Burn Bright (Alpha & Omega #5)(60)

“Anna?” He couldn’t see her, but he could feel that she was near and that she was worried.

“Charles!” she called. “I’m here, trapped in the stupid plants. I can’t get out.”

He waded through the sticky, sloggy ground, and when he reached the forest of vines, it opened reluctantly before him. It would have kept him from Anna if it could have, but their bond and his magic was too strong here, where such things had more meaning. But the vines closed behind with a wash of malice and dark whispers.

In a very small clearing, his mate stood contemplating the vines with her arms crossed over her chest, her back to him.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“It’s witchcraft,” she said, without looking away from the vines. “I don’t know what to do with witchcraft.”

He approached her and became aware that her clothing was ragged and there were bloody scratches up and down her arms and on her cheek. She was frowning fiercely.

“Is the cartoon yours?” he asked.

She looked up at him then. “Oh good, you’re here,” she said, as if she only now saw him, though she’d answered his question. It was that kind of place. “Cartoon?”

She turned around slowly, looking around. She shook her head and laughed. “I think I’ve built this as a metaphor. But I’m not sure who is really in charge here. This”—she waved her arms to indicate the whole scene—“is a conglomeration of my powers, Wellesley’s magic, and that.” On the last word, she pointed at the briar-vine hedge. “That is black magic, witchcraft. And I don’t know how it got here or how to break it.”

He surveyed the hedge a little more thoroughly. The first thing he noticed was that the plants bore only a vague resemblance to any plant he’d ever seen—but this wasn’t reality. He’d had some experience with this kind of magical dreaming, though his adventures usually looked a little more like the real world and less like a Disneyland adventure.

“So is there a sleeping princess trapped behind the thorns?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “It’s Wellesley’s wolf.”

Interesting, said Brother Wolf. We never sensed any witchcraft about him. Is it new?

“I don’t think so,” Anna said. “I think it’s been here a long time. Asil said there might have been a witch involved in the business in Tennessee.”

“Rhea Springs?” Charles asked, frowning. “I didn’t find any signs of witches there.”

Anna raised both eyebrows and flung her arm out toward the thorn hedge and its distinctive scent of the blood and wrongness that was witchcraft.

“Point made,” he said.

“So how do I take down the hedge?” she asked him.

Blood, Brother Wolf said.

Anna held out her hands. “I bled here and—” She flushed “I accidentally dug claws into Wellesley in the real world. The more real world, anyway. And he bled. Nothing happened to the witchcrafting.”

“This is a fairy tale,” Charles said thoughtfully.

“Yes?”

“If not blood, then maybe a kiss,” he told her.

A lot of pack magic worked with blood—but there were a few very select offerings that were symbolized by a kiss. He had an idea about how that could work for this.

He reached out and took her hand—the one still bandaged, so he was gentle about it. “I kiss you. You kiss Wellesley in the real world.”

She pulled her head back in instinctive rejection, though her hand tightened on his. “Love’s first kiss?” It sounded like a quote. “I don’t love him.”

He put his chin on the top of her head and pulled her against him. Even in the Dreamtime, it felt good. She made him smile.

“No love necessary between you and him,” he told her. “But Bran holds him as pack as he holds you and me. If I kiss you here, and you kiss him in the real world, maybe we can work a little magic, you and I.”

Then he bent down and kissed her.

? ? ?

ANNA DIDN’T UNDERSTAND exactly what Charles intended, but she was willing to trust him.

She blinked uncertainly, trying to be aware both in the real world and in the inner vision. It felt awkward and distinctly uncomfortable.

Asil still had Wellesley pinned to the ground but not without a great deal of effort. He saw her focus on him and smiled grimly. “Whatever it is you are trying to do, it is working. I can tell by how much easier it has become to hold him down.”

She couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not. And she didn’t have enough brainpower to puzzle it out right now. The angle Asil held him in was wrong to kiss Wellesley on the mouth. She could kiss his cheek, she thought, and felt a wave of relief.

On the mouth, love, said Brother Wolf, because in the not-real world Charles was kissing her and so could not speak. It is symbolic. We give our word, we communicate, we eat, we intake food through our mouths. Through his mouth, we can feed him power. Charles says that Wellesley has some abilities of his own. If we can feed him enough, he should be able to free himself.

“Can you move him around?” she asked Asil. “I have to kiss him on the mouth.” Even to herself, she sounded grumpy. She wasn’t sure that feeding him power with a kiss felt less intimate or more.

Asil paused with his whole body—and Wellesley struggled fiercely. He snapped at her hands—which she managed to keep on his face only by throwing herself forward on top of both Asil and Wellesley. She had a feeling that losing that touch right now would be bad.