hell, but good for you. She's good for Charles, too."
Bran's face hardened.
"Anna came to see me," Asil continued, watching Bran carefully. "I told her she needed to grow up. She signed on for the hard times as well as the good. She needs to realize that Charles's job is tough and that sometimes he's going to need time to deal with it." That was not exactly what he'd said, but he'd have bet it was what Bran had told her. His Alpha's blank face told him he was right on target.
"I told her that there was a larger picture that she wasn't looking at," Asil continued with false earnestness. "Charles is the only one who can do his job - and that it has never been more necessary than it is now, with the eyes of the world on us. It's not easy covering up the deaths with stories of wild dogs or scavenger animals eating someone's body after they died from something else, not anymore. Police are looking for signs that their killers might be werewolves, and we can't afford that. I told her she needed to grow up and deal with reality."
The muscle on Bran's jaw tightened because Asil had always had a talent for imitation - he thought he'd gotten Bran's voice just about perfect on the last few sentences.
"So she gave up on me," Asil said, back in his own voice. "She was leaving while I sat content in the smug knowledge that she was a weak female who was more concerned with her mate than with the good of the whole. Which is only what a woman should be like, after all. It really isn't fair to blame them for it when it inconveniences us."
Bran looked at him coolly, so Asil knew he'd hit hard with that last remark.
Asil smiled ruefully and caressed the book he held. "Then she told me that it's been months since he's made any music, viejito. When was the last time that one went more than a day without humming something or playing that guitar of his?"
Bran's eyes were shocked. He hadn't known. He rose to his feet and began pacing.
"It is a necessity," Bran said at last. "If I don't send him, then who goes? Are you volunteering?"
It would be impossible; they both knew it. One kill, or maybe as many as three or four, and his control would be gone. Asil was too old, too fragile, to be sent out hunting werewolves. He would enjoy it entirely too much. He could feel the wild spirit of his wolf leap at the chance of such a hunt, the chance of a real fight and the blood of a strong opponent between his fangs.
Bran was still ranting. "I cannot send an Alpha into another pack's territory without it becoming a challenge that will spawn even more bloodshed. I cannot send you. I cannot send Samuel because my oldest son is even more at risk than you are. I cannot go because I'd have to kill every damned Alpha - and I have no desire to take every werewolf into my personal pack. If not Charles, then who do I send?"
Asil bowed his head to Bran's anger. "That's why you are the Alpha and I will do anything I can to never be Alpha again." He stood up, head still lowered. He caressed the fabric cover of the book and set it down on the table. "I don't think I really need to read this book again. I have always thought Ivanhoe should have married Rebecca, who was smart and strong, instead of choosing Rowena and what he thought was right and proper."
Asil left Bran alone with his thoughts then, because if he stayed, Bran would argue with him. This way, Bran would have no one to argue with but himself. And Asil had always credited Bran with the ability to be persuasive.
BRAN STARED AT Ivanhoe. Its cover was a dull blue gray, the weave of the cloth a visible sign of its age. He ran his fingers over the indentations that were the title and the line drawing of a knight wearing sixteenth-century armor. The book had once had a paper cover with an even less appropriate picture on the front. He knew that inside, on the flyleaf, there was an inscription, but he didn't open the book to find it. He was pretty sure Asil had been here long enough to go through the whole damned library to find