Docile as a child, he let her do it.
She fed him two of the freeze-dried meals, gave one to Walter, and ate another. When they were finished, she kicked piles of snow onto the struggling fire until it was out completely, then urged Charles back into their original shelter. She was too tired to try changing again, and Charles was in worse shape. Walter curled up in front of them both, effectively blocking the wind and snow that tried to reach them.
Anna opened her eyes in the darkness, certain that something had wakened her again. She raised her head from Charles’s warm, sweet-smelling skin and looked around. Walter was nowhere to be seen, and sometime in the night, she and Charles had reversed positions, so he lay between her and danger.
The wind and snow had ceased, leaving the forest silent and waiting.
“Me transmitte sursum, Caledoni,” she murmured. Too bad Scotty wasn’t around to beam them to safety. There was something about the heavy atmosphere that was frightening.
She listened hard but heard nothing. The weighted silence pounded on her ears and made the beat of her heart even louder in the stillness of the winter night.
Her heartbeat, her breath was the only thing she could hear.
“Charles?” she whispered, touching his shoulder tentatively. When he didn’t respond, she shook him.
His body fell away from her. He’d been lying on his side, but he rolled limply out from under their barely adequate shelter and onto the snow. The moonlight illuminated him almost as well as daylight could have.
Her breath stopped in her chest, followed by a rush of pain that made her eyes water; blood had drenched his back all the way through his coat. Black glistened on her fingers: blood, his blood.
“No,” she sat up, hitting her head on the dead tree they were sleeping under, but she ignored the pain and reached out to him. “Charles!”
Bran sat bolt upright in his bed, heart pounding and breathing rapidly. The cool air of his bedroom brushed over his sweating body. Witch.
“What’s wrong?” Leah rolled over and propped her chin on her hands, her body relaxed and sated.
“I don’t know.” He took a deep breath, but there had been no strangers in his room. Though his head cleared quickly, the memory of his dream eluded him. Everything except that one word: witch.
His cell phone rang.
“What’s wrong, Da?” Samuel’s voice was wide-awake. “Why did you call me?”
It took Bran a moment to understand Samuel wasn’t talking about a phone call. He rubbed his face and tried to remember. Witch. For some reason the word sent cold chills down his spine.
Maybe he’d been dreaming of the past. He didn’t do it often anymore. And when he did, it wasn’t about the witch-it was about all the people who died beneath his fangs after the witch was dead.
No, it didn’t feel like a dream of memories. It felt like a warning. As soon as he thought that, he felt again the urgency that had woken him up. Something was wrong.
“What did I say?” His voice obeyed him, sounding only calm and curious.
“Wake up,” Samuel said dryly.
“Not very helpful.” Bran ran his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry for disturbing you, I was asleep.”
Samuel’s voice softened, “Was it a nightmare, Da?”
As if in response to his question, Bran saw an image- part of his dream-“Charles is in trouble.”
“From a rogue?” Samuel spoke with polite incredulity. “I’ve never seen a rogue that could make Charles break a sweat.”
Witch.
But not his witch, not the witch who had turned him into a monster so long ago. Dead, but never forgotten. A different witch.
“Da?”
“Wait, let me think.”
After a moment he said, “Charles and Anna went out after the rogue two days ago.” Sometimes just speaking things aloud helped him jog loose whatever he’d been dreaming about. Dream warnings sucked-he eventually remembered what they were about, but sometimes only after everything was over.
“Asil came by that evening. He was angry with me for sending Charles out so soon after he’d been wounded,” Bran said.
“Asil was worried about Charles?” Samuel sounded skeptical.
“Exactly my thought. Astounding. Though he wasn’t too upset until-”
“What?”
Bran rubbed his forehead. “I’m too old. I forgot. What a stupid thing…Well, that’s explained.”
“Father?”
He laughed. “Sorry. Asil took off yesterday morning, presumably after Charles, but I just figured out why. The rogue’s description matches Sarai’s wolf-Asil’s mate.”
“She’s been dead a long time.”
“Two hundred years. Asil told me he’d burned her body and buried the ashes himself. And old as he is, he still cannot lie to me. She’s dead.”
Leah rolled off of her side of the bed and gathered up her clothing. Without looking at him, she stalked out of his bedroom to her own. He heard her shut her door behind her and knew he’d hurt her by having this conversation with Samuel, instead of his mate.
But he had no time to apologize-he’d just got an odd insight.
Witch.
“Samuel,” he said, feeling his way. “Why would you burn a body?”
“To hide its identity. Because it’s too cold to bury a body. Because their religion requires it. To prevent the spread of disease. Because there are too many bodies, and no one has a bulldozer handy. Am I getting warm?”
He was too worried to be amused. “Why would Asil have burned Sarai’s body in Spain during the Napoleonic wars?”
“Witch.”
Witch.
“I dreamed of a witch,” Bran said, sure now that it was true.
“The Moor’s mate was tortured to death over days,” Samuel said reflectively. “I always assumed it was a vampire. A witch would never have been capable of holding a werewolf for days-kill her, yes. But not torture.”
“I know of one who could.”
“Grandmother’s been dead for a long time, Da,” Samuel said cautiously.
“Killed and eaten,” Bran said impatiently. “I merely pointed out that we know of one exception. Where there is one, there may be others.”
“Sarai was the Moor’s mate, and they were part of a pack. It wasn’t like it was with us. And Sarai was killed two hundred years ago. Witches live a human life span.”
“Asil told me he’d been dreaming lately. Of her. I assumed he meant Sarai.”
There was only silence on the other end of the phone. Samuel knew about those dreams, too.
“I don’t know anything,” said Bran. “Maybe Sarai was killed by a vampire, and the wolf having her coloring is just coincidence. Maybe Asil burned Sarai’s body because he couldn’t stand to think of her rotting in the grave. Maybe my dream was just that, and Charles is coming back with our rogue right now.”
“You know,” said Samuel reflectively, “you just proved your point better by arguing against it than you did arguing for it. I wonder if that says anything about how your mind works.”
“Or yours,” said Bran, smiling despite himself. “I’m going out to check on Charles.”
“Good,” said Samuel. “Do you want me to come back?”
“No. Are you staying with Adam or Mercy?”
