The twins separated, trying to make him defend both of his sides at the same time. He let them do it because it would make no difference to his game. He was only a little hampered because he’d prefer not to kill either of them. His da had put them in his hands to protect, and they had not done anything (yet) that would force his hand.
Fenrir closed first, aiming a kick at Charles’s thigh. Charles stepped into it, and Fenrir’s kick slid up his thigh and into his hip, its force spent before it did any harm. Charles grabbed that leg under the knee and hit Fenrir in the belly with his other hand. The force of it bent the other wolf over, and Charles tucked Fenrir’s head under his free arm, then pulled them both over backward in a suplex.
Fenrir’s fall was outside of his control, and his spine came down across the stump Charles had been aiming him at. It broke with a loud snap, and Fenrir let out a whine.
Charles was free of Fenrir and rolling to his feet before Geir’s sword struck and missed. The second strike Charles caught on the axe.
Charles? Anna’s voice was small. I really need your help, or I’m pretty sure that some of us aren’t going to make it out of this.
A moment, he told her. And he quit playing because his wife needed him. He broke the sword with a swing of his axe and caught Geir’s eyes—only then realizing it was Fenrir, not Geir. He’d rather it really had been Fenrir lying with a broken back.
Hopefully, Geir would survive.
“Enough,” Charles said. “I do not have time for this. We are done. Submit.”
The old wolf fought the compulsion, sweat dripping down his face and dampening his shirt. But his fist opened and the blade dropped to the ground as he dropped to his knees, tilting his chin for Charles’s pleasure.
Brother Wolf was tempted to give him the coup de grace. This one had kept him preoccupied when he needed to be attending his mate. Charles hit him on the side of the head with the blunt end of the axe instead. Enough to keep him out for a few minutes, not hard enough to kill him.
If it had been Geir, he could have counted on him to honor the submission as a cease-fire. But Fenrir wasn’t the kind of wolf he could trust that far.
Anna? he sent along the bond between them. What can I—
And he was sucked into a cartoon. He recognized it vaguely as the rendition of a fairy tale. The sky was dark, and the colors were bruise-like: purple, deep blues, deep grays, and black. The ground was squishy under his feet, which made him vaguely uneasy, but not as uneasy as the reek of black witchcraft. He looked around but didn’t see anything except the towering forest of thorn-encrusted vines.
“Anna?” He couldn’t see her, but he could feel that she was near and that she was worried.
“Charles!” she called. “I’m here, trapped in the stupid plants. I can’t get out.”
He waded through the sticky, sloggy ground, and when he reached the forest of vines, it opened reluctantly before him. It would have kept him from Anna if it could have, but their bond and his magic was too strong here, where such things had more meaning. But the vines closed behind with a wash of malice and dark whispers.
In a very small clearing, his mate stood contemplating the vines with her arms crossed over her chest, her back to him.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“It’s witchcraft,” she said, without looking away from the vines. “I don’t know what to do with witchcraft.”
He approached her and became aware that her clothing was ragged and there were bloody scratches up and down her arms and on her cheek. She was frowning fiercely.
“Is the cartoon yours?” he asked.
She looked up at him then. “Oh good, you’re here,” she said, as if she only now saw him, though she’d answered his question. It was that kind of place. “Cartoon?”
She turned around slowly, looking around. She shook her head and laughed. “I think I’ve built this as a metaphor. But I’m not sure who is really in charge here. This”—she waved her arms to indicate the whole scene—“is a conglomeration of my powers, Wellesley’s magic, and that.” On the last word, she pointed at the briar-vine hedge. “That is black magic, witchcraft. And I don’t know how it got here or how to break it.”
He surveyed the hedge a little more thoroughly. The first thing he noticed was that the plants bore only a vague resemblance to any plant he’d ever seen—but this wasn’t reality. He’d had some experience with this kind of magical dreaming, though his adventures usually looked a little more like the real world and less like a Disneyland adventure.
“So is there a sleeping princess trapped behind the thorns?” he asked.
“No,” she said. “It’s Wellesley’s wolf.”
Interesting, said Brother Wolf. We never sensed any witchcraft about him. Is it new?
“I don’t think so,” Anna said. “I think it’s been here a long time. Asil said there might have been a witch involved in the business in Tennessee.”
“Rhea Springs?” Charles asked, frowning. “I didn’t find any signs of witches there.”
Anna raised both eyebrows and flung her arm out toward the thorn hedge and its distinctive scent of the blood and wrongness that was witchcraft.
“Point made,” he said.
“So how do I take down the hedge?” she asked him.
Blood, Brother Wolf said.
Anna held out her hands. “I bled here and—” She flushed “I accidentally dug claws into Wellesley in the real world. The more real world, anyway. And he bled. Nothing happened to the witchcrafting.”
“This is a fairy tale,” Charles said thoughtfully.
“Yes?”
“If not blood, then maybe a kiss,” he told her.
A lot of pack magic worked with blood—but there were a few very select offerings that were symbolized by a kiss. He had an idea about how that could work for this.
He reached out and took her hand—the one still bandaged, so he was gentle about it. “I kiss you. You kiss Wellesley in the real world.”
She pulled her head back in instinctive rejection, though her hand tightened on his. “Love’s first kiss?” It sounded like a quote. “I don’t love him.”
He put his chin on the top of her head and pulled her against him. Even in the Dreamtime, it felt good. She made him smile.
“No love necessary between you and him,” he told her. “But Bran holds him as pack as he holds you and me. If I kiss you here, and you kiss him in the real world, maybe we can work a little magic, you and I.”
Then he bent down and kissed her.
? ? ?
ANNA DIDN’T UNDERSTAND exactly what Charles intended, but she was willing to trust him.
She blinked uncertainly, trying to be aware both in the real world and in the inner vision. It felt awkward and distinctly uncomfortable.
Asil still had Wellesley pinned to the ground but not without a great deal of effort. He saw her focus on him and smiled grimly. “Whatever it is you are trying to do, it is working. I can tell by how much easier it has become to hold him down.”