"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.
There had been something wrong in Brother Wolf's gaze. Something mad... maddened. As she contemplated the fence, she remembered a challenge he'd issued to her as they went to see Dana Shea for the first time. They'd both forgotten about it.
"What kind of a fae is Dana Shea?" she muttered to herself as she searched for a way past the fence. Dana was something strong enough to frighten a troll, certainly, strong enough to be a Gray Lord-though Anna had no real idea how strong that would have to be. Something that ate people-the hunger the fae'd shown was unmistakably predatory. Something to do with water-she lived in a houseboat and still had a water fountain and pond inside.
La Belle Dame Sans Merci. The beautiful lady without mercy, who lured men to her river or stream and drowned them. Made them believe something that wasn't.
Made them believe something that wasn't.
Charles had proven himself immune to Dana's spell of desire. Maybe he wasn't immune to all of her magic, though.
Charles had been kind of on edge tonight. But he was smart, he was quick-thinking-and he attacked after Chastel had withdrawn. That was very uncharacteristic. She'd been worried about the consequences of that-how Charles would feel about his actions. She hadn't stopped to think that was because his actions had been so far out of the ordinary for him.
Her mate knew more about Dana, he'd told her so-and presumably Bran knew even more than Charles. She'd ask him about it, tell him about what she'd seen in Dana's face-as soon as she found Charles.
She went to the nearest fence post and pulled the chain link until she'd popped all the retaining clips that attached it to the post. Then she jerked it up, feeling the bite of it in her shoulders and biceps. It wasn't something a human of her size could have done: there were a few benefits to being a werewolf. When she was done, she had a big enough hole to crawl through-she'd have to remember to tell Angus he needed to fix his fence.
She followed Charles's trail, not hurrying because he wasn't. She didn't know what she'd find at the end of the trail, but she was pretty sure it would be better if she didn't find him too soon. Or too late.