His father needed to know that she could do that, that a witch could break into the pack’s magic. As far as he knew, nothing like that had ever happened before. Only his pain, and the understanding that he was going to have to pay attention to the limits of his body, kept him where he was, instead of running to the car. He had to warn his father.
If Anna hadn’t been there…and how had she known what to do?
Outside of pack magic, most wolves had very little magic-and he’d have sworn that Anna was no exception. He knew her scent very well, and she did not smell of magic. If their mating had been completed, then she might have drawn on his…
He lifted his head and smiled toothily. Anna wasn’t mated yet, but her wolf was. He’d felt her call on her wolf when the witch bespelled her, but he hadn’t thought it would do any good. Fat lot he knew. The wolf had used his magic to break the witch’s spell. And Anna hadn’t been accepted into the Marrok’s pack yet, so the witch’s infiltration of the pack bonds hadn’t allowed her to get to Anna the way she’d controlled him.
A soft sound amidst the howl of the wind broke his train of thought; something was walking in the trees. Even though it was a safe distance from where they slept, he listened and waited for the fickle wind to shift and carry scent to him. If it was the witch, he would gather his chicks and run, aching chest and leg be damned.
But it was someone else who stepped out of the trees and stopped so he could get a good clear look at him. Asil. Slowly Charles crawled out from under the tree. Anna sighed and resettled-exhaustion making it hard for her to wake up. He held very still until he heard her breathing even out again.
Then he started toward their intruder.
Since Asil had joined the Marrok, Charles had never seen him outside Aspen Creek; he didn’t like it that the first time was here and now. It told him that whatever Asil knew, it wasn’t going to make his life easier. He also didn’t like his inability to cover up his limp.
Charles seldom bothered showing off, but he did this time. He called the magic to him and let it rip through his body, changing as he walked. It hurt, but he knew it didn’t show on his face or make his limp any worse. If he’d been healthier and the spirits willing, he might even have been able to conjure up a new pair of snowshoes instead of having to wade. At least the snow on the bench, regularly scoured by the wind, was only a foot or so deep most places-half of that had fallen tonight.
Asil smiled a little, as if he recognized Charles’s power play for what it was, but he dropped his eyes. Though Charles knew better than to trust the submission in the other’s body language, it was enough for now.
Charles kept his voice low. “How did you find us?”
It was an important question. They were nowhere near the place they’d have been camping if he and Anna had followed the trip as he’d outlined it with Tag. Had he done something stupid that would let the witch find them, too? The oddities of the past twenty-four hours had badly shaken his confidence-and that, and his half-crippled body, was making him crankier than usual.
Asil kept his shoulders relaxed under the thick coat he wore. “As we age, we all gain abilities, yes? Your father can talk to his wolves in their heads, no matter how far away they are. Me, I can always track my pack mates. If you hadn’t taken off like scared rabbits, I’d have come upon you hours ago.”
“Why are you here?” Charles gritted out. He wasn’t irritated about the “scared rabbit” comment. He wasn’t.
Getting angry around Asil never was a good idea. The self-absorbed, arrogant Moor would feed you your anger back with a healthy dose of humiliation. Charles had never fallen victim, for all of Asil’s baiting, but he’d seen many who had. You don’t survive as long as Asil had without being a cunning predator.
“I came to apologize,” Asil said, raising his eyes so that Charles could read the sincerity in them. “Sage told me something of what Anna endured. If I had known what you were dealing with, I would not have made trouble between you and your mate.”
“You didn’t make trouble between us,” said Charles. Impossible, though, to doubt that Asil meant what he said.
“Good. And whatever assistance I can offer to help you and your mate is yours.” He looked toward the log where Anna and Walter were hidden. “In my fit of remorse, it occurred to me that I might be of some assistance with your rogue. But, it looks as though you have everything under control.”
Charles felt his eyebrows rise. Under control was not exactly how he’d have described the last day. “Appearances are deceiving, then. Do you know why a witch would be looking for you?”
Asil’s face went blank, his body utterly still. “Witch?”
“She was asking about you, specifically.” He rubbed his forehead because he’d be damned if he’d rub his aching chest while Asil could see him. “Or how she could tap into my father’s pack bonds to take tighter control of me than my father has ever managed?”
“A witch,” Asil said. “Here?”
Charles nodded curtly. “If you don’t know anything about her, how about a female werewolf who seems to be connected with her somehow? One whose coloring matches your mate’s-”
His voice trailed off because Asil, his face still oddly blank, dropped to his knees; not like he was kneeling before Charles, but more as if the joints had quit working right. It reminded Charles of the way Walter had done the same thing earlier, but it wasn’t wonder or the unexpected grace of Anna’s presence that caused this.
The scent of Asil’s violent emotions washed over him, impossible to sort out anything specific from the storm except that pain and horror were both in the forefront.
“It is her, then,” Asil whispered. “I had hoped that she would die and be gone forever. Even when I heard what the rogue looked like, I hoped it was someone else.”
That was why Charles didn’t believe in coincidences. “You know the witch?”
The Moor looked at his black-gloved hands, then buried them in the snow. He closed his eyes and shuddered. When he opened them, they sparkled with gold highlights. “It’s her. She stole it, and she can no more hide from me if I look, than I can hide from her here.”
Charles took a deep breath and counseled himself to patience. “What did she steal-and who is she?”
“You know,” Asil said. “She’s the one who killed my Sarai.” He took his snow-covered hands and scrubbed them on his forehead. Then he added the unbearable part. “She stole my mate bond when she did.”
Charles knew-as did anyone who had heard the stories of the Moor-that Asil and his wife’s mate bond had brought with it an unusual gift, empathy.
He didn’t do anything dumb, like ask Asil if he was certain-though he’d never in his life heard of such a thing. And to be tied to a witch, a black witch, with empathy was possibly the worst thing he’d ever heard of. No wonder Asil had asked his father to kill him.
“This witch looks to be barely out of her teens. Sarai died two centuries ago.”
Asil bowed his head and murmured, “I swear to you, I did not expect her to find me. Your father’s safeguards held for all this time-if they hadn’t, I’d have forced him to kill me the very first day I came to Aspen Creek.” He swallowed. “I should not have allowed him to make me one of the pack, though. If she reached through the pack bonds, the only access she could possibly have is through me, though our mate bond.”
Chilled, Charles stared at the Moor and wondered if he could possibly be as mad as he’d always claimed. Because if he wasn’t, this witch was even more of a problem than Charles thought.
Crystalline wolf eyes gazed up at him, looking out of Asil’s dark face while snow coated both of them. “Tell me about the wolf who looked like my Sarai.” Desperation and despair colored the old wolf’s voice.
“I never met your mate,” Charles’s voice softened. “But the wolf with the witch is large, even for a werewolf. She’s colored like a German shepherd, fawn with black points and back. There’s some white on her left front foot, I think.”