Hunting Ground (Alpha & Omega 2)

"And he... you feel me as an uber-submissive," she said. What she was, was Omega, not submissive at all. But she served somewhat the same purpose in the pack. The dominant wolves could... relax around her because they knew that she would never challenge them-not because she couldn't, but because she wouldn't. Omegas didn't care about pack position, they just cared about the pack.

"You are ours," he said unequivocally, humor gone. "Brother Wolf's and mine. Ours to be kept safe. Dana is many things, but safe isn't one of them. You were distracting us-and if we'd talked to you too long, she'd have sensed it and been offended. It is not difficult to offend most fae, and Dana is not an exception."

"Her reaction to the painting Bran sent her was odd," Anna said.

"Powerful," agreed Charles. "But it would not have done to give her a gift that was less than the gifts others will bring her during this conference. Staying on the right side of the fae is an interesting dance, and I'll leave it to my father to know exactly how to step."

"The Vermeer... Why did she copy it instead of painting something of her own?"

"Her own paintings... are worse. Do you remember the sad clown paintings? Or are you too young? They were everywhere for a while. Bright-colored and flat-feeling. Empty."

Anna shivered. "My dentist had them all over his office."

"Like that," Charles said.

"Maybe she should paint scenery," Anna suggested.

"The background of the Vermeer was very well done."

"I suggested that once, but she wasn't interested. She wants to paint the kinds of subjects she likes to view-lovers and dreamers."

"Do you think the pack has good auto insurance?" Anna asked, looking in the rearview mirror again.

Charles glanced behind them and narrowed his eyes.

The Ferrari suddenly dropped back.

"Jeez," Anna said. "You are handy to have around."

"Thank you."

Anna thought of Dana as she weaved her way through the traffic, her opinion more charitable than she'd been able to manage earlier.

What would it feel like to love music as she did and not be able to sing or play? Or worse, to be proficient but never cross the line between a collection of notes and pitch and rhythm to real music? To know that you were missing it by just a hair but have no idea how to take it from metronome correctness to power and true beauty.

She'd known a few people like that in school. Some of them had made the transition, some of them hadn't.

At Northwestern, before her Change had forced her to drop out, she'd been a music major. Her primary instrument had been the cello.

The first violin in the quartet she'd played in at school had been a precise master of technique who was so good he fooled the professors into thinking he was playing music. A regular wunderkind.

She'd thought he was oblivious to it until one night, after a performance, when they'd all gone out to a local bar and toasted the concert in beer and ale. The others were dancing, but she'd stayed at the table with him, worried about the serious way he was attempting to drink the pub dry when it had been his more usual habit to declare himself the designated driver and stick to ice tea or coffee.

"Anna," he'd said, staring into the amber liquid in his cup as if it held the wisdom of the age, "I don't fool you, do I? Those others"-he waved a vague hand to indicate their missing comrades-"they think I'm all that-but you know better, don't you."

"Know what?" she'd asked.

He leaned forward, smelling of beer and cigarettes. "You know I'm a fraud. I can feel the beast inside me, screaming to get out. And if I loose it, it will pull me up to greatness despite myself."

"So why not let it free?" She hadn't been a werewolf then. The world had been a gentler place, the monsters safely in their closets, and she had been brave in her ignorance.

His eyes were old and weary, his voice slurring a bit. "Because then everyone would see," he told her.

"See what?"

"Me."

To make great art, you had to expose your soul, and some things should be left safely in the dark. For a while, after she'd been forcibly Changed, Anna hadn't made music at all-and not just because she'd had to sell her cello.

"Anna?"

She moved her grip on the steering wheel. "Just thinking about Dana and why she can't paint as she'd like to." She hesitated. "I wonder if it is because she has no soul-like some of the churches claim. Or if it's because what is inside her frightens her too much to expose it."

***

HE'D chosen the hotel because he wanted Anna to be comfortable. There were fancier places in downtown Seattle, glittering jewels of steel and glass.

He could afford them.

In other cities, the Marrok's company even owned a few, and they had hefty investments in some others. But he remembered how intimidated she'd been by his house only a few weeks ago, which was not extravagant or particularly large, so he thought she'd be more comfortable in this hotel, which was his favorite anyway.

Sometimes it embarrassed him. This need to show her the things he treasured in the hope that she would love them, too. He was too old to be indulging himself this way: showing off in the plane-taking her to this hotel. He'd have to tell her about the investment portfolio he'd started for her sometime. But he was an old hunter and knew better than to startle his prey. He'd wait until she was more comfortable with him, with the pack... with everything.

Anna stopped in front of the curb and he could feel her stress when the parking attendant came to take her keys from her. She hugged herself while Charles gave his name and handed the young man a tip for not looking taken aback by the battered Toyota.

He took their luggage, and, still watching Anna, who was looking down at her feet, refused help with them. She'd feel better without anyone serving them.

Maybe he should have taken her to something more impersonal? Someplace where you parked your own car and no one asked if you needed help? Maybe she was still upset by Dana's attempt to make her jealous. Or maybe she was worried about Brother Wolf.

Brother Wolf had never talked to anyone but him like that. Not even Da. Maybe it upset her? Or maybe it was the way Brother Wolf had opened them to her outside the fae's house. Had she seen something that disgusted her? Frightened her? Maybe the distance she'd put between them when they left Dana's house had nothing to do with jealousy at all.

He wasn't used to the emotional roller coaster he'd been on since he met her. It was a good thing she was an Omega, who could soothe everyone around her-and not a dominant. Brother Wolf was on edge as it was; only when she touched him or when she was happy did he have complete control.