Dead Heat (Alpha & Omega #4)(71)

Anna wasn’t hurt. But Brother Wolf wanted the fae to die; leaving your enemies alive was not smart. Any fae who frightened Anna was his enemy. Fear was a power the fae used to protect themselves, to freeze their prey, to kill. He knew that, understood that, if Anna did not. It was a weapon, and this one had used it against Anna.

Please, Anna said, breathing a little calmness to him. Not enough to influence him; he didn’t think she had done it on purpose. Maybe she was trying to calm herself down and the effect had sifted through their bond.

But wherever she had aimed, it succeeded in allowing him to think. Anna wasn’t hurt. Anna wasn’t hurt, ergo he did not need to kill this fae. And, given that it had not hurt her, if he killed it, it would be because he wanted to. To kill when it was not a matter of defense or law was murder.

Woodland fae are too tough to kill easily, anyway, Brother Wolf grumbled at Anna.

Charles extracted his fangs and stepped back, letting the growl dwelling in his chest ring in the open air.

The wounded fae was definitely one of the tree folk but not a particularly dangerous one, not if he’d been too frightened to fight back when Charles had attacked him. His skin was more like tree bark and he had no flesh to soften the rawboned look. Yellow and red eyes, one each, blinked up at Charles in fearful horror.

Though Charles’s strike would have killed a human, this fae was not much hurt, he thought. The fae were tough, the forest fae among the toughest. As Brother Wolf had observed, this one would not die easily under the fangs of a werewolf.

Beside him Anna shook herself, shivered, and shook herself some more. And even if she was not terrified anymore, she was definitely disturbed, allowing Charles to stay between her and the fae.

If not for the humans watching, the FBI agent, the Cantrip agents who were cautiously climbing through the remains of the patio doors, and the woman in the house who stared out through an upstairs window, he would have pressed against her, reassuring her that she wasn’t alone. He would have done it despite the audience if she had still been frightened. But she was recovering and he wouldn’t take that from her.

Charles circled the fae as it struggled back to its feet. The damage he’d done mended itself, the barklike skin flowing together until there was no trace of fang marks or hurt.

Leslie cleared her throat. “Hey, Charles,” she said. “Quite an entrance.” Her voice was steady, though he could smell her fear.

He glanced at her and then away. In his current state it wouldn’t be safe for her if he caught her eyes. Excess adrenaline made it impossible for him to stay still, so he stalked back and forth like a lion in a cage and waited for someone to do something.

“All right, then,” Leslie said. “Sir. I don’t know your name. I think you have to agree that we located you. That’s not a question.”

The fae shuddered and took on human semblance—a bland-featured man of average height and average build wearing a sand-colored, double-knit suit fifty years out of date.

“It wasn’t fair,” he said. “It wasn’t fair. I didn’t know it was a werewolf. If I’d known it was a werewolf, I wouldn’t have made that bargain. It wasn’t fair.”

“You didn’t ask,” Leslie said. “You should know better than to make assumptions.”

“Not fair,” he said again, pouting. “Spoiled the game.”

If the fae was talking about playing games, Leslie might need a little coaching. Hostile fae could be difficult. Charles took a deep, deliberate breath and pulled his human shape out and donned it. He shook his head and a few shards of glass tinkled on the ground. He dusted himself off and got rid of a few more. His skin burned where the glass had cut deeply and the werewolf magic continued to heal him.

“Leslie,” he said. His voice was still gravelly, but he couldn’t help it with Brother Wolf so close.

She took a step away from him, caught herself, and stepped forward again. He could smell her fear, but she was not giving in to it, which was what he had come to expect from her.

“Fill me in,” he said. “Let me help.”

Marsden and Leeds came up and Leslie relaxed fractionally. She nodded at them and then turned to Charles.

“We came here investigating a report that Ms. Jamison filed about unicorns and dragons, and a green man in her garden. Most of it was a false report, camouflage for the truth that there was a green man in her garden. The deal was that if we found the green man, he gives us three true answers.”

“First, it isn’t a green man.” Charles looked at the bland man without favor and pretended not to notice that Anna had moved close to him as soon as he stopped moving and was pressed up against him. You didn’t reveal your mate’s weaknesses before the enemy. He couldn’t kill it until Leslie discovered if it could help them find Amethyst.

“Woodland fae, a tree man, related to the green man. Wearden, the old Anglo-Saxons called them. I have no idea what he calls himself. One of the lesser fae, which doesn’t mean he isn’t dangerous. Just not as dangerous.”

The fae curled his lip up and hissed at Charles.

“Okay,” Leslie said.

“Ask a question that requires a broad answer,” Leeds said. “Don’t use yes-or-no questions. Oddly enough those are pretty easily fouled up.”

“What—” The fae leaned forward, just a little. But it cued Leslie in and she rephrased it. “Leeds, please explain that. Yes-or-no seems pretty cut-and-dried to me.”