wip:give up the ghost, btvs/alpha&omega
Title: Give up the Ghost
Chapter 2: Ill-mannered Beasts
Disclaimer: #443 wyrd @ tamingthemuse
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: BtVS and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. The Alpha and Omega Series and all related characters are copyright of Patricia Briggs and Ace. No infringement intended.
Summary: Leah Cornick was a lot of things (most of them bad), but none would’ve guessed that she was a Slayer trapped within a wish.
Wind tangled her hair and burned her checks. The sting of it left her breathless and Anna would’ve found the run invigorating if she couldn’t feel Bran’s urgency through her connection to Charles and Brother Wolf. Bran’s connection to her and the pack was muted. He’d cut himself off so he didn’t spread his rage like wildfire through the rest of the misfits. Charles, however, knew his father well enough that Anna simply knew how desperate their alpha was and it forced her to run faster. Her own wolf lay curled within her abdomen, crouched low and loaded for bear.
They’d leapt a fallen cypress with Bran several strides ahead when a white-hot pain speared through her wolf and into her. Anna stumbled, falling to her knees. The dense layer of leaves and slush cushioned the impact, but a cold dampness spread across her jeans and a few pine needles speared through the hole at the knee to scratch her skin.
Charles was at her side, his face pinched with pain as he helped Anna back onto her feet and Brother Wolf shared with her, the both of them, a vision of the desert. For a brief moment the fall chill slipped away to be replaced by the heat of the sun and the scent of scorched earth. The image faded as did the pain and it left behind an ache that Anna had to force herself to shake off. She blinked the world back into focus and saw that Bran stood several meters away from them.
Anna voiced her relief from the sudden onslaught, “Thank you.”
Bran’s mouth thinned and she recognized that expression as one he and Charles shared. Father and son might not look entirely alike, but they still resembled one another from time to time. “That wasn’t me.”
“It was Leah.” Charles corrected, helping Anna to her feet and leading them towards his father.
“It was,” Bran nodded, “Both times.”
Anna shook off Charles’ arm and then gave it a reassuring pat before motioning them both forward with a sweep of her arm. “Then what are we waiting around here for?” She called on the strength of her wolf and the woods around her sharpened; the sudden clarity helped her focus. She met their gazes, knowing her eyes were now a brilliant blue, and ordered, “Go!”
Charles’ mouth quirked, amused by her directness, and Anna could feel Brother Wolf’s pleasure at her show of dominance before Charles did as ordered and led them into a sprint. Bran kept pace with her for a few strides, as if assuring himself that she was indeed fine, before outdistancing them both. Anna followed and the pain melted further away with each step.
She did her best to keep up with them, Charles stayed within her eye line at all times, but soon Bran was only a scent on the wind. Anna kept the pace her wolf set and the trees blurred around her as she became less worried about the melting snow beneath her feet. There’d been a sudden flurry three days prior before the average temperature of a Montana fall returned to turn the white into a slushy mess.
They escaped the trees only a mile from Bran’s home and Anna could see him in the distance. She pushed herself faster, more surefooted without the roots beneath her feet, and they caught up to him at the edge of the property. Bran reached the porch first and Anna slowed as she caught sight of several foot prints in the muck beneath their feet. All of them narrow and one set had a square heel that told her the owner of that boot was not familiar with Montana’s adverse weather. She wasn’t yet either, but even Anna knew better than to attempt fashionable footwear on this terrain.
Leah wore them, but she’d lived through many a winter in these parts and had long ago learned how to balance precariously in heels. Anna was only a little envious of the ability, but even Leah avoided heels when the ground was slick beneath her feet. Charles turned to spare her a glance from his place beside Bran on the porch and she pulled herself free of her internal musings.
The front door opened and Anna watched as Bran entered-except he didn’t.
Bran struck something solid in the door way that brought him to an uncomfortable looking halt and a growl trickled out from the furthest recesses of his throat. The sound of it made Anna swallow, fear tickling the back of her own throat, when she saw his eyes had bled to wolf. Charles caught the hand she reached out to him and his presence reassured her, but the mask he wore while on missions for the Marrok-not his father-had slid firmly into place. All trace of humor at her earlier train of thought had vanished.
A bellow, filled with fury and the darkest of thoughts, made Anna’s stomach tighten while Bran struck at the frame of the door with the side of his fist. Charles’ grip on her hand helped her to step forward, take her place at Bran’s quivering back and create a united front against this newest threat. Bran glanced back, pale eyes narrowing on them and while Anna was familiar with the golden hue the rage she saw there was a different beast entirely.
