Anna didn't say anything at all, but he could tell from her rising tension that she had caught some of the undercurrents. Unless he missed his guess, Heather's friend Jack's continued existence was a matter of some doubt.
So he nodded and headed for the study, Anna trailing behind him.
The fire was lit-a bad sign, he knew. Da only lit the fire in here when he was worried. His father was sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of it, staring into the flames.
Charles stopped just inside the door, but Anna slipped by him and put her hands out to the flames. None of them spoke for a while.
Finally, Bran sighed and stood up. He walked slowly around Charles. "How are you feeling?" he asked as he came around front.
His leg burned, and it was too weak to run on yet. He wouldn't lie to his father, but he didn't have to enumerate his aches and pains, either. "Better. What do you need?"
Bran folded his arms across his chest. "I've already killed someone I didn't want to this week, and I don't want to do it again."
"Heather's Jack needs killing?" Did his father want him to do it? He glanced at Anna a little anxiously as she stepped nearer to the fire and hunched her shoulders, not looking at either of them. He didn't want to kill anyone else this week, either.
Bran shrugged. "No. If it needs doing, I'll take care of it. I hope to avoid it. He's one of Heather's coworkers. They were out doing some work with Search and Rescue in the Cabinets, looking for another lost hunter, when they were attacked by a werewolf. No question about what it was. Heather saw it clearly. She shot it and drove it off-she's been carrying silver bullets since she identified what killed that other hunter. She told me her friend Jack made the connection between their attacker and the dead hunter while drifting in and out of consciousness on the way here."
"She brought him here because he's been Changed?"
"She thought he might be, but Samuel says not. Not enough damage, not healing fast enough." He made one of those gestures he was so good at; this one said, I'm just an amateur, I'll leave it up to the experts. "His problem is apparently more blood loss than wound. And our Heather has been regretting bringing him here ever since Samuel made his pronouncement."
"What are you considering?" He couldn't help but be aware of Anna listening to every word. Part of him wanted to hide this from her, to protect her from the nastier side of his life. But he refused to have a relationship with his mate based on half-truths and hidden things. Besides, she knew a lot about just how nasty things could be.
Bran leaned back in his chair and sighed. "If a forest ranger comes out and claims he was attacked by a werewolf-an experienced, respected man like Heather's Jack- people are going to listen. And, before she clammed up, Heather told me that he's a forthright man. If he thinks that there's a danger to others, he's going to trumpet the news as loudly as he can no matter how crazy that truth sounds."
Charles met his father's eyes. Another time, they might just have been able to let it go. If they killed the problem wolf and there were no more deaths, any fire that the ranger built would go out for lack of fuel. But his father believed that they were going to have to reveal themselves to the public soon-within months. They couldn't afford bad publicity.
To give himself time to see if there was a good way out of the dilemma, Charles asked, "How did she manage to get him out?" He knew the Cabinets. This time of year a lot of the mountain range was snowshoe or four-footed travel only. Heather wasn't a werewolf, who could carry out a man who weighed more than she did.
"She called her uncle. Tag brought him out."
Ah. So that was the reason Bran seemed merely reflective instead of closed down, the way he got when there was unpleasant business to take care of.
Charles gave his father a small, relieved smile. "Drat the brat," he said. Heather was forty-three, but he'd seen her born and she was still a child to him-and, more importantly, to her formidable uncle, Colin Taggart. "So if you do as you should, and eliminate this apparently respectable, responsible innocent, you'll have an uprising on your hands?" Tag got pretty protective of those he considered his-and if he rescued this ranger, that was enough to make him Tag's. If Bran decided to eliminate Heather's ranger, he'd have to go through Tag to do it. Thank goodness.
Bran gave a put-upon sigh. "I'd be happier about it if it didn't mean I had to send you out half-healed to go after some rogue wolf. I'm pretty sure if we eliminate the threat-and show Heather's Jack that his attacker was a criminal as well as a monster-Jack would be willing to hold his peace when we come out. But you'll have to do it soon. I need that wolf dead before Jack is out of his bed and demanding to be let go."
"There isn't anyone else you could send?" Anna asked in a low voice.
Bran shook his head. "This needs to be handled quickly and quietly-and permanently. Charles is the only one I can trust to keep the human authorities in the dark if things get messy." He smiled a little. "I can also trust that he won't be joining the killer to go eat humans."
