Home > Hunting Ground (Alpha & Omega #2)(39)

Hunting Ground (Alpha & Omega #2)(39)
Author: Patricia Briggs

She stopped herself from saying more with difficulty. Hiding a frown behind a friendly smile, she got out the chilled bottle of her favorite white wine. She never blathered on like that. She was used to keeping secrets. Not that her travels or this condo were secrets, exactly. Still, she hadn't meant to talk about them.

She was saved by the squeak of the stairs as Arthur came down them in an easy rush.

ANNA watched the British wolf-king descend.

"You were late," he said by way of greeting. "I was worried something might have happened."

"No," said Anna cheerfully. They'd talked about what to say about the attack, and finally came to the conclusion that the best thing would be to warn the other Omega's Alpha and otherwise keep quiet. The attack had nothing to do with anyone else-and Charles said he was not going to encourage copycats. So she took the blame for their arrival time. No one would ever believe Charles would be late for anything, anyway. "It took me a little too long to get dressed. I'm sorry."

Sunny poured a second snifter of brandy for Arthur-yet another werewolf who drank it, despite not being able to benefit from the effects of the alcohol. Arthur's mate poured a glass of wine for herself.

"Dinner will be ready in about a half hour, I believe," Arthur said. "In the meantime, I thought you might be interested in looking at my collection."

"Collection?" Anna asked.

"What I have here isn't very valuable," he explained. "Nor historically significant. We don't spend much time here, and even with a security service..." He shrugged. "Still, I have some interesting things."

"Did you bring Excalibur?" asked Charles.

Arthur's eyebrow climbed elegantly up his forehead as he smiled a little. "Never go anywhere without her."

"Isn't that a little problematic?" Anna asked. "Flying internationally with a sword?"

"I fly privately," he said.

"Of course," murmured Anna with self-directed mockery at her sudden elevation to the rich and important. "Doesn't everybody?"

"Poor plebeian," murmured Charles, and she was pretty sure she was the only one who caught the humor in his voice, because both Arthur and Sunny looked taken aback.

"Arthur has trouble with commercial jet travel," Sunny hurried to explain.

"I'm sorry." Anna gave Charles a "help me" look. She couldn't think of another thing to say that wouldn't make the situation even worse.

Charles came to the rescue. "Anna's first pack was... troubled and very poor. We've been married less than a month, and she's had a lot to adjust to."

"Living a long time doesn't mean that you'll be rich," said Arthur with an understanding look. "But it doesn't hurt."

"Long-term investments give a whole new meaning to the term 'compound interest,' " added Sunny.

"Tell me about your collection," said Anna a little desperately. And then, because she couldn't help her interest, "About Excalibur."

"I used to be an archaeologist," explained Arthur. "Strictly amateur-which was acceptable to my father in a way that a profession wouldn't have been. Digs weren't as well regulated then, and I was excavating the grounds of an old Cornish settlement conveniently situated on a school-mate's parents' estate when I found her, just dug her up."

He didn't seem crazy-nor did he seem to mind the questions. If they weren't talking about... about Excalibur, for Heaven's sake, she would be fascinated by the story.

"How do you know it was Excalibur you found?"

He smiled at her. "Tell me, my dear, do you believe in reincarnation?"

No. But that wasn't the polite answer. "I've never heard a convincing argument for it."

His smile widened. "I suppose it suffices to say that I do, and that I believe I am the Once and Future King, who will return in the time of greatest need." Then he winked at her. "I don't insist that others buy into my eccentricities."

If people remembered once being kitchen maids, or farmers who died of nothing more interesting than old age, I might reconsider my stance on reincarnation, Anna thought as she returned the British wolf's smile. She remembered her father once observing dryly, If fourteen people believe they were Cleopatra in a former life, does that mean that Cleopatra had split personality disorder?

Then Arthur led them into his treasure hall-probably it had been intended to be an office, or a small bedroom. Three tapestries, flattened between clear sheets of something that might have been glass or Plexiglas, were hung on the wall. There were a couple of display cabinets along the wall itself.

"This is not a proper display," he said. "These stay here all year long, so I can't risk anything of real value. My more valuable artifacts don't leave my home in Cornwall. I acquired all of these in the U.S. This tapestry is fifteenth century, and like many, it has a religious theme. You can see St. Stephen being crucified-upside down, as tradition holds."

Anne looked at the stilted figure, a halo on his upside-down head and blood pouring from his hands.

"Cheery," she observed.

He smiled. "It isn't my favorite, either."

The second one showed a woman sitting on a bench under a tree, sewing, with a large bird perched just over her head. The colors were faded, but brightened as the threads dipped below the surface. Once, thought Anna, this one was a lot more colorful than it is now.

"This one is Scots." Arthur sounded disapproving. "Thirteenth century or thereabouts."

"Barbarians, those Scots," said Charles with amusement. "My father the Welshman says it exactly the same way."

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