Bran usually resembled someone she would have taken a class with at Northwestern. Someone young and artistic, no different than the thousands of other students struggling with their GPAs. Chameleon thy name is Bran. That gentle façade had melted away beneath the force of his rage and Anna was reminded of the wolf she’d met while they’d faced Mariposa.
As if by magic-thinking of one witch conjured another-and a woman filled the open entry. She smelt of blood and magic, but different enough that Anna frowned while Bran snarled.
“Don’t bark at me!” was snapped at Bran and this witch stood before their Marrok with narrowed blue eyes and a stubborn lift to her chin that reminded Anna oddly of Leah. Her gaze lifted to take in Anna and Charles, who released her hand and took a step away from them, to give himself room to maneuver, before she looked back at Bran. “Who are you?”
A shuddering breath escaped Bran, but his voice was steady, nearly calm, as he countered, “You are in my home, witch.”
Anna followed Charles’ lead and took her own step back, allowing herself a chance to focus on the witch without the dominance of the other two interfering. She looked past the affronted witch-who apparently didn’t take kindly to being called a witch in that tone of voice-and saw another woman sitting on the ottoman between them and Leah’s prone form on the couch. Her chest rose and fell with shallow bursts of air and someone had rested her hands on her stomach. Anna focused on that touch of kindness rather than the rattle to Leah’s breathing. Anna bit the inside of her lip and before her wolf directed her attention back to the seated woman with the internal reminder of, “Not right.”
Her hair was a muddy brown and darker brown eyes watched them with a curious light. Her wolf, still close to the forefront of her thoughts after the run, cautioned her that not all was as it seemed with that one. Anna saw a woman with tight slacks tucked into high boots-the heels she’d noticed in the slush-and pale features that were too angular to be considered beautiful in a conventional way. Not that Anna had any use for the conventional. The woman’s head inclined, loosely curled hair catching on the collar of a jacket, which wasn’t warm enough for a human, and it was buttoned tight around a thin frame.
“You’ve invaded my home and injured my mate,” Bran’s tone was bland, but Anna understood the underlying threat just fine.
She had to suppress her wolf so that she could turn her gaze from the odd woman to the witch. She’d pulled herself up taller under the Marrok’s threat-another oddity that-and Charles stepped closer to his father. It placed him somewhat in front Anna and she realized, perhaps belatedly, that his placement was in preparation to deflect any magic the witch might attempt. Brother Wolf shared with her the coppery tang of blood, but it wasn’t old and it carried with it the scent of the witch as if it were her blood and not someone else’s.
Brother Wolf’s pleasure with her deduction brought with it a rush of warmth and helped push her own fear further back. This knowledge of the witch’s power source being herself had Anna questioning if she was more like Moria, but Brother Wolf didn’t allow her thoughts to wander as he cautioned, “The other is the danger,” which confirmed her wolf’s instincts.
“Agreed,” was shared readily with both Brother Wolf and Charles.
“Your mate?” The witch brought Anna’s gaze back to her, but Charles-under Brother Wolf’s insistence-remained fixated on the other woman. “You’re her husband?”
For all its simplicity the question felt a like a loaded one and it also gave credence to the thought that this witch hadn’t attacked Leah to spite the Marrok. Bran inhaled, scenting the air and the witch in front of him with a precision that worried Anna, but his voice had grown quiet, the growl leaking away as he confirmed, “I am. I am Bran Cornick and this is my home that you have barred me from.”
Charles shifted beside her and Anna had the sinking suspicion that a quiet Bran wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
“You’ve already groused about that,” the witch huffed, “Several times. Excuse me if I’d like to avoid being mauled to death.” Anna frowned at the flippant retort, but she smelled the first stirrings of fear from the younger looking woman.
“I’ve no intention of mauling you.” That was the truth, but mostly because Anna imaged that Bran had something more visceral in mind for the witch that dared hurt someone who was his to protect.
The witch scoffed and rolled her eyes before crossing her arms around her waist. It was a protective reaction and Bran’s head inclined. Anna was distracted by a flicker along the edge of her vision. “Something is there,” her wolf shared and Anna allowed her gaze to blur and the entry came to shimmering life inside her mind. The barrier was filled with flickering lights that reminded Anna of fireflies that held a green caste to them. Anna stepped back, gaze still unfocused as she took in the entire house. She could see that the barrier encompassed every entry point and that it was connected to the witch by gossamer strings.
Strings that resembled the ones connecting Anna to Charles and Bran and she reclaimed her spot beside Charles so that she could look in the home. Leah’s slumped form had numerous threads connecting her to the pack as well, but they were dimmer than Anna’s and she remembered how the pain had simply stopped earlier. She never would have assumed Leah could be altruistic. Shaking her head at the thought she noticed another, thinner thread, connecting Leah to the witch. It was a solid as the one that connected Leah to Bran and, for some reason, Anna found that reassuring.
