Anna pulled the protective cover over the keys and looked up and saw Charles. She hesitated, and it made his heart hurt that he'd made her afraid of him. But she lifted her chin, her eyes still full of the music, and strolled up to him.
"Thank you," he told her, before she could say anything. He wasn't sure if he was thanking her for leaving the room when he'd asked, for staying in the restaurant instead of leaving him, or for the music-which had reminded him that this whole thing wasn't just about the werewolves.
It was about the humans they shared the country with, too.
The waitress, who was coming back with his card, overheard what he'd said. "From me, too, Hon," she told Anna. "It was pretty gloomy in here when you started. Like a funeral." To Charles she said, "All taken care of. You wanna be anonymous, right?"
"Yes," he said. "It'll work better that way, don't you think?"
She smiled at him, then at Anna, before hurrying off on her way.
"I'm sorry," he told Anna.
She gave him an odd, wise look. "No worries. Everything okay?"
He didn't know. Mostly that depended upon her. But he knew that wasn't what she meant. She was asking about the wolves in the next room, so he shrugged. "Mostly. Chastel was always going to be a problem. Maybe by making him back down right now, he'll be forced to play nice. Sometimes it works that way."
THE music helped. Music usually helped. Making people happy helped even more. When she looked up and saw Charles waiting for her with a small smile on his face, that helped the most. It meant that no one had died, that she hadn't messed things up too badly for him-and that he wasn't upset with her.
He escorted her to the other section, where the wolves awaited them. Chastel was gone. Anna hadn't noticed him leaving, and she should have, even with her back to the outside door and music under her fingers. It was dangerous not to notice things like that.
The tables had been moved again until there was one long table in the middle of the room. There were three big plates of food, one full and two mostly gone.
They weren't suddenly all buddies. Spanish wolves sat on one side of the table, French on the other. The British werewolf took up one end of the table and there were two place settings that hadn't been used at the head.
"It seemed a shame to have come all the way here and not try the food," murmured Charles, one hand light on the small of her back. She couldn't see his face because he was just behind her, but she saw the impact of his gaze as the roomful of Alphas made it clear that they believed he was the biggest, baddest wolf in the place.
Most of them seemed content with that. Wolves don't fuss about things they can't change-the only exception, she thought, might be the British Alpha. Something was making him unhappy, certainly. But he kept his eyes down while Charles was looking at him anyway.
"Gentlemen, my mate and my wife, Anna Latham Cornick, Omega of the Aspen Creek Pack." Charles raised his hand to her shoulder.
"Your pardon, monsieur," one of the Frenchmen said. He had one of those double accents, French with British overtones. "Perhaps we could introduce ourselves and then take our leave. We have taken time to eat, and we cannot linger much longer. Chastel isn't our Marrok, not as Bran is to those wolves here, but he can make our lives exceedingly uncomfortable."
"Of course."
The Frenchman proceeded to introduce his countrymen in hurried tones-and as he introduced them, they bowed their heads. "And I am Michel Girard."
"I look forward to more leisurely conversations later," said Anna.
"I also." He smiled with weary eyes. "Until tomorrow." And they left.
"Anna, this is Arthur Madden, Master of the Isles-the British equivalent of the Marrok."
"Good to meet you, sir," she said. Not an Alpha then, she thought, or not just an Alpha.
"Delighted," Arthur said, as he rose from his place and came forward to kiss her hand. "I am sorry to confess, though Chastel is not waiting to chastise me, we've been here much longer than I intended. My wife awaits me, and I must attend. I would, however, like to issue an invitation before we leave. I've a condo in the University District, and it would be my pleasure to have you two for dinner tomorrow."
Anna looked at Charles. Madden had so clearly excluded the Spaniards that it felt awkward. She didn't know what to say that wouldn't make it worse.
"Thank you," said Charles. "We'll discuss it, and I'll let you know."
Arthur smiled, and she noticed that he was handsome. She hadn't been paying attention until then.
"Good enough." Arthur looked to the Spaniards. "My control is just not good enough, gentlemen, to have more than one dominant in my territory at a time. I am sorry."
"De nada," the dark-skinned man who was the de facto leader said graciously. "We understand, of course."
Arthur excused himself. The whole room fell silent, listening, she thought. When the restaurant door in the other room opened and closed, it felt like the whole world relaxed.
Sergio, the wolf who had faced off with Chastel, tossed a bone on his plate. "Pompous ass," he said.
