Cry Wolf (Alpha & Omega #1)(90)

Anna kept singing as Charles heaved himself to his feet-not a pleasant experience, but his father's claws and fangs weren't silver, and even the worst of the new wounds were healing. It was dark but the moon was bright, not yet full, but waxing strong.

He stepped over Asil, who was sleeping so deeply he didn't even twitch, and walked to the bodies. The witch's neck was broken, but he'd feel better when they burned her body to ash and gone. Walter was dead, too.

Anna finished her song, and said, "It was for me."

He looked over at her.

"The witch threw some spell at me, and Walter got between us."

Anna was pale, and there was a bruise forming along her cheek. Despite the food she'd been eating, he thought she'd lost some weight the last few days. Her fingernails were torn, and her right hand, which was gently petting his father's muzzle, was cut on the knuckles where she'd punched someone-presumably Mariposa.

She was shivering a little, and he couldn't tell if it was the cold or shock, or both. Even as he thought about it, Bran curled around her, sharing his warmth.

Walter had been right: Charles hadn't been taking very good care of her.

"Then Walter died as he lived," he told his mate. "A hero, a soldier, and a survivor who chose to protect what was precious to him. I don't think, if you could ask him, that he would have any regrets."

Chapter FIFTEEN

In the end it was the cold that drove Anna. She couldn't stay any longer staring at the bodies: the man who had died for her and the woman she'd killed. But it was the cold, leaching the heat from her body that gave her the impetus to move.

Wearily, she got to her feet, disturbing the wolves who were piled around her in the futile effort to keep her warm. She looked apologetically at Charles. "I know the cars are only a couple of hours away-can you show me how to get there?" She looked at the corpses and then back to Charles. "I can't stay here anymore."

With a groan, Charles stood up. Bran steadied him a little when he staggered. Asil rose with the others. Only Bran looked fit for travel.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but I can't eat enough to stay warm. And I can't manage to change to the wolf." As soon as night had fallen, the temperature had started to drop, and it was only getting colder.

Charles bumped her with his head and started off, limping badly. Bran stayed by her side just like Walter had. She clenched her fingers in the ruff on the back of his neck, forgetting that he was the Marrok in her need for tactile comfort.

In the dark, the forest should have been eerie, but either she'd gotten used to them, or Charles's woodland spirits were being helpful at last. Weariness dogged her steps, and her jaw chattered unmercifully. She took an incautious step and her foot broke through the crust on the top of the snow and she found herself waist deep in snow, too tired to pull herself out.

The pack on her back rattled, and then Asil pushed a candy bar under her hand. Unenthusiastic, she tore the package open with her teeth and started chewing. It tasted like cardboard, and she wanted to put her face down in the snow and sleep. But Asil growled at her-subsiding unrepentantly when Bran growled back. Charles didn't make any noise, just stared at Asil with yellow eyes. It was the threat of violence more than anything that made her swallow and swallow until the sticky stuff was gone.

She struggled out of the snow and tried to stay away from places where the white stuff spread out in smooth sheets. Not that she didn't fall into drifts again. The wolves had trouble, too, but not as much as she did.

When she first saw the vehicles, she thought she was hallucinating.

The truck was behind the Humvee, so she went to it. She fumbled with the door until she got it open. There wasn't really room for three werewolves and her, but they managed somehow. She shut the door, turned the key, and waited with numb patience until warmth started filling the cab.

It was only then that she realized that the wolf sitting on the bench seat next to her was Bran. Charles took shotgun, and Asil settled on the passenger floor and closed his eyes. Bran curled up against her and put his muzzle on her thigh. He was shivering now and again-and she didn't think it was the cold that was bothering him.

When the truck was blowing hot air, she pulled off her gloves and held her fingers against the heater vent until she could feel them-and then untied her boots and took them and her wet socks off, too. There were puddles of water under her feet, but the melted snow had warmed, so she didn't mind it too much. She stuffed all of her discards behind the seat.

Backing the truck down the narrow road was miserable. The road rose and fell, so half the time she couldn't see it out her rear window and had to depend upon the side mirrors. By the time she was driving forward down the road, her hands were shaking with stress, sweat ran down her back-but the truck was still in one piece.

The cab smelled like warm, wet fur; the clock on the dash said it was three in the morning, and her toes ached and throbbed as they warmed up at last.

She'd driven for about a half hour when a gray Suburban, coming up the opposite way, flashed its lights at her and stopped. Even though they were on the highway, she stopped beside it and rolled her window down. She hadn't seen another car all night, so she decided not to worry about traffic.

The windows of the other SUV were dark, so the only person she could see was Tag in the driver's seat. He frowned at her, "Bran told me to gather a few of the pack for a cleanup. Everyone okay?"