“Who are you?”
Charles made the request of the witch, distracting his father whose breathing had calmed, but his heart still throbbed in his chest. The witch inclined her head, as if someone had finally asked the right question-and of course it was Charles. Anna suppressed the urge to smile and instead watched some of the anger leave the witch as she studied him a moment before stating, “Dawn Summers.”
“Anna Cornick,” she supplied her name on impulse and the witch’s mouth quirked.
The crunch of pine needles turned her head and Anna watched Asil make his way through the trees. He was alone which meant he’d ordered Kara to remain behind at his home and it had definitely been an order. Kara liked Leah. Anna wasn’t entirely certain why, but Bran assured her that Leah had been nothing but kind to the young wolf. In the distance she could hear the crunch of tires over the slush covering the road to the Marrok’s home. More of the pack was coming and Anna wasn’t so sure that was a good thing.
“Charles Cornick,” her mate took a queue from her and Anna saw he was finally meeting the witch’s gaze. “Why have you attacked our pack?”
The witch studied Charles a moment, mouth pulling down into a frown before she shook her head. “I’m not attacking anyone,” Anna smelled the lie, Bran growled and the witch flinched-Anna assumed more with her poor choice of words than any threat they posed-and admonished, “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” the truth, “I would never knowingly hurt my sister.”
Charles tensed beside them and Bran countered, “You're a little young to be her sister and Leah was an only child.”
“Of course she is.” A small, bitter smile tugged at the corner Dawn’s mouth. “Family, it’s all very violent and wyrd where the Summers women are concerned. And I mean wyrd in the oldest turn of the phrase.” She met Bran’s gaze, unflinching beneath his glare and not cowed in the least by his beast, “She is my sister. All I have left in this world or the next.”
The last part of the statement inclined Charles’ head and Anna frowned at the implication as Bran argued, the words filled with his power to bring most other to their knees, “Leah is mine to protect-”
“The sister I knew doesn’t need protection,” Dawn cut Bran off and Anna raised a brow at her ability to do so, “Never has and never will.”
There was something ominous about that turn of phrase and Bran heard it too because he took a step closer to the entry. “Then she is not the sister you knew.”
“She will be.”
+
The desert stood before her and a snow-laden forest howled at her back. Buffy Summers nee Leah Cornick-or was it vice versa? She wasn’t so certain it was that cut and dry-was unsure of her place. Unfortunately, this was nothing new and the duality of the dream certainly wasn’t helping matters.
She’d started the dream with Leah’s wolf at her side, shadowing her movements as she trudged her way through the forest. The wind brought the leafless trees to shivering life, but she’d remained unaffected by the cold and by Leah’s memories attempting to anchor her down in the ever deepening snow. It was hard to admit that they were one and the same, but she’d been the same spoiled brat during her early days at Hemery. A quick temper and a quicker viper’s tongue-irrefutable evidence was a bitch like that and apparently so was she.
The wolf, golden furred and amber eyed, had remained with her through the struggle of memories and biting wind. She’d remained a vigilant comfort at her side until they’d found the desert. The scent of scorched earth reached her first and she’d felt a trembling in her wolf.
A shadow passed over those rolling hills of sun and heat and the wolf leapt into the sand, sprinkling it across Buffy’s face with a spastic flick of her tail. She left her human counterpart with the cold as she gave chase and was lost to the glint of the sun. Her coloring made it impossible to distinguish her from the dunes, but Buffy still searched for her. Unwilling to leave the burning cold of the forest behind she remained on the side that still held echoes of Leah.
The shadow appeared at the top of the dune closet to her and there was a flash of gold and Leah’s wolf tackled it from the side. There was a clap of thunder and lightning arched outward from the desert turning the sky black. The shadow reemerged over the top of the dune and made its way downward. Its gaunt form had gone from bipedal to quadrupedal and Leah’s wolf did not reappear.
It stalked down the dune and Buffy had the sinking suspicion that the misshapen shadow was Leah’s wolf-or what was left of it. It had merged-just like she and Leah-but unlike Leah's her beast had never had a form or a voice. For the first time since facing a hellgod Buffy faltered and took a step back in retreat, but it was too late. The shadow leapt from sand to snow.
She smelled ozone and felt the heat of the desert before it impacted. The shadow leached its way through her skin with the brush of fur and the sharp tearing pain of teeth. It sank deep and shook her awake.
