Hunting Ground (Alpha & Omega #2)(58)

She was kneeling to tie her shoes when the third winner came into the room. She'd never seen his wolf form before, but his scent told her exactly who he was: Chastel.

As soon as he walked into the room, someone set off the alarm and the whole of the warehouse sounded with a low hum for a count of five. Then again for another count of five: the signal that the third bag had been found.

Anna hardly heard it. Chastel was the most humon gous werewolf she'd ever seen. Ric was larger than average; Charles was bigger than he; and Chastel made both of them look like half-grown puppies. He looked like a Saint Bernard in a roomful of German shepherds-the statistical outlier. His coat was mottled in various shades of brown: the perfect color to blend with a forest.

He met her eyes, his own yellow and mad, and she backed away, bumping into Isaac, who steadied her with a hand on both shoulders and pulled her upright. Chastel trotted from the doorway he'd come through to the place where Anna stood with her hunting comrades.

He stopped in front of her and dropped the bag, taking a step back-an invitation.

"I have a mate," she said. Ric had been right about her participation in the hunt, she realized. She'd been in this room, with all these wolves, and not felt a lick of fear. Here, where Charles was, where her friends were-however new they might be-she wasn't afraid. "And I want nothing from you."

His jaw dropped and let his tongue loll out as he smiled at her-creepy bastard. He took the bag up again. He took a pace beyond them, then turned and lunged at her, dropping his bag on the floor to free his jaws. He was fast, so fast. She pushed herself backward and hit Isaac, who was just standing there, not moving at all.

She had no chance to get out of the Beast's way and she waited for his fangs to sink into her. Blood rushed to her head, and she had time to understand that he was going to kill her. In front of all these wolves, he was going to kill her, and no one would be able to do anything about it until it was too late.

And she was not afraid. It had never been death that scared her-it was being helpless.

He stopped his own attack, pulling back at the last moment and snapping his jaws just short of her throat, which he could have reached with both front feet on the floor. Too late, Isaac jerked back, pulling her with him. Chastel gave them all a satisfied look, turned back to retrieve his bag-and Brother Wolf blindsided him.

The attack was swift and silent; Anna was as surprised as Chastel. She hadn't even seen Charles move-hadn't felt him change to wolf.

Chastel snarled and growled, but Charles was dead quiet and all the more frightening for it. There was an intensity to his attack that Chastel was missing: Charles was aiming for the kill, and Chastel was still trying to figure out what was going on.

Anna had seen Charles fight before-but he'd been exhausted and wounded or reluctant-and mostly in human form. Brother Wolf on the offensive was an entirely different thing. There was no intelligence, no science to the way he fought here.

The other wolves backed away, clearing room for the fight. There were no cheers or raucous comments. The witnesses, like Charles, were quiet, intent, as the battling wolves dug in deep with claws and fangs. This wasn't a game, and no one treated it as such.

If the size difference worried Charles at all, Anna couldn't see it. Once Chastel settled in to battle it wasn't nearly as one-sided as it had been at first-and it was brutal. Fur made it difficult to tell how badly either was wounded, but they were both bloody. When they broke apart and stood, heads lowered, fangs bared, blood dripped off their bodies and made little puddles on the wooden floor beneath them.

Chastel dove under Charles and snapped his teeth closed on Charles's hind leg. Before the French wolf's grip was sure, Charles jerked the leg forward, twisted like a contortionist at Cirque du Soleil, and set his fangs into Chastel's nose. Anna could hear the crunch from where she stood.

Chastel forgot everything but getting Charles off his muzzle-releasing Charles's back leg, then pulling, pushing, shaking-anything to get the other wolf off. Brother Wolf, who was Charles, held on like a bulldog while the French wolf's struggles became more and more feeble. Until his eyes closed and his body twitched helplessly.

Something tried to direct her attention away from Charles. A soft look here, look here from inside her-but Anna was busy trying to see how badly hurt he was.

Angus stepped forward. "Let him go, Charles."

Brother Wolf jerked his head around-bringing Chastel's massive and limp body with him. He looked Angus in the eyes and growled. Angus paled and backed up half a dozen steps until he bumped into Dana-who was watching the fight, looking far too pleased.

Cold chills chased up Anna's spine as she looked at the fae whose job it was to ensure order. Yes, here. Look. Look. She means him harm, whispered Anna's wolf.

The intent was written in the fae's body, not her face, which showed only worry. But her body gave it away, the eager flex of fingers, a shift of weight-she was ready to spring for the kill. A hunt was up and, for the fae, Charles was the star-ruby ring at the end of it.

Anna's wolf told her, We will stop her. No one hurts the one who is ours.

"Yes," whispered Anna.

Dana spoke, "Charles Cornick, you have broken the peace here. Release him."

Brother Wolf didn't even bother to look at her. What had he called her? She-Who-Is-Not-Kin, who thought she ruled him here in the place that belonged to the werewolves. Anna could all but touch his thoughts from his body language. Chastel tried to fight again and her mate sank down lower to increase his leverage. After a moment, the French wolf lay still again.