Hunting Ground(44)

“They’re dead,” he said. “But we can talk.”

He worried that he was going to have to come up with a topic—when all he wanted to do was kill something else. But Anna came to his rescue.

“Could our Arthur really be the Arthur?”

“My father says that the Arthur was a remarkable strategist, an awe-inspiring fighter, and an extremely practical man who would have laughed himself silly at the stories of King Arthur, chivalry, and chasing after the Holy Grail. Da says there was a white lady but she bore no resemblance to Gwenevere of Camelot fame. Nimue, Morgain Le Fay, and Merlin, yes, but not as they are depicted. No Lancelot at all. No Round Table. Just a bunch of desperate men trying to keep the Anglo-Saxons out of their homelands. He says the real story is better than the one everyone knows, but not nearly as glamorous.” He glanced down at Anna but couldn’t tell if she was better or worse. “He never tells the real stories.”

“So Arthur the werewolf—”

“Likes to rant about how Lancelot ruined it all,” said Charles dryly. “If he is a reincarnation, he bears little resemblance to the real thing. But then there’s some unhappiness between my father and Arthur; they cordially dislike each other. You have to take that into account.”

“Arthur doesn’t seem to dislike you,” Anna said.

“We got on all right, here.”

“Reincarnation?”

He shrugged. “I’ve never seen any evidence that it’s real. But I’ve never seen anything that disproves it either. I believe the afterlife is better than what we have here—and it would take something extraordinary to make someone willing to come back.”

“What about the sword?”

“Old, but my father says it is not Excalibur. Or if it is, it has lost all of the magic that made it Excalibur.”

“There was an Excalibur, though?”

“So Da says—the result of a bargain with the fae who were not any happier with the Anglo-Saxons than the native humans were. Arthur is right that Excalibur wasn’t the only weapon. There was a spear and a dagger, too.”

For a few blocks Anna was silent. Then she said in a markedly weaker voice, “Your father is old enough that he knew Arthur?”

He hadn’t seen any evidence of heavy bleeding, but maybe he hadn’t checked thoroughly enough. He put his foot down harder on the gas pedal. “You ask him that, maybe he’ll answer you. He never did me.”





ALAN and a couple of people he didn’t know were waiting for him outside as he drove into the driveway of Arthur’s house. As soon as Charles got out of the van, he realized that the strangers weren’t from Angus’s pack.

“Vampires,” he said.

“To take care of the mess,” Alan explained. “Where’s Anna?”

Charles opened the sliding door that still worked. Alan stuck his head in.

“Hey, Alan,” Anna said.

“Got yourself shot,” he said after a thorough look.

“Oops.”

He laughed. “You’ll do.” He backed away, and said, “Bring her inside, and we’ll get that stuff out of her.

Charles picked her up as carefully as he could. Alan held the front door open, and Charles brushed past him and stopped.

Arthur stood between him and the rest of the house. He looked horrible—his eyes hollow and his skin tone various shades of gray.

Any other time, Charles would have played the games necessary for an outside dominant coming into another’s territory, but Anna was bleeding in his arms.

“Where do you want me to put her?” he said, which was as much of a concession as he was capable of making.

“Come.” Arthur’s voice was tired and strained, but not unwelcoming. Maybe Charles had misread his body language.

He turned and led the way. “There’s a spare bedroom back here. Upstairs might be safer, but Sunny . . . Sunny’s in the one upstairs.”

The guest room smelled like Alan Choo, who’d evidently been sleeping here tonight. Arthur pulled the covers back farther so Charles could set Anna down.

“Angus said it was the vampires?” Arthur said.

Remembering that Arthur had a right to know, Charles explained briefly. He pulled the blankets up over her until only the wounds on her shoulder were exposed.

“Pity that one got away,” Arthur said.

“Ivan,” Anna told them. He’d thought Anna was unconscious, she’d been so still. “Ivan is his name.”

Charles looked away from Anna for a moment, then looked at Arthur. “He can run, but I will find him.”

