“Treachery is dirty business,” he told the beast inside of him. That was his mother’s gift, the monster who lived within. She hadn’t infected him, true. But he had absolved his father of that responsibility a long time ago. Not even the Lords of Faery had been able to get the best of his mother. His father, who had been a simple farmer, had no chance once she had set her eyes upon him.

The beast roiled inside of him. Angry. Afraid.

Well enough, so was he, and worried on top of that.

Something yanked hard at the pack bonds that he’d tightened down to threads after Hester’s death. He loosened them, just a hair, ready to be angry at being so rudely disturbed—and found Brother Wolf.

• • •

ASIL HELD ON to the mad wolf as best he could, though he was pretty sure that the best thing that he could do for all of them was to break Wellesley’s neck and save everyone trouble. Yes, Wellesley was an artist of the sort to make Asil’s soul soar. Yes, Wellesley was insightful and witty—even as he struggled with the beast inside him.

But Anna was an Omega. A treasure. Asil had lost his mate, but Allah, who knew men’s hearts and how to heal them, had given Asil a second Omega to guard. He loved her—though he was not in love with her. He loved her as a man must love the well that brings water to his people in the desert. For her sake, he would give his life. For her sake, he should simply eliminate Wellesley.

For her sake, he could not do so.

He felt it when Charles opened the pack bonds and asked for power. He gave all that he could and not lose his hold on Wellesley. Attuned through the bonds, he could sense the surge of pack-and-Charles-flavored energy sweep through Anna and into Wellesley, felt the other wolf’s body shake under the onslaught of so much magic.

The scent of witchcraft, of black magic, seeped out of Wellesley’s pores. Asil wrinkled his nose. It smelled of power, of age, of death.

“Yes, yes,” he muttered irritably to himself. “And pain and misery and suffering, too, no doubt.”

He waited for the scent to ebb, for the power of the pack to sweep it away. But it wasn’t the scent that ebbed, it was the power …

He flung his bonds open and pushed everything he had into the tide of pack magic that was slowing to a trickle. The pack magic began to feel like the reek of witchcraft on Wellesley’s skin. He felt Charles launch a desperate appeal to the Marrok, who had abandoned them.

Asil knew that wasn’t fair. He, of all people, ƒstood the burden of Alpha. He’d given that position up because it was such a burden. But they needed Bran, and he was not there.

Until he was.

Power, raw and huge and flavored with the magic of a hundred packs (or a thousand, Asil wasn’t in the frame of mind to count) burst through the bonds. Above him, Anna’s eyes widened, turned ice blue, and her whole body glowed with the Marrok’s magic.

• • •

ANNA SCREAMED WITH the fire that flooded her veins, the sound she made muffled by Charles’s lips. The fire slid down her arm and into her burnt hand, turning her flesh into agony.

But she held on to the vine. She held on when the whole briarwood caught fire and burned with a fury that started from her hand and met another power from within. She closed her eyes against the brightness, plastered her body against her mate’s, and held on until the vine disintegrated into gray dust.

As the last of the dust fell from her hand, Charles broke their kiss. He took a step back, holding her steady until she found her balance. Then he disappeared into the darkness that was falling in the wake of the destruction of the briar hedge. She didn’t lose him, though; she could feel his weariness through their bond.

The set from Sleeping Beauty faded, as Charles had faded, until she stood in a vast, grayish emptiness. The only thing present besides her was a gaunt golden wolf.

His fur was matted, and there were gouges that leaked blood and yellowish goo. He panted, head low, looking even more tired than she felt.

Go home, Namwign Bea, the wolf told her in Wellesley’s voice. Go home and rest.

That made very good sense, as she was tired. She took a step and crumpled. The ground rose and caught her in gentle hands. She patted it gently. “Thank you,” she murmured, and closed her eyes.

• • •

SOMEONE RUDELY WOKE her up.

“Drink this, mija. I promise it will help.”

She should have known it would be Asil, she thought grumpily. Asil didn’t respect anyone’s boundaries except his own.

Knowing that there was no use in fighting him, she drank the sweet tea he put to her lips. And she drank the second cup, too. By the third cup, she was sitting up on her own and alert enough to look around.

She was sitting on a love seat in a room made of light. One wall of the room was a great window that looked out onto the forest. The room was huge and mostly unfurnished. One corner of it was a well-appointed modern kitchen, and the love seat she was on was near that corner of the room. There was a great gaping hole in the wall next to the love seat.

Beyond the hole was the dirt-floored room where she’d helped Wellesley fight for his freedom. Wellesley’s curled-up body was still on the dirt floor.

She blinked at him a moment. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

“Finish that,” Asil said from the kitchen. He had the refrigerator open and was examining the contents. “I will make you some food.”

“Is he dead?” she asked.

Asil pulled his head out of the fridge and looked out the gaping hole where the steel door—and the steel doorframe—had been, toward their prone host.

“No,” he said. “But I expect it will take him a bit longer to recover than it will for you. Being freed from a powerful curse usually leaves the victim with a terrible hangover.” He paused thoughtfully. “Or dead. I expect he’ll appreciate the hangover.”

Anna had been wrapped in a blanket. Her face had been washed (she vaguely remembered that). She’d been pampered with three cups of sweet tea, and now Asil was stealing food for her. Wellesley had been left on the ground where he’d fallen.

“Asil,” she said slowly, “I thought you liked Wellesley.”

Asil pulled lunch-meat packets and a block of cheese from the fridge and gave her a politely surprised look. “Of course. Why would I dislike him? He figured out what you were, decided it might help him out of trouble he got himself into. He then grabbed you without leave, and if the Marrok hadn’t opened the floodgates, you would be dead. And probably so would the rest of the pack.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” said Wellesley without moving. “I have only been partially in control of my actions for the last … what is this year, anyway? Ninety years or so.”

Asil pointed at him with the knife he’d gotten out to cut the cheddar. “Do not blame your wolf for what you did. Your wolf only understood what she offered. It was you who decided to use her to break your curse.”

“That’s fair,” Wellesley said. “I guess I did.” He paused. “I’m not sorry. If I’d killed us both … us all? Anyway, if we were dead, I’d be sorry. But since we survived, I am merely very, very grateful. If I could move, I would kiss your hand, Anna.”

“You’d better get moving pretty soon,” said Asil cheerfully. “Charles is, I am certain, on his way. If you think I’m unhappy with you, you just wait until Charles explains his feelings to you.” He chopped up some cheese. “Charles is a man of few words. You are just lucky he quit carrying a club.”

“I think he has an axe,” Anna said.

Asil looked up at her. “An axe?”

She nodded. “I don’t know why, but I think he was carrying an axe when I first nudged him to see if he could help.”

Asil smiled. “Good. An axe is exactly what this calls for.”

“Asil?” she asked. “Speaking of axes … Where is the door? Uhm, and the doorframe?”

“I threw it down the hole,” he said, looking a little embarrassed for the first time. “It was in my way.”

“It was supposed to be werewolf-proof,” muttered Wellesley.

“I am not just any werewolf,” said Asil. “And if it had had a doorknob like any proper door, it would still be where you left it.”