After a while, Charles staggered to his feet. He looked at the tentacle and the twice-blackened sword. Leaving it, he headed back to where his da and Anna still fought to save Tag.

“Change,” growled Da, both of his hands buried in Tag’s bloody fur.

Charles put one hand on his da’s shoulder, releasing all the power at his disposal to Bran’s use. Anna wrapped a hand around Charles’s wrist and did the same. He couldn’t remember if she’d known how to do that, or if the hunting song showed her how.

Tag fought to live now, and that had taken a good deal of effort. Da had a grip on Tag that would, Charles was worried, bind Tag’s soul to his bones if his body gave out before he was able to change and heal.

But Tag wasn’t changing. Da gathered himself for another effort, and Anna put her free hand on Tag’s forehead.

She bent down and whispered in his ear, “We have had enough death this night, you stubborn bastard. Change.”

Charles felt her draw on the power of the hunt, on Charles, and on the Marrok. She did something tricky with her own Omega power, too. “Change.”

Tag changed. It took a very long time. Long enough for the storm-drenched skies to lighten to full morning. Long enough that the rain gentled and the thunderstorm moved off.

“I can see why the FBI thought that Anna ruled us all,” said Da, sitting in the mud. The hunting song had died down to a more subtle thing, but Charles could still feel his da’s amusement trickling through it.

“Is there a reason,” Da asked delicately, “that Anna is using the hunting song to project Queen?”

“Yes.” Anna was staring at the limp tentacle. “It’s not dead. Is it?”

Da sighed. “No.”

THERE WAS ONE more flashlight inside the cave entrance. Leah turned it on and concentrated on her footing as she retraced the way she and Anna had taken earlier.

Memories of Zander flooded back. A gift, she thought bitterly, from the Singer.

Zander had been four when Sherwood came. He’d been a brighteyed, affectionate child. Her new baby had been colicky. When she lay him belly down across her legs and patted his back to make him more comfortable, Zander would pat his tiny shoulder.

She had loved her children as she had never loved anything else in her life. Of course, back then, she had not remembered how they had been conceived. She remembered now.

She still loved her children.

The flashlight fell on a trail of blood, following it to the man propped up against the side of the cave. The light fell on his face and she looked her fill.