Arthur veiled his eyes with his lashes instead of dropping his gaze, but Charles didn’t care. “Yes. Tell me when you get him.”

“I will.”

“You think they are hired guns,” Arthur looked out the window into the darkness before dawn. “Did you find out who they were working for—or why they killed my Sunny?”

“No. I wasn’t in the mood to discuss things,” Charles said. “Maybe Anna—”

“No,” Anna murmured. “It wasn’t a local werewolf. Not Angus or his pack. Or”—she glanced at Arthur and didn’t mention Dana’s name—“anyone else here. Someone out of the country. They wanted to fly me overseas.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said Alan, coming into the room with a tray that held various surgical implements. “Killing Sunny, trying to kidnap Anna, killing Chastel. There’s no pattern.”

“It makes sense to someone,” said Arthur. “If there’s nothing more I can do?”

“No,” said Charles. Having Arthur in the room with Anna wounded was trying his patience. “Thank you.”

Arthur gave him a faint smile. “Call me if you need anything.”

And he left them to themselves.

“I have morphine,” Alan told Anna. “But wolves have different reactions to it. Some it doesn’t help at all. For some it is worse than useless, doesn’t stop the pain and doesn’t let them brace for it either.”

“No morphine,” Anna said. “Just get them out.”

Alan looked up at Charles.

“I’ll hold her for you,” he said, sliding in behind Anna so that her upper body was braced on his. That allowed him the most control. He might be a werewolf—but so was she.

“Try and relax into it,” he told her.

Alan sat on the bed, too, swiveling until he was facing Anna. He set the tray on the nightstand and a bowl by his hip. He started with a pair of sharp-nosed forceps and picked out the easy ones first.

“Did you see?” Anna said, her eyes closed.

“See what?” Charles asked.

“The one-armed vampire. Wonder what he did with the arm?” She hissed then as Alan pulled another pellet free.

“I don’t know.” He kissed the top of her head.

Anna didn’t struggle against his hold as Alan pulled out more surface pellets. She didn’t move until he had to dig deeper.





TWELVE




ANNA was sweating and swearing—and Charles was fit to be tied and a fair bit on his way to needing restraint himself. Alan had nerves of steel, because his hands were steady even though Charles couldn’t keep his growls to himself. Finally, Alan dropped the forceps into the bowl.

“All right,” he said. “There is still lead in there. I can smell it, but I’ll be damned if I can find it. At least it is not silver. An X-ray machine would be able to locate the rest.”

“We have one of those in Aspen Creek,” Charles said.

“Or you can let the remainder fester out. There isn’t a lot—I don’t think it’s enough to make her sick.”

“That’s where my vote goes.” Anna’s luminous skin was greenish, and there were dark circles under her eyes. “No more probes, please.”

Charles slid out from behind her. “You’ll change your mind when they start festering,” he predicted. “But you can wait if you’d like.”

“I’ll do that.” She huffed indignantly. “Festering. What a lovely thought.”

He kissed her lightly, then took a good look at the manacles they’d used on Anna. “I can pick these,” he said, “if Arthur has the right tools around.”

“Go look,” Anna told him. “If I’m going to fester, I’d like to do it in comfort. And these things are not comfortable. Plus they’re tacky.”

Charles was smiling when he left the room, shutting the door behind him. While she was hurting, and he had to get her help, he hadn’t even thought about her nudity. But he didn’t want Arthur walking in on her, so he shut the door.

The house was dark, and he thought Arthur must have gone back to bed—morning was still a while away. He wasn’t going to sleep again, not in Arthur’s house—and he wasn’t going to move Anna until she’d healed up a bit.

He went to the kitchen and opened drawers to see if he could find anything useful.

“Charles?” Arthur’s voice. It came from the room that he kept his treasures in.

“Yes,” he answered. “I’m looking for something to get the manacles off Anna. You wouldn’t happen to have a lockpick kit, would you?”

“I probably have something that would work,” Arthur said.