A strangled gasp escaped her and Buffy had a moment to suck in a second breath before the beast inside of her voiced its rage at still being captive by drawing a ragged scream from her throat. It sounded desolate to her own ears and she rolled off the couch to land in a defensible crouch. A tremble started in her arms and worked its way through her chest as the joints in her fingers popped.
Unsure of the snarling thing inside of her and terrified to find out what it would do, what it would say, Buffy lifted her head to see a smirking Illyria-human façade more firmly in place than her own-and glared at her. She swallowed the waspish comment she had for the once-godling and instead focused her ire on Dawn, who was keeping out the one person she needed.
“Dawn, drop the barrier,” the beast-she wasn’t sure what else to call it yet-howled in her mind and it filled the last word with power, “now!”
Something tore in her throat from snarling a simple word and that power spilled outward to touch those closest to her. It flowed around Dawn and Illyria as if they were pebbles in a river. They affected the power, forced it to move around them, but it was utterly indifferent to them. Bran made it shudder and that pulled a needy sound from her throat. A sound that was more wolf than human and the world sharpened.
The power brushed Charles and he locked it out, her small connection to him made smaller still, but she’d tasted his unease. The great Charles made wary by her-the smug smile that bared her teeth reminded Buffy that Leah was as integrated as the beast.
She ruffled Anna’s fur-in the metaphorical sense-and her earthy scent calmed Buffy enough to slow her breath and gasp out, “I need Anna.”
The Omega’s heart increased it’s already rapid tempo. Samuel’s comparison to a rabbit really wasn’t that far off-not that he’d shared the comparison with her. She’d just happened to be in the room when’d he’s spoken of it. Leah Cornick, mate to Bran and no more important than his furniture. Her irritation with her mate’s children fed the beast and stamped away all the good Anna’s scent had done and Dawn’s witchy mojo was still at work. The rest of the pack was beyond their home and drawing closer-bringing with them more irritants.
“Now would be good,” her exasperated tone sounded suspiciously like Leah to her own ears. She looked to Illyria and her envious calm before snapping, “Go to Dawn,” and as an afterthought she added, “Try not to kill anyone.”
“Your debt to me grows by the day.” She rose and stepped around Buffy to claim a spot beside Dawn. Buffy avoided her sister’s searching gaze and watched Illyria catch Bran’s gaze unaffected. “You are her mate. Do you share in her debt?”
It irked her to have someone challenge her husband so blatantly, but she managed a viper’s tongue over an incomprehensible growl. “My debts are my own, Illyria. As you well know and could we please put the Machiavellian tendencies on hold for just a moment?” Her voice pitched low as she pleaded, “I really do need Anna.” She looked past Dawn and Illyria to address her husband. “Dawn is mine to protect.”
She didn’t trust her beast to share things with him and instead pulled on Leah’s memories to share with him the image of Charles and Samuel before showing him Dawn. Dawn as a baby placed within her arms as she swore to keep her safe. Dawn calling her an insipid trollop at the tender age of ten. Dawn holding her after their mother died. Dawn gushing about her first date with a human guy. Their celebration of her getting into Oxford with too much of Giles’-
“Enough.” The order stilled the torrent of memories for the both of them. “I won’t kill her just yet.”
That was as reassuring as Bran got when he thought someone posed a threat to the pack and the memories of Dawn had calmed the beast some. They were in perfect agreement that Dawn would be protected by them. Always.
“Aperi!”
More Latin. Fabulous. Dawn spoke it in a surprisingly normal tone, but the tone couldn’t hide the power behind it. The barrier collapsed with a fizzle that raised the hair along her arms and as far as she could recall Dawn had never been particularly adept at spells in the past. Her track record was as spotty as Willow’s. It forced her to look at Dawn. Really look at her. She tried to look past the fact that her sister was a bit taller-how was that even fair-with curves that filled out her jeans and sweater in an enviable way.
The face she remembered had been softer and now it more closely resembled their Aunt Arlene. The eyes were the same, big and blue and watching her as warily as ever. It almost made her smile as Anna and Charles made their way towards her and Bran settled himself between them. Buffy realized with a tired smile that her little sister looked older than her husband.
It made her laugh and the beast popped the joints in her shoulders forward. Her laughter turned into whimper and Anna knelt beside her, hands hovering as if she were unsure where to touch or if she even should. “Please,” Buffy whispered and those hands settled on her shoulders, the touch lightening as the joints realigned beneath her hands.
She slumped forward, half falling into Anna’s lap in relief as the beast quieted and the desert within her mind finally faded away. “Thank you,” she whispered against Anna’s jean-covered thigh, “Thank you.”
