to his younger brother. And Bran as berserker had been one of his favorite stories until he'd grown old enough to understand that it wasn't just a story. If it weren't for that story, he might have been tempted to overlook the darkness seeping into him, he might have thought that Bran had truly been broken.
He used his hope to soothe Brother Wolf, and together they ran down the pack magic that cradled them in the Alpha's care. Searching, searching, they found it, changed, shut down almost entirely, until only a little of the poison rage seeped through. Bran still lived.
But as what?
Chapter FOURTEEN
Though Charles wanted to pelt down the hill as soon as the witch was gone, he led the way in a slow, controlled jog that Anna could easily keep up with in her snowshoes.
As they got closer, the trees and underbrush obscured the place where Asil and his father waited. Cautiously, Charles slowed and stopped.
He looked at her and then at Walter. She nodded silently and crouched where she was. Walter settled in like the old soldier he was. If it weren't for him, Charles would have stayed right where he was. He would not chance Anna's life on a hunch. But Walter would take care of her if something happened, so Charles was free to take a risk.
When Charles walked out into the open, Asil had finished his prayer, but just knelt where he was, with his head bowed-as if he were trying very hard not to give offense to the Marrok.
"Slowly," murmured Asil without looking up. Asil's ears had always been keen-or maybe he'd picked up Charles's scent. "We are bound to her, your father and I. I must do what the witch has commanded, as if she were my Alpha." He turned his head finally and met Charles's eyes with despair. "Your father she has bound tighter. She figured out who he was and took his free will from him like a puppet master attaching strings to his marionette.
"I'm hoping," Asil explained, still in that soft, soft voice, "that when he comes out of this change he is still sane." Tiredly he rubbed his jaw. "I have to wait and see, but you do not. You need to take your mate and leave here, gather up the pack in Aspen Creek and run to the ends of the earth. If she holds him, every wolf who owes him allegiance will be hers.
"She's quite mad-she wasn't exactly stable before-but she's tied herself to Sarai's dead wolf. The living and the dead do not good bedfellows make."
Charles waited.
Asil gave him a slight smile. "I think that she overestimates her strength. If she does not hold him..." He looked at Bran. "Well, then, perdito, I think then it is better to be far, far away."
Bran staggered to his feet and stood like a newborn foal, with his legs spread out so he wouldn't fall. There was nothing in his eyes. Nothing at all.
If not for the lump of icy wrath that was gathering in his stomach, a gift from his father, Charles would have believed him wholly taken over.
One more shift, Charles thought, and maybe he could do one more after that, but he was going to have a hell of a hangover if he did. Not for the first time he wished he'd inherited his father's ability to speak inside other people's heads. It would save a lot of energy.
He changed, hoping Asil could wait until he was able to talk. It took a little longer than he was used to-and he was afraid he might be stuck as a human longer than he'd calculated.
But finally he was through-and naked as a jaybird. He didn't have the energy to pander to his modesty.
"It is too late, she is already coming," he told Asil. "When a witch has such a hold, she can see through their eyes." His brother had told him that. "They are living golems for her."
Asil closed his eyes. "We are undone."
"You despair too easily," Charles said. He couldn't say much about Anna or Walter without the chance that it would be immediately carried to the witch. "Our pack has an Omega to call upon. Maybe it will be enough."
"Do you know what he was?" Asil asked.
"Yes."
Asil looked at the Marrok. "Kill him now, if you can. If you love him, if you care about the pack."
Charles looked at his father, who looked as frail as a werewolf could look. Not a wolf to inspire fear in the hearts of those who beheld him-more fool them.
He laughed harshly. "If you think I could kill him, you are a fool. He is the Marrok-and not nearly as weak as he looks. Never believe what you see with my father."
That was true, and Charles was hurt. Even breathing hurt.
He should leave, thought Charles, as his father's empty eyes ran over him. He'd already proven that the witch could take him when she pleased. All he could be was a liability.
Stay. I need you.
"For what?" he asked. He looked, but even with his father's voice in his head, he could only see a dumb beast in the Marrok's eyes.
Because you are the only one I know I won't kill.
* * * *
Anna listened to them talk and wrapped her arms tightly over her stomach. She knew that Charles was counting on her-on her and Walter to be his ace in the hole.
The problem was, she wasn't much of an ace. A deuce maybe, or a joker, but not an ace. Walter had been a soldier, he was a better bet.
"Do you know this place? Can we move somewhere we can see them and still stay hidden?" she whispered to Walter.
He started off at a right angle to where Charles was talking to Asil. Anna followed him as quietly as she could. He moved through the woods like Charles did, as if he were a part of it.
He took her closer than she'd thought possible, to an old tree whose branches were dense and brushed the ground only a dozen yards from where the Marrok stood on four feet and stared at his son.