Alpha Omega 02 - Hunting Ground

into him with a happy sound. He let her play as she would for a while before catching her hands.
    â€œHey, lady wolf,” he said breathlessly. “We need to wake up your other half before we take this any farther.” He didn’t actually know how much Anna knew about what her wolf did at times like this—whether she was along for the ride or still asleep. But it didn’t seem right to do anything serious unless he was certain Anna knew what her wolf had been up to.
    She stared at him, and he watched the change happen, just in her eyes. Blindingly blue eyes warmed to root-beer brown in a few heartbeats. She didn’t seem surprised to find herself braced on top of him, just smiled and flexed her hands on his shoulders.
    â€œAll right?” he asked.
    In answer, she wriggled her hips and pushed herself down. He groaned at the unexpectedly aggressive move. Anna’s wolf did things like that—Anna was usually more temperate. She set a hard and rapid pace, and he let her do as she would.
    â€œI’ll just lie back and think of England,” he huffed to make her laugh.
    It backfired on him because she rose up—and then stopped, holding his hips down by tucking her feet over his thighs. “If you are thinking of England,” she said, “I must not be doing this right.”
    And she did a few things that turned his brain right off.
    Afterward, she lay across him like a sweet-smelling blanket—only blankets didn’t usually drop kisses down the side of his neck.
    He said, “Do you remember when I told you that you were my mate—and you responded by telling me you didn’t like sex?”
    She giggled at his smug tone. “I thought it only fair to warn you.”
    â€œRabbits like sex,” he said blandly.
    She sat up and nipped his nose. “I’ll rabbit you. I know where your ticklish spots are.”
    Someone knocked on the door, a quick, urgent sound. “It’s Angus. Let me in.”
    Anna squeaked and dove out of the bed, putting on last night’s clothes. Charles pulled on his jeans and strode to the door. It was a little after 2:00 A.M.—something urgent must have come up. Especially since Angus hadn’t called.
    As soon as Anna was decently covered, Charles pulled open the door and invited Angus in. The other wolf hesitated on the threshold but made no other comment on what Charles and Anna had been up to—though even a human nose would probably have picked it up.
    â€œBrought sustenance. Take one,” Angus said. He had a cup holder with four steaming cups: two cocoas, two coffees.
    Charles took a cocoa and Anna, who usually drank cocoa with him, abruptly grabbed the coffee.
    â€œNeed to wake up,” she told him, so he must have looked surprised.
    Angus set the holder on the table and took a seat, the other coffee in hand. “Chastel’s dead,” he said flatly.
    â€œI thought his wounds weren’t enough to kill him.” Charles actually couldn’t remember how much damage he’d done.
    â€œNot from the fight.” Angus took a swig of coffee. “Someone shot him with silver buckshot and then . . . It looks like they filleted him. Beat the hell out of Michel, poor bugger. Do you know him? Fractured skull, broken jaw, broken ribs, and other trauma. It’ll be a while before he’s in any shape to tell anyone anything.”
    â€œWho killed him?”
    â€œThat’s the problem; your scent is the only one present besides Chastel’s and Michel’s.”
    â€œHe was with me all night,” Anna said indignantly.
    Charles gave her a pleased smile. “I didn’t kill him, nor had I hand in it.”
    Angus nodded glumly. “Figured so. But needed you to tell me.”
    â€œFilleting a person takes time.” Charles supposed that was something he shouldn’t admit to knowing. “How professional was the job?”
    â€œI couldn’t have butchered a hog as well,” Angus said. “And I worked as a butcher for twenty years.” He hesitated, then sat on the chair. “Look, I know it wasn’t you. This is . . . not your style of kill. Whoever did this was fricking crazy. You’d have just ripped him to pieces and been done with it. But that fae . . . she can’t recognize the truth when she hears it. Not like we can—the fae don’t accept our word as good enough.” He sounded a little bitter.
    â€œAs soon as