Chapter 2: Ill-mannered Beasts
Disclaimer: #443 wyrd @ tamingthemuse
Rating: FR13
Disclaimer: BtVS and all related characters are copyright of Joss Whedon and ME. The Alpha and Omega Series and all related characters are copyright of Patricia Briggs and Ace. No infringement intended.
Summary: Leah Cornick was a lot of things (most of them bad), but none would’ve guessed that she was a Slayer trapped within a wish.
Wind tangled her hair and burned her checks. The sting of it left her breathless and Anna would’ve found the run invigorating if she couldn’t feel Bran’s urgency through her connection to Charles and Brother Wolf. Bran’s connection to her and the pack was muted. He’d cut himself off so he didn’t spread his rage like wildfire through the rest of the misfits. Charles, however, knew his father well enough that Anna simply knew how desperate their alpha was and it forced her to run faster. Her own wolf lay curled within her abdomen, crouched low and loaded for bear.
They’d leapt a fallen cypress with Bran several strides ahead when a white-hot pain speared through her wolf and into her. Anna stumbled, falling to her knees. The dense layer of leaves and slush cushioned the impact, but a cold dampness spread across her jeans and a few pine needles speared through the hole at the knee to scratch her skin.
Charles was at her side, his face pinched with pain as he helped Anna back onto her feet and Brother Wolf shared with her, the both of them, a vision of the desert. For a brief moment the fall chill slipped away to be replaced by the heat of the sun and the scent of scorched earth. The image faded as did the pain and it left behind an ache that Anna had to force herself to shake off. She blinked the world back into focus and saw that Bran stood several meters away from them.
Anna voiced her relief from the sudden onslaught, “Thank you.”
Bran’s mouth thinned and she recognized that expression as one he and Charles shared. Father and son might not look entirely alike, but they still resembled one another from time to time. “That wasn’t me.”
“It was Leah.” Charles corrected, helping Anna to her feet and leading them towards his father.
“It was,” Bran nodded, “Both times.”
Anna shook off Charles’ arm and then gave it a reassuring pat before motioning them both forward with a sweep of her arm. “Then what are we waiting around here for?” She called on the strength of her wolf and the woods around her sharpened; the sudden clarity helped her focus. She met their gazes, knowing her eyes were now a brilliant blue, and ordered, “Go!”
Charles’ mouth quirked, amused by her directness, and Anna could feel Brother Wolf’s pleasure at her show of dominance before Charles did as ordered and led them into a sprint. Bran kept pace with her for a few strides, as if assuring himself that she was indeed fine, before outdistancing them both. Anna followed and the pain melted further away with each step.
She did her best to keep up with them, Charles stayed within her eye line at all times, but soon Bran was only a scent on the wind. Anna kept the pace her wolf set and the trees blurred around her as she became less worried about the melting snow beneath her feet. There’d been a sudden flurry three days prior before the average temperature of a Montana fall returned to turn the white into a slushy mess.
They escaped the trees only a mile from Bran’s home and Anna could see him in the distance. She pushed herself faster, more surefooted without the roots beneath her feet, and they caught up to him at the edge of the property. Bran reached the porch first and Anna slowed as she caught sight of several foot prints in the muck beneath their feet. All of them narrow and one set had a square heel that told her the owner of that boot was not familiar with Montana’s adverse weather. She wasn’t yet either, but even Anna knew better than to attempt fashionable footwear on this terrain.
Leah wore them, but she’d lived through many a winter in these parts and had long ago learned how to balance precariously in heels. Anna was only a little envious of the ability, but even Leah avoided heels when the ground was slick beneath her feet. Charles turned to spare her a glance from his place beside Bran on the porch and she pulled herself free of her internal musings.
The front door opened and Anna watched as Bran entered-except he didn’t.
Bran struck something solid in the door way that brought him to an uncomfortable looking halt and a growl trickled out from the furthest recesses of his throat. The sound of it made Anna swallow, fear tickling the back of her own throat, when she saw his eyes had bled to wolf. Charles caught the hand she reached out to him and his presence reassured her, but the mask he wore while on missions for the Marrok-not his father-had slid firmly into place. All trace of humor at her earlier train of thought had vanished.
A bellow, filled with fury and the darkest of thoughts, made Anna’s stomach tighten while Bran struck at the frame of the door with the side of his fist. Charles’ grip on her hand helped her to step forward, take her place at Bran’s quivering back and create a united front against this newest threat. Bran glanced back, pale eyes narrowing on them and while Anna was familiar with the golden hue the rage she saw there was a different beast entirely.