Charles eyed his father narrowly; he could have put that in less...desperate terms. "The wolf isn't likely to be more dominant than I am, so he can't outbluff me or recruit me," he explained to Anna. "And if things get 'messy,' I have a little bit of magic to cover up the evidence. I'm not as good as a real witch, but we're not likely to get high-level forensics out in the wilderness."
"That and there isn't another wolf in Aspen Creek who could handle a hunt with a kill like this one without losing it." Bran turned his gaze to Anna, who was still looking at the fire. "Killing a sentient being is a bit more addictive than a hunt for rabbits under the full moon. Among other things, Aspen Creek is a sanctuary for wolves who have problems-or who are developing them. The kinds of wolves who could deal with hunting another werewolf are healthy enough to send out in the wide world. I don't usually keep them with me."
"So all the wolves in your pack are psychotic?" she asked. Charles couldn't tell if she was joking or not. Maybe, he thought, giving the matter a little consideration, she wasn't far off.
Bran threw his head back and gave a shout of laughter. "Not at all, my dear. But they aren't set up to deal with this. If I thought I was risking Charles's life, then I'd find someone else. He'll be uncomfortable, and it won't be easy-but there isn't a wolf in the country that knows the Cabinets as well as my son. And wounded or not, he can hold his own with any wolf you'd care to name."
"You're sending him alone?"
Charles couldn't read her voice, but his father obviously saw something that intrigued him. "Not necessarily." He got that look on his face when he found a satisfactory solution to a problem that had been troubling him. Charles was just a little too slow to figure out what he'd meant in time to stop him. "You could go with him."
"No," Charles said absolutely, but he had the sinking feeling that he was too late.
Bran didn't pay any attention to him at all. "It won't be fun. Those are rugged mountains, and you're a city girl."
"I'm a werewolf," she said, her chin raised. "I should be able to handle a little rough country, don't you think?"
"She doesn't have a warm coat, gloves, or boots," growled Charles a little desperately. He could tell his father had already made up his mind, though he had no idea why Bran was so set upon it. "This time of year we'll be using snowshoes-and she doesn't have any experience. She'll slow me down."
His father had such a look when he wanted to use it. "More than the hole in your leg will?" He folded his arms and rocked back on his heels. He must have read the obstinate refusal in Charles's face because he sighed and switched to Welsh. "You need time to work things out between you. She doesn't trust any of us. Here there are too many people who would ruffle her feathers." His father was a gentleman, he would never say a word against his mate, but they both knew he was talking about Leah. "Your Anna needs to know you, and you don't reveal yourself easily to anyone. Take her out and spend a few days alone with her. It'll be good for her."
"To see me kill the intruder?" Charles bit out in the same language his father used. She knew what he was, but he didn't want to rub her face in it. He'd gotten used to scaring everyone else, he didn't want to scare her, too. "I'm sure that will just reassure her a whole lot."
"Perhaps." There was no give in his father once he'd decided on the proper course, and everyone who tried to stand in his way would be knocked aside as easily as bowling pins.
Charles disliked being a bowling pin. Mutely, he stared at his father.
The old bard smiled a little.
"Fine," said Charles in English. "Fine."
She raised her chin. "I'll try not to slow you down."
And he felt as if she'd hit him in the stomach; he'd managed to make her feel unwanted, which hadn't been his intent at all. He had no gift for words, but he tried to mend things anyway.
"I am not worried that you'll slow me down," he told her. "Da's right. With this leg, I'm not going to be breaking any speed records. This isn't going to be fun, not in those mountains in winter."
He didn't want her to see him kill again. Sometimes it was all right, and they fought him, like Leo had fought. But sometimes they cried and begged. And he still had to kill them.
"All right," Anna said. The tightness in her voice told him that he hadn't undone the damage-but he couldn't lie and tell her that he wanted her with him. He didn't. And though he knew her ability to detect a lie was still pretty hit-and-miss, he wouldn't lie to his mate.
"I understand." Anna continued looking at the floor. "It won't be fun."
"I'll call and have them open the general store," said Bran. Impossible to see what he was thinking-except that he'd chosen not to help Charles. "Get her equipped however you think best."