Wild Sign (Alpha & Omega #6)(100)

“Can I take the sword?” Anna asked again.

Bran nodded. Charles had the distinct impression that Anna could have said, “I want to throw it in the ocean,” or “I want to give it to the owner of the local gas station,” and she would have gotten the same response. Da wasn’t thinking about the sword just now.

“You should go,” Charles said.

Bran nodded. “I will see you when you get back.” He lifted a hand in good-bye and started to walk around the helicopter to take the copilot’s seat.

“You should talk to her,” Charles said, and saw his da’s steps falter. He did not say, You should have talked to her a long time ago. She was hurt and you did not see it. You should have seen it. But he had no doubt that his father heard those words, too.

“Yes,” Da said, without looking around. “We will need to talk.”

Anna tucked herself under Charles’s arm and leaned her cheek against his chest. “Do you think they’ll be okay?” she asked. He knew she assumed that the sounds of the helicopter powering up would hide her voice.

He was pretty sure that wasn’t the case, but he told her the truth anyway, because his da should hear it. “I don’t know.”



* * *



*

THEY WERE VERY nearly stymied at the mouth of the cave because he’d forgotten that they would need light to travel inside.

“There was one left,” Anna said.

“There are flashlights in the Suburban,” Charles said. “Or we could come back tomorrow.”

“No,” Anna said stubbornly, but there was a wobble to her voice.

It surprised him—and he took another good hard look at his mate. They were all exhausted, in need of food and sleep. She didn’t look as bad as Leah, or Da after he’d kept Tag from dying. But that was just a matter of degree.

We need to get her home, Brother Wolf said, and he didn’t mean the hotel. Her jaw was set and she had her lower lip caught between her teeth to keep it from trembling. Charles could tell she knew she was being irrational.

But she was tired, worn to the bone mentally and physically, and he wasn’t going to argue with her when she was in that state. Briefly he worried that they were going to have to go into the cave system in the dark.

Happily, before that happened, Anna spotted a flashlight that had rolled into some shrubs. She wiped the blood off it and headed into the cave.

They came to a place where three tunnels met, and Anna stopped. She pointed to a pile of ash. “I think that’s Zander,” she said.

“Good” was probably the wrong thing to say, Charles thought. She’d liked Zander, loved his photography—though perhaps she didn’t like him as much since he’d kidnapped her so she could carry Cthulhu’s child.

“Good,” he said anyway.

She put her forehead against his biceps and gave a laugh that was nearly a sob. “Good,” she agreed huskily.

Her flashlight fell upon a Glock pistol. Charles picked it up, took out the clip, and checked the chamber, which was clear. He put the clip in one pocket and tucked the gun in the back of his jeans. He couldn’t leave a loaded gun lying around for anyone to find.

The cavern of the dead was not far away.

Anna’s flashlight found the face of the first body just as the gem in the pommel of Jonesy’s sword flared with light. He didn’t blame it. Magic was so thick in here that he could barely breathe.

The Singer had been feeding on these people, had set up some sort of construct that pulled . . . something from them. Charles wasn’t sure what it was, only that he could barely perceive it. But with the Singer dead, the cave was filled with power.

Anna had been right. It had been important for them to come here now.

Anna’s description of the people of Wild Sign was right on target. As they stood in the entryway, every body he could see in the cool light of the gemstone sucked in a breath and let it out again. And she was right about what it smelled like, too.

“Are they dead?” Anna asked in a small voice.

He wished he could tell her yes. He knelt beside the closest one and put his hand on her forehead, then on the skin over her heart.

“No,” he said. “But there is no going back for them, either.”

She lifted the sword in question, shifting her grip as she did, so that she held it properly.

He held out his hand for the sword, and Brother Wolf spoke aloud. “Please.”

Because Brother Wolf was as tired as Charles, he reverted to speaking through their bond. Let us do this terrible, necessary thing.

“I can do it,” she said, raising her chin.

“I know,” Charles said. “But it will cost me less to give these poor souls the coup de grace”—he saw her draw in an indignant breath and completed his sentence—“than it will cost me to watch you do it.”

She closed her mouth and gave him a disgruntled look. “That is so sexist it leaves me speechless.”

But she had heard the truth in his statement.

“I know,” he said apologetically, which made her sputter.

“And manipulative,” she said.

He bowed shallowly in acknowledgment. “I am my father’s son.”

She looked around the room and then held the sword out to him. Her eyes glistened wetly in the blue light.