Bran usually resembled someone she would have taken a class with at Northwestern. Someone young and artistic, no different than the thousands of other students struggling with their GPAs. Chameleon thy name is Bran. That gentle façade had melted away beneath the force of his rage and Anna was reminded of the wolf she’d met while they’d faced Mariposa.
As if by magic-thinking of one witch conjured another-and a woman filled the open entry. She smelt of blood and magic, but different enough that Anna frowned while Bran snarled.
“Don’t bark at me!” was snapped at Bran and this witch stood before their Marrok with narrowed blue eyes and a stubborn lift to her chin that reminded Anna oddly of Leah. Her gaze lifted to take in Anna and Charles, who released her hand and took a step away from them, to give himself room to maneuver, before she looked back at Bran. “Who are you?”
A shuddering breath escaped Bran, but his voice was steady, nearly calm, as he countered, “You are in my home, witch.”
Anna followed Charles’ lead and took her own step back, allowing herself a chance to focus on the witch without the dominance of the other two interfering. She looked past the affronted witch-who apparently didn’t take kindly to being called a witch in that tone of voice-and saw another woman sitting on the ottoman between them and Leah’s prone form on the couch. Her chest rose and fell with shallow bursts of air and someone had rested her hands on her stomach. Anna focused on that touch of kindness rather than the rattle to Leah’s breathing. Anna bit the inside of her lip and before her wolf directed her attention back to the seated woman with the internal reminder of, “Not right.”
Her hair was a muddy brown and darker brown eyes watched them with a curious light. Her wolf, still close to the forefront of her thoughts after the run, cautioned her that not all was as it seemed with that one. Anna saw a woman with tight slacks tucked into high boots-the heels she’d noticed in the slush-and pale features that were too angular to be considered beautiful in a conventional way. Not that Anna had any use for the conventional. The woman’s head inclined, loosely curled hair catching on the collar of a jacket, which wasn’t warm enough for a human, and it was buttoned tight around a thin frame.
“You’ve invaded my home and injured my mate,” Bran’s tone was bland, but Anna understood the underlying threat just fine.
She had to suppress her wolf so that she could turn her gaze from the odd woman to the witch. She’d pulled herself up taller under the Marrok’s threat-another oddity that-and Charles stepped closer to his father. It placed him somewhat in front Anna and she realized, perhaps belatedly, that his placement was in preparation to deflect any magic the witch might attempt. Brother Wolf shared with her the coppery tang of blood, but it wasn’t old and it carried with it the scent of the witch as if it were her blood and not someone else’s.
Brother Wolf’s pleasure with her deduction brought with it a rush of warmth and helped push her own fear further back. This knowledge of the witch’s power source being herself had Anna questioning if she was more like Moria, but Brother Wolf didn’t allow her thoughts to wander as he cautioned, “The other is the danger,” which confirmed her wolf’s instincts.
“Agreed,” was shared readily with both Brother Wolf and Charles.
“Your mate?” The witch brought Anna’s gaze back to her, but Charles-under Brother Wolf’s insistence-remained fixated on the other woman. “You’re her husband?”
For all its simplicity the question felt a like a loaded one and it also gave credence to the thought that this witch hadn’t attacked Leah to spite the Marrok. Bran inhaled, scenting the air and the witch in front of him with a precision that worried Anna, but his voice had grown quiet, the growl leaking away as he confirmed, “I am. I am Bran Cornick and this is my home that you have barred me from.”
Charles shifted beside her and Anna had the sinking suspicion that a quiet Bran wasn’t necessarily a good thing.
“You’ve already groused about that,” the witch huffed, “Several times. Excuse me if I’d like to avoid being mauled to death.” Anna frowned at the flippant retort, but she smelled the first stirrings of fear from the younger looking woman.
“I’ve no intention of mauling you.” That was the truth, but mostly because Anna imaged that Bran had something more visceral in mind for the witch that dared hurt someone who was his to protect.
The witch scoffed and rolled her eyes before crossing her arms around her waist. It was a protective reaction and Bran’s head inclined. Anna was distracted by a flicker along the edge of her vision. “Something is there,” her wolf shared and Anna allowed her gaze to blur and the entry came to shimmering life inside her mind. The barrier was filled with flickering lights that reminded Anna of fireflies that held a green caste to them. Anna stepped back, gaze still unfocused as she took in the entire house. She could see that the barrier encompassed every entry point and that it was connected to the witch by gossamer strings.
Strings that resembled the ones connecting Anna to Charles and Bran and she reclaimed her spot beside Charles so that she could look in the home. Leah’s slumped form had numerous threads connecting her to the pack as well, but they were dimmer than Anna’s and she remembered how the pain had simply stopped earlier. She never would have assumed Leah could be altruistic. Shaking her head at the thought she noticed another, thinner thread, connecting Leah to the witch. It was a solid as the one that connected Leah to Bran and, for some reason, Anna found that reassuring.
