Wild Sign (Alpha & Omega #6)(44)

Brother Wolf had been enraged that they had not perceived that Anna was still caught in that thing—whatever it was Anna had called it—in the Singer in the Woods’ net. As a consequence, Brother Wolf had refused to let Charles direct their actions after Anna had run from them this morning. He hadn’t trusted Charles to be able to keep her safe.

Because of that, they had almost lost her again, this afternoon. If she had not played it smart, if she had not been able to fight—she would . . . he didn’t know what their enemy would have been able to do to his Anna. He was supremely grateful he hadn’t had to find out. Brother Wolf, though, was ashamed.

He, Brother Wolf, had been ineffectual against it. He was not used to being helpless, but that had not been the kind of battle won with tooth and claw. If he had given way to Charles sooner, they would have been able to give Anna the help she had asked for when she’d asked them. By the time Charles wrested control from Brother Wolf, Anna had already saved herself.

Charles could feel Brother Wolf’s guilt. But he couldn’t do anything to help until his own anger at the wolf settled a bit. So it was good that Brother Wolf chose to be quiet.

He hated to see the bruised expression in Anna’s eyes now, when she didn’t think anyone was watching. He’d hated seeing it the first time he’d met her, in the busy Chicago airport. He’d wanted to kill whoever had put that look there then—and that had been before she was his. Before he knew her—his indomitable, intrepid Anna.

To keep from hovering over her, he buried himself in work. The Suburban had an Internet uplink and a place to plug in his laptop. So he’d started the SUV and sat in the passenger seat, where he wouldn’t have to contend with the steering wheel.

He couldn’t manipulate their accounts on an insecure system—insecure by his standards, anyway. But he could research and watch the world markets to make sure that he did his part to keep the pack safe. Fangs and sinew were all well and good—but money was a better weapon. He lifted his head to look out to the campground where Anna and Tag were playing blackjack with pine needles.

Money was a better weapon against most things, but not all.

It grew dark and they wrapped up their card game. Anna took a flashlight into the bigger tent. Tag busied himself with putting away the folding table and camp chairs. Charles turned off the SUV.

Tag came up to Charles as he finished closing his laptop case. Charles could feel the other wolf’s trepidation. Tag was an old wolf. He knew that Brother Wolf was unhappy, and Tag was smart enough to be worried about that.

“I’m going wolf tonight,” Tag told Charles. “There’s a nice patch of grass up there on that knoll—I found it while we were chasing Anna this morning. That will leave me close enough to come if something happens. But it should give you some privacy, too.”

Charles caught his arm as Tag started to turn away. He pulled him into an embrace, kissing his cheek before letting him go. Letting Tag know that Brother Wolf was not unhappy with him. And that Charles appreciated his generosity and perceptiveness.

“Da chose well when he sent you with us,” Charles told him. “Thank you for coming.”

Tag huffed, but he looked pleased. “Well enough,” he said. “But I’m expecting a fight where I can dig my fangs into someone and taste some blood. Otherwise, I’ll count this as a wasted trip.”

“I expect that we aren’t going to get out of this without bloodshed,” said Charles.

“Hopefully no more of Anna’s blood,” said Tag as he began to strip off his clothing. “I don’t want to ever see that again.”

Charles was in total agreement.

Anna looked around when he joined her in the tent. She was moving stiffly and held her head in a way that told him she still had a headache. But she welcomed him with a happy smile.

He thought she might be the only person in the world who was always happy to see him. Some of the tension between him and Brother Wolf faded away—and only a very little of that was the natural effect that an Omega’s presence always brought.

She had their sleeping bags zipped up together and had stripped out of her daytime clothing. She wore an oversized T-shirt that hung halfway to her knees. It was emerald green, a color that made her hair look more red than usual. Giant white letters across her chest read Werewolf?

“New shirt?” he asked.

“Not that new,” she said. “Mercy sent it to me a while back because she thought it was funny. I just haven’t worn it yet.” She turned around so he could see the back, where a ferocious Hollywoodized werewolf bared its fangs. Below the werewolf, across her lower back and butt, it read Ware Wolf! Where Wolf? There W—agh!!!!

He laughed. He hadn’t expected to, not after the day they’d had. He closed the space between them and pulled her against him, her back to his front. He buried his face in her hair and just breathed in. They felt like the first easy breaths he’d taken since they’d walked into Wild Sign yesterday.

“Why don’t you lie down on top of the sleeping bag and I’ll see what I can do about your headache,” he murmured, stepping back so she could do just that.

He’d taken off his boots at the door of the tent, but he stripped off his jeans and shirt so he could move better.

His brother, Samuel, was the healer—their da’s mother’s magic taking that path in him. Samuel wasn’t a miracle worker; he couldn’t raise the dead or cure old age or heart disease. But he used his magic to help people. Their da said it was the reason that Samuel spent so much time on his own out in the world with the humans—because it was the humans who needed his touch. Their da wasn’t happy about it.