Wild Sign (Alpha & Omega #6)(35)

Tag swore with feeling, for which Charles couldn’t blame him. The abrupt cessation of whatever they had been struggling against made him feel like he’d been engaged in a game of tug-of-war and the rope had broken, leaving him sprawling (if only metaphorically) in the mud. It was disorienting on the verge of being painful.

Even so, Charles kept singing until he reached a place where his song had a natural stopping place. Breaking off untidily felt both ungrateful and unwise.

As Charles fell silent, Tag started toward Anna at a run, but stopped when Charles held up a hand. Charles was watching Anna’s tensing back, felt the bond between them still shut painfully tight—but now it no longer seemed like outside interference. It felt as if she had rejected him utterly—which was not like his Anna. The scent of her fear threatened to send Brother Wolf into a frenzy.

“Anna, my love?” Charles said softly, knowing his struggle with Brother Wolf did not show on the outside.

She turned then, staggering a little—for which he could not blame her. Her face was composed, her body controlled, but all the same she reminded him of a deer, ready to flee at the slightest movement. Her eyes were terrified. He hadn’t seen that look on her face in a long time.

What had the music done to her, to leave her panic-stricken and afraid?

She tried to speak, but had to lick her lips. “Who are you?” she asked.



* * *



*

PACK MEETINGS ARE the worst, Anna told herself stoutly, trying, by the understatement, to buck up her spirits as she cowered in the back corner of the room, attempting to be invisible. She wished she were safe in her Oak Park apartment and not in the Western Suburb Chicago Pack’s stronghold in Naperville.

She knew she couldn’t really hide, not in a room filled with werewolves. She hated knowing it was going to be rough tonight—after this long in the pack, she’d gotten a feel for when trouble was brewing. She could feel the anticipation in the air. She hated that she cowered, head down, trying not to be noticed.

Her father once said she argued so much that when she died, she’d argue with St. Peter at the pearly gates. He’d been proud of her obstinance—he was a lawyer by profession and by calling. He would not recognize her now.

It was a good thing, she told herself, that she was not allowed to contact him anymore.

At first she’d tried to pay attention to what her Alpha said in these meetings, but she’d learned he could read her feelings through the pack bond. It was better not to listen than for Leo to know how much she despised him. He didn’t like being disrespected.

She could tell by the tone of Leo’s voice that he was ready to wrap things up, and her senses prickled at the heightened danger as the crowd of werewolves, who also picked up on Leo’s cues, started to fidget.

He was looking at her. Justin. She forced herself to keep her eyes down as her breath stuttered and her heart raced painfully in her chest.

Calm down, she told herself. Calm down. Panic makes him worse. Makes them all worse.

Leo quit talking and people began to move around. Anna had found one gambit that sometimes worked to keep her safe. She’d taken note of where Isabelle was and charted a path toward the Alpha’s mate’s side. Sometimes Isabelle would take her part—and usually even he moderated his behavior in front of Isabelle, who liked to pretend she was a good guardian of her pack.

Halfway to her goal, Anna glanced up from the floor to make sure Isabelle hadn’t moved—and met his eyes. He was pacing her through the crowd.

Cold terror numbed her fingers, because she knew that look, knew he’d decided she was his prey tonight. Again. It had been two weeks; she had hoped for three but had known it was unlikely. He liked her fear. Her pain.

Chest tight, she . . .

A deep voice wound around her, calling her, lulling her with gentleness. She didn’t understand the words, but for a moment she felt safe. She . . .

. . . looked for Isabelle. But the Alpha’s mate was no longer standing where she had been, and Anna couldn’t locate her. A rough hand grabbed her hair and jerked her head back harshly.

We have you safe. You are ours. No hand will touch you if you do not wish it.

A deep throbbing music tried to surround her with safety, but it dissipated in the pain of Justin’s human-blunt teeth digging into her neck, drawing blood. The scent attracted attention. Someone let out a low whoop that seemed to stir the whole room. The pack would join Justin’s hunt tonight. She knew she was lost.

Safe, insisted the music.

“Anna, my love,” said a deep voice.

And, abruptly, as if by magic, everything changed.

Instead of a dark room, too full of werewolves, too full of men, she stood in brilliant sunlight, wearing unfamiliar clothing, on the side of a mountain. Before her there was nothing but evergreen forest as far as she could see. It was autumn, she thought a little numbly, taking in the colored leaves of the undergrowth. But she knew it was summer.

Her neck hurt where Justin had bitten her. She turned around, half expecting Justin’s hold on her hair to stop her. Expecting that he would be there—that this was some game he was playing.

Justin wasn’t there. But she saw then that she wasn’t in untouched wilderness. She was standing in an amphitheater of sorts, surrounded by a circle of rocks spread around the space as though they were intended to be seating. Scattered about the rocks were broken instruments. Maybe Justin had knocked her out and she was dreaming. It was the sort of scene her subconscious might come up with: the death of her music. But it didn’t feel like a dream. It felt real.