Alpha Omega 02 - Hunting Ground

you. When your father didn’t come, I was so disappointed. But when I saw her . . . saw my Gwenevere, I knew.” He grimaced. “She was mine, and you had her, just like before. I could have killed you cleanly, you know. But I want you to suffer. Lancelot.”
    â€œThere was no Lancelot, fool.”
    For a moment Charles thought that he’d said those words, he’d thought them so hard. But the voice was a woman’s.
    Dana.
    Arthur jerked the sword free and stumbled back until he regained his feet. As soon as the steel left his body, the coldness dissipated. Charles put a hand to his belly to staunch the bleeding. It hadn’t gone all the way through—Arthur had wanted him to suffer—so if he could keep from bleeding to death, Brother Wolf could heal them. The wound was small enough to heal fast.
    Sharp steel, Brother Wolf told him, cuts swiftest, hurts least, heals soonest.
    Charles gave the pack magic a little tug and received a bounty in return. He wasn’t the Alpha, but his father could grant him help if he chose. And Bran was a generous leader. Pain faded. No need to advertise that he was not dying, though. Not yet. He stayed collapsed, out of the way. Don’t pay attention to me, I’m not a threat. Charles could become less noticeable if he had to, though not as well as Bran—his da had the technique perfected. It is easier to go unnoticed, Bran liked to say, when everyone is focused on something else.
    â€œGive me the sword,” she said.
    â€œShe is my sword,” Arthur said, taking a tighter grip and pulling the point up into a guard position. “Mine from the first. She came to my hand from yours—and when I died, it was not I who gave her back.”
    Dana moved into Charles’s view. She’d dropped the glamour—or adopted a new one. It wasn’t so much that she changed anything, but she had become more . And Anna was right, she was riveting. Good. Keep Arthur’s attention.
    Charles moved his hand, and when blood didn’t pour out, moved his shirt and looked at the scab. Too fresh to move yet, but soon.
    â€œYou stole it,” Dana said, her voice low and fierce. “It is not yours. Was never yours. The King may indeed come again—it was foretold so. But that is not you. Has never been you. You are not Arthur.”
    â€œYou are not meant to know me,” Arthur told her. “And we are quit of our bargain. Chastel didn’t kill Charles, as you promised. And when Charles defeated the Frenchman—you were unable to find another way to kill him, to kill Charles. You failed. I owe you nothing.”
    She lifted her hand. “ Caladbog . Caledfwych . Excalibur. I have delivered it to the hands of great men, fighters, heroes all. Your hands profane it. A coward who hires his deaths and kills those better, smarter, stronger than he.”
    â€œYou can’t take it from me,” Arthur said. “Not unless you kill Charles. And you cannot harm me as long as Charles still lives. I know how fae bargains work.”
    I wouldn’t be so confident if I were you, Arthur, thought Charles. I thought my father had worked out a bargain with her—and look what happened to us. Excalibur meant more to her than her word, and it still does.
    â€œFine,” she said, and flung out a hand.
    And Charles had the very odd experience of seeing himself fall all the way to the floor while he sat and watched. Which was better than the vision he had briefly had of himself falling dead.
    â€œYou can’t kill like that,” said Arthur, his voice breaking with sudden fear. He raised the sword between them, as if the blade could hold off fae magic—which, if it were Excalibur, and that appeared to be nearly certain—it might possibly do.
    Arthur was right, thought Charles, as he got to his feet. Dana couldn’t kill like that—but she could fling illusions of death all day long. His wound was still sore, but unlikely to open up and let him bleed to death when he moved.
    â€œCan I not?” Dana asked. “What do you know of the fae? Not as much as you believe, I think. If the bargain is complete, give me the sword.”
    While she kept Arthur occupied, Charles pad-footed over to the display case. The sword left there was not Excalibur, but it was a fine sword. A replica, he thought, created a long time ago to protect the original. He tore the box open and took the sword to use it for the