Bran staggered to his feet and stood like a newborn foal, with his legs spread out so he wouldn't fall. There was nothing in his eyes. Nothing at all.

If not for the lump of icy wrath that was gathering in his stomach, a gift from his father, Charles would have believed him wholly taken over.

One more shift, Charles thought, and maybe he could do one more after that, but he was going to have a hell of a hangover if he did. Not for the first time he wished he'd inherited his father's ability to speak inside other people's heads. It would save a lot of energy.

He changed, hoping Asil could wait until he was able to talk. It took a little longer than he was used to-and he was afraid he might be stuck as a human longer than he'd calculated.

But finally he was through-and naked as a jaybird. He didn't have the energy to pander to his modesty.

"It is too late, she is already coming," he told Asil. "When a witch has such a hold, she can see through their eyes." His brother had told him that. "They are living golems for her."

Asil closed his eyes. "We are undone."

"You despair too easily," Charles said. He couldn't say much about Anna or Walter without the chance that it would be immediately carried to the witch. "Our pack has an Omega to call upon. Maybe it will be enough."

"Do you know what he was?" Asil asked.

"Yes."

Asil looked at the Marrok. "Kill him now, if you can. If you love him, if you care about the pack."

Charles looked at his father, who looked as frail as a werewolf could look. Not a wolf to inspire fear in the hearts of those who beheld him-more fool them.

He laughed harshly. "If you think I could kill him, you are a fool. He is the Marrok-and not nearly as weak as he looks. Never believe what you see with my father."

That was true, and Charles was hurt. Even breathing hurt.

He should leave, thought Charles, as his father's empty eyes ran over him. He'd already proven that the witch could take him when she pleased. All he could be was a liability.

Stay. I need you.

"For what?" he asked. He looked, but even with his father's voice in his head, he could only see a dumb beast in the Marrok's eyes.

Because you are the only one I know I won't kill.

* * * *

Anna listened to them talk and wrapped her arms tightly over her stomach. She knew that Charles was counting on her-on her and Walter to be his ace in the hole.

The problem was, she wasn't much of an ace. A deuce maybe, or a joker, but not an ace. Walter had been a soldier, he was a better bet.

"Do you know this place? Can we move somewhere we can see them and still stay hidden?" she whispered to Walter.

He started off at a right angle to where Charles was talking to Asil. Anna followed him as quietly as she could. He moved through the woods like Charles did, as if he were a part of it.

He took her closer than she'd thought possible, to an old tree whose branches were dense and brushed the ground only a dozen yards from where the Marrok stood on four feet and stared at his son.

The werewolf wiggled under the branches, and Anna followed him on her hands and knees and found herself in a dry dark cave covered with a thick pad of old tree needles that poked into whatever patch of bare skin got near them but cushioned her knees. She crawled over them and lay flat on her belly so she could see out from under the branches and look out beyond the tree.

They were a little uphill from Charles, and, she was afraid, upwind. She ought to change; as a wolf she was stronger, and she had claws and fangs instead of the fingernails that were her only weapon. When she tried though, she knew it was too soon and she wasn't going to make the change. Even the effort left her weary and trembling.

Walter settled next to her, and the warmth of his big body let her know just how cold she was. She pulled off one of her gloves and buried her hand in Walter's fur to warm it up.

* * * *

"He's talking to you?"

Charles held up a hand to keep Asil quiet. He needed to think. His father had a plan, that much was clear. But he didn't seem inclined to share it...if he could.

"What does the witch want with me?" asked Charles.

"I don't-" A funny look came over Asil's face. "Sarai thinks she will kill you, to break your father and regain power she lost when you destroyed the cabin. I think she's done this before, taken over a pack, I mean. Sarai sounds as if this is a pattern." He paused. "If I'm understanding this right, though, the others she took eventually died. Not quite. Faded until there was nothing left of them." He put his hands to his temples as if he had a headache.

Ah, thought Charles as his adrenaline rose. The ties of love are very strong. Maybe the witch was going to lose Sarai to Asil.

He set that aside for later consideration and thought about what Asil had said. "She might get a surprise if she tries to take over my father's pack," he said. "Anna thinks we're a bunch of psychotics."

Asil smiled a little. "She's right, you know."

Charles held out a hand and pulled Asil to his feet, staggering a little drunkenly as he did so. "You look a little rough. Are you hurt?"

Asil dusted the melting snow off his torn pant leg, though it was already soaked through. "No. Just a few scrapes. Mostly torn cloth." He gave Charles a thorough look. "At least I have clothes."

Charles was too tired to play that stupid one-upmanship game. "So the witch will kill me," he said, looking at his father and trying to figure out what the old wolf was up to.

"Maybe." Asil dusted the snow off his other pant leg. "Or she'll have him do it-or maybe Sarai or me. Your pain, your death, matters. Who brings it to you does not. As long as she's there to collect. But I bet she'll order your father to do it. She always liked to hurt people."

If he hadn't just been thinking about the way Asil's presence allowed Sarai to break the witch's control, he might not have understood the significance of that.

The cunning old wolf. Charles slanted an admiring glance at his father. "So that's it. What did your mother do all those years ago? Order you to kill Samuel?"

Asil frowned at him, but before he could say anything a wolf burst through the trees, carrying the witch. Charles felt the familiar coldness settle over him, as Brother Wolf settled in for a fight. His father might be an expert manipulator, but he wasn't in top form and there were too many factors out of anyone's control.