Cold chills chased up Anna's spine as she looked at the fae whose job it was to ensure order. Yes, here. Look. Look. She means him harm, whispered Anna's wolf.
The intent was written in the fae's body, not her face, which showed only worry. But her body gave it away, the eager flex of fingers, a shift of weight-she was ready to spring for the kill. A hunt was up and, for the fae, Charles was the star-ruby ring at the end of it.
Anna's wolf told her, We will stop her. No one hurts the one who is ours.
"Yes," whispered Anna.
Dana spoke, "Charles Cornick, you have broken the peace here. Release him."
Brother Wolf didn't even bother to look at her. What had he called her? She-Who-Is-Not-Kin, who thought she ruled him here in the place that belonged to the werewolves. Anna could all but touch his thoughts from his body language. Chastel tried to fight again and her mate sank down lower to increase his leverage. After a moment, the French wolf lay still again.
Anna had no trouble with Chastel's death-the consequences for Charles were another matter entirely. If she'd thought Charles would fight the fae, she'd have been less worried. But her mate was, in his heart of hearts, a man of order. If Chastel died because he was trying to terrify Anna, and the fae decided to call it a break of the truce, Charles might just concede the point. She didn't know what the fae would do to him, and she didn't intend to find out.
Anna pulled away from Isaac's slack hold.
"Charles, let him go," she said, walking to the middle of the cleared area. She'd almost addressed him as Brother Wolf, but somehow that seemed too intimate, too private to be shared.
It was certainly Brother Wolf, not Charles, who turned to look at her, his eyes glazed with rage. She tried to open the connection between them wider, but Charles was holding himself apart-trying to protect her from what he was.
She went to him and tapped him on the nose, ignoring the rage that, finally, made him growl full-throated and angry.
"Open up." She hadn't been afraid, but his growls and the smell of blood and other things made her remember too much. Remember when the blood, the desperation, had been hers.
Her hands were shaking, and she was breathing through her nose like a racehorse at the end of the Kentucky Derby. But she stuck her thumb in his mouth and pulled, his canine sliding along the edge of her hand and slicing it open.
As soon as he tasted her blood, he dropped his hold, letting the other wolf's head flop on the ground, and backed violently away from her. She didn't know if Chastel was alive or dead-couldn't bring herself to care, though she knew it would be important in just a minute. Right now, all of her attention was on Brother Wolf.
The red wolf who was both Brother Wolf and Charles stared into her eyes, and she saw him grasp just one thing out of all the things he could have seen in her. She was scared to death-of the fae, of the blood and anger, of her own audacity-but all he let himself see was the fear, not the reasons for it.
He held her eyes for a moment more, then trotted out the door-which opened for him, though no one held it, and slammed as soon as he was through.
"After him," said Dana in a voice like cut glass. "He drew first blood."
Her voice provided impetus to men who had been immobile observers, and they started toward the door.
"Stop," Anna said... and then did something she'd never done, not quite like this. But the wolf knew how to do it, she'd used Charles's power to change faster than she ever had before-and she used it now to put strength into her voice. "Stop."
And the wolves, on two feet and four, who'd begun to move for Dana, stopped where they were and turned to look at her.
The fae turned to her, too, and her voice had power as well. "He drew first blood. I am fae, I cannot lie. My word is that the one who drew blood during the hunt would be punished: blood for blood. The walls cry out for my word to be fulfilled."
She left her eyes on Anna but touched Angus, who stood nearby. "Liam Angus Magnusson, son of Margaret Hooper, son of Thomas Magnusson. By your true name, I tell you to fetch me Charles Cornick."
Angus took a step toward the door.
"No," said Anna, and her wolf made it stick.
Angus turned back to her, a slow smile on his face. "Yes, my lady," he told Anna. The smile grew. "You are forgetting something, Dana Shea. The hunt was over. The bells rang before Charles attacked, and the rule of blood no longer applies."
Dana's face froze, and for one instant Anna read in her eyes a lust for Charles's death, for any death. A lust that rivaled anything she'd ever seen in a werewolf. But the fae regained control, and she smoothed her hands over her suit jacket as if it were wrinkled. "Ah. You are right."
"Chastel threatened Anna, Charles's mate," Angus continued briskly. "Outside of the hunt, such a thing justifies the attack under our laws."
He was right. Anna had been so wrapped up in how Charles felt about the situation that she hadn't pulled back enough to see the full truth. Even though Chastel hadn't harmed her, the threat was enough to justify Charles's in-the-heat-of-the-moment attack. Charles might not feel that way, but the wolves would-and it was enough to force Dana Shea to change her position.
"Not to the death," said Dana.
"He's not dead," parried Ric, who knelt beside the fallen Frenchman with Michel, the French Alpha. Someone, maybe Michel, murmured, "More's the pity."
Angus strode to the wolf on the ground and took a good look. "Not even badly wounded," he said, sounding a little disappointed himself. "Charles just cut off his air, he'll be fine in a few minutes except for a very sore nose."
"Good," said Anna. She walked past Angus and Dana, but stopped at the door. "Finish up here," she said. "I'll go talk to Charles."
HE hadn't gone to the gate, which was what she'd expected him to do.
Anna didn't have much experience at tracking, and most of what she did know needed snow. The gravel would have defeated her if her quarry hadn't been bleeding like a stuck pig. Impossible to miss that the trail went in exactly the opposite direction from the gate. All that blood worried her, and she picked up her pace. Gravel changed to mud-and mud wasn't a bad second choice to snow. Charles had big paws, and his claws dug in deeply as he headed toward the water that edged the warehouse district they were in.
He hadn't been running-rather a steady trot that made her hope that he hadn't been too badly hurt despite the blood. His tracks took her to the fence at the back of the compound. Twelve feet of chain link with razor wire-and wounded, he'd managed to jump it. She wasn't sure she could have, even in wolf form. And she wouldn't change again so soon unless she had to. In twenty minutes, maybe. But she wasn't going to wait that long.