"Smart, pompous ass," said Charles.
"Deluded, smart, pompous ass," said the dark-skinned man. "Have you decided how you're going to introduce us yet? How about by age?" He looked at Anna. "Charles knows all of us-and probably the Frenchmen, too. Knows everything, your mate."
It was a challenge, less serious, though no less important, Anna understood, than the near fight between Charles and Chastel. Are we important to you? was what the Spaniard meant.
"If I manage it, you'll pick up the tip." Charles was as relaxed as she'd ever seen him.
"Fine."
"Sergio del Fino," said Charles. The man he addressed stood, put a hand over his heart, and bowed.
He went through the others without a misstep until he got to the last two: the dark-skinned man and a redhead. He paused and then indicated the darker man with a tilt of his head. "Hussan Ibn Hussan." Then the other man. "Pedro Herrera."
Hussan smiled. "Wrong. I am older than Pedro."
Pedro smiled wider. "Hijo, I saw you born. I didn't know Charles knew that."
Charles lowered his head without lowering his eyes. "Asil let it slip."
Hussan slapped his leg. "I think I've been set up. Tell me my father didn't tell you to pull this one on me."
Charles just smiled.
"You're Asil's son?" Anna asked. Now that she paid attention, his skin tone was nearly as dark as that of her mentor in all things Omega, and the nose was the same.
"I have that honor," agreed Hussan.
"Ibn Hussan? My Arabic is nearly nonexistent, but shouldn't you then be Ibn Asil?" asked Sergio.
"Hussan is my father's given name. But for a long time he has used Asil," explained Hussan with a shrug. "He is old. He can do as he chooses." He gave a sour smile. "And he usually does. How is my father? He is still annoyed with me for refusing to kill him when he asked. He will not answer my phone calls or my letters. So I have stopped calling and writing."
"He's fine," said Anna. "Better."
Charles smiled a little. "He'll probably take your phone calls now."
Hussan tilted his head. "Something happened?"
"Yes." Charles pulled out a chair before a clean place setting and indicated that Anna should take a seat. "If we don't start eating, these devils will have it all gone, and we'll have to wait for the next round."
Anna sat, and he pushed in her chair before taking his own. He might sound casual, but he was still acting formal. Maybe it was because these were mostly older wolves, who would expect Charles to treat her this way. She wasn't sure she liked it, but she was willing to play along. Mostly. She used the tongs and dumped a double handful of ribs on her plate: it had been a long time since she'd eaten.
"Asil will be fine," she said. "Unless he annoys Bran too much."
She glanced up and noticed that Hussan was staring at her.
"It is you," he said. "Omega. You saved him."
She shook her head. "Ask him."
"He'll tell you it was her," Charles predicted. "She'll tell you it was not. Still, he will be fine for another century or so-as fine as he ever is."
THEY walked back to their hotel. It was still pouring, but water had never bothered Anna-and Charles seemed to be of a like mind. They walked side by side, not touching.
"Are we going to accept the invitation to Arthur Madden's dinner?" she asked him.
"If you would like. Angus has scheduled some entertainment the next night, but tomorrow is open."
"Is it going to present some diplomatic problem if we go?"
He made an impatient gesture. "As I keep telling them-this is not a negotiation. We've agreed to hear their concerns, and I will address them. But my father is adamant. The first chance my father sees to present ourselves in a favorable light, we are coming out to the public. It doesn't matter if some are offended or feel we are playing favorites. We are not courting them."
Anna kept quiet.
Finally, he said, "Arthur can be charming-and he's interesting." He glanced at her face and then back at the street. "He tells everyone he's Arthur. The king returned."
"What?"
"He's serious. He honestly believes he is that Arthur."
"Really?"
"Really. Before his Change, he was an amateur archaeologist-his family isn't royal, but noble and still wealthy enough back then that he didn't have to find real work. It also meant that he didn't have to have any training to pursue his hobby. He claims that shortly after his Change, he found Excalibur in a dig, and when he took hold of her, he was possessed by the spirit of Arthur."
He shrugged. "Afterward, he began taking over all the packs in Great Britain. First he killed the Alphas-but combining packs creates its own set of problems. So he modeled his rule after my da's." He smiled at her. "Da's pretty convinced that it was his decision to use Marrok as a title that sent Arthur to declare himself as the Arthur. After all, Sir Marrok was only a knight of King Arthur's."