“Who are you?”
Charles made the request of the witch, distracting his father whose breathing had calmed, but his heart still throbbed in his chest. The witch inclined her head, as if someone had finally asked the right question-and of course it was Charles. Anna suppressed the urge to smile and instead watched some of the anger leave the witch as she studied him a moment before stating, “Dawn Summers.”
“Anna Cornick,” she supplied her name on impulse and the witch’s mouth quirked.
The crunch of pine needles turned her head and Anna watched Asil make his way through the trees. He was alone which meant he’d ordered Kara to remain behind at his home and it had definitely been an order. Kara liked Leah. Anna wasn’t entirely certain why, but Bran assured her that Leah had been nothing but kind to the young wolf. In the distance she could hear the crunch of tires over the slush covering the road to the Marrok’s home. More of the pack was coming and Anna wasn’t so sure that was a good thing.
“Charles Cornick,” her mate took a queue from her and Anna saw he was finally meeting the witch’s gaze. “Why have you attacked our pack?”
The witch studied Charles a moment, mouth pulling down into a frown before she shook her head. “I’m not attacking anyone,” Anna smelled the lie, Bran growled and the witch flinched-Anna assumed more with her poor choice of words than any threat they posed-and admonished, “I didn’t mean to hurt her,” the truth, “I would never knowingly hurt my sister.”
Charles tensed beside them and Bran countered, “You're a little young to be her sister and Leah was an only child.”
“Of course she is.” A small, bitter smile tugged at the corner Dawn’s mouth. “Family, it’s all very violent and wyrd where the Summers women are concerned. And I mean wyrd in the oldest turn of the phrase.” She met Bran’s gaze, unflinching beneath his glare and not cowed in the least by his beast, “She is my sister. All I have left in this world or the next.”
The last part of the statement inclined Charles’ head and Anna frowned at the implication as Bran argued, the words filled with his power to bring most other to their knees, “Leah is mine to protect-”
“The sister I knew doesn’t need protection,” Dawn cut Bran off and Anna raised a brow at her ability to do so, “Never has and never will.”
There was something ominous about that turn of phrase and Bran heard it too because he took a step closer to the entry. “Then she is not the sister you knew.”
“She will be.”
+
The desert stood before her and a snow-laden forest howled at her back. Buffy Summers nee Leah Cornick-or was it vice versa? She wasn’t so certain it was that cut and dry-was unsure of her place. Unfortunately, this was nothing new and the duality of the dream certainly wasn’t helping matters.
She’d started the dream with Leah’s wolf at her side, shadowing her movements as she trudged her way through the forest. The wind brought the leafless trees to shivering life, but she’d remained unaffected by the cold and by Leah’s memories attempting to anchor her down in the ever deepening snow. It was hard to admit that they were one and the same, but she’d been the same spoiled brat during her early days at Hemery. A quick temper and a quicker viper’s tongue-irrefutable evidence was a bitch like that and apparently so was she.
The wolf, golden furred and amber eyed, had remained with her through the struggle of memories and biting wind. She’d remained a vigilant comfort at her side until they’d found the desert. The scent of scorched earth reached her first and she’d felt a trembling in her wolf.
A shadow passed over those rolling hills of sun and heat and the wolf leapt into the sand, sprinkling it across Buffy’s face with a spastic flick of her tail. She left her human counterpart with the cold as she gave chase and was lost to the glint of the sun. Her coloring made it impossible to distinguish her from the dunes, but Buffy still searched for her. Unwilling to leave the burning cold of the forest behind she remained on the side that still held echoes of Leah.
The shadow appeared at the top of the dune closet to her and there was a flash of gold and Leah’s wolf tackled it from the side. There was a clap of thunder and lightning arched outward from the desert turning the sky black. The shadow reemerged over the top of the dune and made its way downward. Its gaunt form had gone from bipedal to quadrupedal and Leah’s wolf did not reappear.
It stalked down the dune and Buffy had the sinking suspicion that the misshapen shadow was Leah’s wolf-or what was left of it. It had merged-just like she and Leah-but unlike Leah's her beast had never had a form or a voice. For the first time since facing a hellgod Buffy faltered and took a step back in retreat, but it was too late. The shadow leapt from sand to snow.
She smelled ozone and felt the heat of the desert before it impacted. The shadow leached its way through her skin with the brush of fur and the sharp tearing pain of teeth. It sank deep and shook her awake.
