Hunting Ground (Alpha & Omega 2)

He felt naked-only more so. As if he'd shed his skin and stood with raw nerve endings waiting to be filleted by the next stray wind. All he was, all he'd been, was there in the broad daylight, where it had never been meant to be seen. Not even by him.

There was a pause, a waiting moment, and then everything hit.

There were too many memories, things he'd seen and done. Pain and pleasure and sorrow: all there as if they were happening now-too much, too much, and he couldn't breathe...

And Anna was there, holding him and releasing the spring that held him open, allowing his thoughts and feelings to settle back into private places, but not as hidden as they had been. He waited for the pain to settle, but it dissipated into the sound of Anna's song flowing through him.

His protections, the walls he kept between him and the world, were up again, but Anna was inside them. It felt odd, but not painful, more like someone had pulled the rug out from under his feet. It was intimate as all hell, scary, and miraculous. He was getting used to feeling like that a lot around her.

Anna's face was pressed against his chest, her arms around him, and she was humming Brahms in a low and sweet range.

He ran a hand down her hair and kissed the top of her head. "Sorry, and thanks. Brother Wolf tends to be a little literal, and he doesn't like you hurt." He found himself smiling, even though he was still reeling. "Brahms?"

She gave an uncertain laugh and backed up so she could look him in the eye. "Sorry, I was panicked. And music seems to help me focus... whatever it is I can do. Soothing music. And the Lullaby just seemed appropriate. Are you all right?"

"Fine-" he said, then realized that he was lying, so he amended it. "I'll be fine." Yeah, it was a sharp right his life had taken. Having a mate was throwing both him and his wolf off their game-and he wasn't inclined to complain. He smiled to himself. She even sang lullabies to him-and he liked it.

Somehow he'd managed to stay on his feet, thus avoiding a dunking in the cold water, and still had his father's present for Dana.

"Shall we go see the fae?" he asked politely, as if he hadn't just had some sort of... epiphany, metaphysical almost breakdown... he didn't have the words.

"Sure." Anna took his free hand, and the touch of her skin was better than her embrace because it was her flesh on his.

Brother Wolf gave a groan of contentment and settled down, even though he was always unhappy around the fae, any fae. They weren't pack and never could be. He himself liked her as well as he'd ever liked any fae. About Dana, he and Brother Wolf agreed to disagree.

THE boat had a door, just like a real house. Anna waited while Charles knocked. She used her eyelashes to hide how intently she watched him. His control was so good she'd had no idea there was something wrong until she'd looked up after a couple of back flips to see his eyes, gold and savage-and then she'd felt him, all of him. Too much to process, too much to see, all she'd felt was his pain. He was rebuilding the walls between them now. She didn't even know if he was doing it on purpose or not.

He seemed to have it all together now, but she kept her hand on his back, tucked up under his jacket, where she could feel the muscles, smooth and relaxed under her fingertips.

Over the smell of brine, vegetation, and city, she could smell turpentine-but no one came to greet them.

Charles opened the door and stuck his head inside. "Dana? My da sent us to bring you a present."

It felt like the whole world paused with interest, but the fae didn't say anything.

"Dana?"

Sound, when it came, emerged from over their heads. "A present?"

Anna looked up and saw that a second-story window was open.

"That's what he told me," Charles said.

Anna could tell that he liked the fae by the warmth in his voice. She wasn't prepared for him to like her; he liked so few people. The wolf inside her, brought out by whatever had happened on the docks, stirred uneasily, possessively, protectively.

"Bring it here, then, dear boy. I'm up in the studio, and I don't want to track paint all over the place."

Dear boy? Anna felt her eyes narrow. It appeared the affection was mutual.

He took her hand absently. Her wolf settled at his touch as she followed him through the door in the side of the boat. Charles seemed to know where he was going, or maybe he was just following the biting smell of turpentine.

She glanced around as she followed him deeper. There were paintings of butterflies and moths lining the hall. The rooms to either side were small and cozy, decorated in purples, pinks, and blues-as if a team of Disney animators had come in and decorated it to make the perfect fairy abode. One room held an artificial waterfall that burbled with manic cheer. A twin-sized bed took up the rest of the space. The whole place smelled of salt water and the same odd smell she'd noticed when they talked to the troll-maybe it was the smell of a fae.

The hall emptied into a cozy kitchen and a narrow stairway lit by skylights and lined with flowering plants growing in various pink, powder blue, and lavender pots. At the top was a large room, one side entirely of glass that looked out over the water. In the center of the room... greenhouse, whatever it was, stood the fae.

Her skin was pale, a stark contrast to the thick hair that flowed to her hips in mahogany curls. Her face was screwed up in concentration which made her... cute. Slender, long fingers, splattered attractively with paint, played with a small paintbrush. Her eyes were deep blue, like a lake in the high summer sun. Her mouth was dark and full. And she was tall, as tall as Charles, and he was a tall man, over six feet.

Aside from the hair, she was nothing like Anna had expected. There were wrinkles at the side of her eyes, and her face was caught between maturity and old age. She wore a gray T-shirt that had less paint on it than her hands did, and gym shorts that revealed legs that were muscled with the stringy power of age rather than taut youth.

In front of her was an easel holding a largish canvas that faced the other direction, so Anna couldn't see what was on it.

"Dana," rumbled Charles.

Anna didn't want the woman looking at her mate. Which didn't make sense. The fae was not beautiful, and she wasn't even paying attention to Charles. It must still be a leftover reaction to the odd moment on the docks.

Or maybe it was the "dear boy."

Anna's hand had found its way back under Charles's jacket, and she clenched the thick silk shirt he wore and tried not to growl-or drag him away.

Dana Shea looked away from the easel, and smiled, a radiant smile that had all the joy of a mother's first look at her infant, a boy's triumph the first time he hits a baseball with a bat. It was warm and intimate and innocent, and it was directed at Charles.