Alpha Omega 02 - Hunting Ground

sharp on both sides. The blade was dark down the center, where it was indented, and she could see the patterns in the steel as if it were Damascus—and perhaps it was. The edges were smooth and bright, though, running parallel to each other for most of the length of the blade. The grip was made of steel and, in comparison to all those Excaliburs of film and TV Arthur had mentioned, was very utilitarian—and short. It was a sword meant to be swung with one hand, a sword meant to kill.
    â€œDid they have steel in the sixth century?” she asked.
    â€œThey had steel swords, in some places, at least a thousand years before that,” answered Arthur. “Toledo steel swords were mentioned by the Romans back in the first century B.C.”
    â€œIt is—” She was going to say beautiful, but that wasn’t right. Her father’s sword had been long and graceful—a weapon designed for beauty as well as function. This was different. “Powerful.”
    â€œNo gems, no gold or glittery parts.” Arthur sounded pleased.
    â€œIt doesn’t need them.” The impulse to touch it was strong, but she kept her hands behind her back.
    â€œThe sword wasn’t the only weapon that Arthur carried,” Arthur said, his voice fervid with passion. “Just the most famous. There was the Sword in the Stone, which recognized Arthur as rightful king. That is probably also the sword known as Clarent, which was used to bestow authority—such as kingship or rank. Some of the early Welsh tales mention the dagger, Carnwennen, with which he slew the Very Black Witch.”
    A buzzer sounded. Sunny let out a squeak, checked her watch, and ran out of the room ranting about timers and burnt offerings.
    â€œYour mate is lovely,” said Charles.
    â€œShe is,” Arthur said. “She brings me joy.” He touched the handle of his sword. “Excalibur is over fifteen hundred years old, and she will be with me another fifteen hundred years. My Sunny . . .” He swallowed. “My Sunny is dying slowly every day.”
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    It was late when they left. To Anna’s relief, the evening had passed mostly without incident. She’d been worried that Charles’s earlier mood would continue, but he’d been perfectly civil over dinner.
    He hadn’t said much, but when Arthur ran out of King Arthur stories, he managed to get the British wolf talking about the difficulties the CCTVs—the cameras that Great Britain was installing all over the place to keep an eye on her citizens—were causing the werewolves.
    â€œWell,” she said, as they approached the battered Toyota, “that was almost civil—”
    The man who’d been sitting behind the shrubbery rose a little stiffly. She recognized his scent a moment later and swallowed the sound she’d been about to make.
    â€œMichel,” said Charles.
    She’d met him in the restaurant last night, but without the others around, she read him better. Alpha, but not very dominant. In her old pack, the Chicago Pack, he might have ranked halfway up, but no more than that. His face was battered and his blackened eyes said that someone had broken his nose. He was healing, but for some that happened more slowly than others. He hadn’t straightened all the way up and had an arm over his stomach.
    â€œCharles,” he said in a low voice. “The Beast took my cell phone, and I wasn’t sure how else to contact you.”
    â€œWhat do you need?”
    The Frenchman shook his head. “Came to deliver a warning to you. Your mate, he wants her. You understand? He kills women and the innocent—and he has fastened on her as a victim. He thirsts for her. You must keep her out of his way if you can.”
    â€œThank you for your warning,” said Charles. “Come, we’ll give you a ride wherever you need to go.”
    But the French wolf took a step back. “No. If I return smelling like you, he will kill me.”
    â€œBut not if you smell like me,” said Arthur.
    Anna hadn’t heard him, but neither of the other wolves were surprised.
    â€œI found you hurt by the side of the road,” continued Arthur, glancing at the street that ran past the end of the driveway. He made a soft sound between his teeth. “For shame, Jean, not taking better care of your wolves.” He looked at Charles. “By the time I finish with him, Jean will be so enraged with