A strangled gasp escaped her and Buffy had a moment to suck in a second breath before the beast inside of her voiced its rage at still being captive by drawing a ragged scream from her throat. It sounded desolate to her own ears and she rolled off the couch to land in a defensible crouch. A tremble started in her arms and worked its way through her chest as the joints in her fingers popped.
Unsure of the snarling thing inside of her and terrified to find out what it would do, what it would say, Buffy lifted her head to see a smirking Illyria-human façade more firmly in place than her own-and glared at her. She swallowed the waspish comment she had for the once-godling and instead focused her ire on Dawn, who was keeping out the one person she needed.
“Dawn, drop the barrier,” the beast-she wasn’t sure what else to call it yet-howled in her mind and it filled the last word with power, “now!”
Something tore in her throat from snarling a simple word and that power spilled outward to touch those closest to her. It flowed around Dawn and Illyria as if they were pebbles in a river. They affected the power, forced it to move around them, but it was utterly indifferent to them. Bran made it shudder and that pulled a needy sound from her throat. A sound that was more wolf than human and the world sharpened.
The power brushed Charles and he locked it out, her small connection to him made smaller still, but she’d tasted his unease. The great Charles made wary by her-the smug smile that bared her teeth reminded Buffy that Leah was as integrated as the beast.
She ruffled Anna’s fur-in the metaphorical sense-and her earthy scent calmed Buffy enough to slow her breath and gasp out, “I need Anna.”
The Omega’s heart increased it’s already rapid tempo. Samuel’s comparison to a rabbit really wasn’t that far off-not that he’d shared the comparison with her. She’d just happened to be in the room when’d he’s spoken of it. Leah Cornick, mate to Bran and no more important than his furniture. Her irritation with her mate’s children fed the beast and stamped away all the good Anna’s scent had done and Dawn’s witchy mojo was still at work. The rest of the pack was beyond their home and drawing closer-bringing with them more irritants.
“Now would be good,” her exasperated tone sounded suspiciously like Leah to her own ears. She looked to Illyria and her envious calm before snapping, “Go to Dawn,” and as an afterthought she added, “Try not to kill anyone.”
“Your debt to me grows by the day.” She rose and stepped around Buffy to claim a spot beside Dawn. Buffy avoided her sister’s searching gaze and watched Illyria catch Bran’s gaze unaffected. “You are her mate. Do you share in her debt?”
It irked her to have someone challenge her husband so blatantly, but she managed a viper’s tongue over an incomprehensible growl. “My debts are my own, Illyria. As you well know and could we please put the Machiavellian tendencies on hold for just a moment?” Her voice pitched low as she pleaded, “I really do need Anna.” She looked past Dawn and Illyria to address her husband. “Dawn is mine to protect.”
She didn’t trust her beast to share things with him and instead pulled on Leah’s memories to share with him the image of Charles and Samuel before showing him Dawn. Dawn as a baby placed within her arms as she swore to keep her safe. Dawn calling her an insipid trollop at the tender age of ten. Dawn holding her after their mother died. Dawn gushing about her first date with a human guy. Their celebration of her getting into Oxford with too much of Giles’-
“Enough.” The order stilled the torrent of memories for the both of them. “I won’t kill her just yet.”
That was as reassuring as Bran got when he thought someone posed a threat to the pack and the memories of Dawn had calmed the beast some. They were in perfect agreement that Dawn would be protected by them. Always.
“Aperi!”
More Latin. Fabulous. Dawn spoke it in a surprisingly normal tone, but the tone couldn’t hide the power behind it. The barrier collapsed with a fizzle that raised the hair along her arms and as far as she could recall Dawn had never been particularly adept at spells in the past. Her track record was as spotty as Willow’s. It forced her to look at Dawn. Really look at her. She tried to look past the fact that her sister was a bit taller-how was that even fair-with curves that filled out her jeans and sweater in an enviable way.
The face she remembered had been softer and now it more closely resembled their Aunt Arlene. The eyes were the same, big and blue and watching her as warily as ever. It almost made her smile as Anna and Charles made their way towards her and Bran settled himself between them. Buffy realized with a tired smile that her little sister looked older than her husband.
It made her laugh and the beast popped the joints in her shoulders forward. Her laughter turned into whimper and Anna knelt beside her, hands hovering as if she were unsure where to touch or if she even should. “Please,” Buffy whispered and those hands settled on her shoulders, the touch lightening as the joints realigned beneath her hands.
She slumped forward, half falling into Anna’s lap in relief as the beast quieted and the desert within her mind finally faded away. “Thank you,” she whispered against Anna’s jean-covered thigh, “Thank you.”