Kade

by Dana Archer

  Twenty-Two

  Kade

  The mirrored wall behind the Black Widow’s bar shows my normal impassive features. No hint of a smile or anything that’d reflect the warmth of Zoe’s call. I feel the effect, however. The strength she’s left me with is soul-deep. Now more than ever, I need what she can give me.

  The door opens, allowing the sounds of life to spread through the quiet bar before a clunk cuts the murmur of the morning. Footsteps and breathing precede the arrival of the first alpha and, apparently, his entourage.

  Vince’s scent reaches me before his reflection shows in the mirror, followed by several more Yuran pride members. I don’t bother giving them more than a passing glance. Instead, I focus on the massive male who steps in front of Vince. Today, Asa’s dark hair hangs in a braid swept over his shoulder. Scars from some prematurity injury crisscross his face like some badge of honor warning the world he’s the badass of badasses. The thought almost tears a chuckle from me.

  I pivot and lean against the bar’s counter, my elbows propped on the metal rail and my fingers linked casually over my chest. “Welcome to the Alexander pride lands, Asa, alpha of the Yuran pride. I hope the hospitality of my pride members and the warmth of the home I’ve opened to you chase away the discomforts of your journey.”

  Asa inclines his head and offers the return greeting as expected in this formal posturing game. “Your generosity and willingness to welcome the keeper of another pride’s family spirit into your territory is humbly acknowledged and appreciated. I am positive my time spent among your kindred will be”—Asa smirks—“pleasurable.”

  I study Asa’s lifted upper lip. I’ve seen many males smile, grin, and smirk, but never has the man’s eyes reflected the action unless it was directed at a someone he loved, be they a mate, brother, child, or friend. Without someone to channel the softer emotion, the curve to a man’s mouth is nothing more than a tool. In this instance, I can’t help but wonder if Asa wants me to fear what he’s implying. That maybe he’ll seduce a pride member or even try to bed Zoe. Or pleasure to Asa might carry a darker connotation. Either way, I don’t plan on feeding Asa’s delusions.

  A king never willingly reveals his fear or his pleasure.

  “You brought an entourage?”

  Asa raises a brow. “And you did not.”

  I shrug. “My pride mates are busy preparing their homes for the many alphas who will be sleeping under their roofs.”

  “And who will be sleeping under yours?”

  “Nobody? A woman?” I smile, but, unlike when Zoe had me acting like a fool, the ache in my jaw now likely makes the curve to my mouth appear somewhat feral. “Maybe two or three. You never know. The week is young.”

  “Rumor has it there’s only one woman who will ever grace your bed again.”

  “Rumors are a dangerous beast. Don’t you agree?” I raise a brow. “That is what you cautioned the alpha of the Lynch family about.”

  “That I did.” Asa breaks away from those males surrounding him and approaches the bar, propping a shoulder on the dark gleaming wood a few feet from me. “But this particular rumor about a certain female’s worth in your eyes could have dangerous consequences for her.”

  “She is not a certain female. Or merely a woman. Say her name.”

  “Zoe Jane Conway, my nephew’s beloved childhood friend.”

  I hold Asa’s gaze without upsetting the relaxed pose I’d struck and let my leering smile taunt him just as his mocked me during the alpha call. I swipe my tongue over a descended fang, the taste of my own blood feeding my primal side and lending a growl to my voice. “Any rumors about my personal life will be dispelled at the lovely gathering I have planned for tomorrow night. As I indicated on the invitation, any alpha’s mate or significant lover was welcome, but there’ll be no casual lovers allowed. No even for the host.”

  “No preview of who, if any, will be by your side?”

  “Now, that wouldn’t be fair. If word got out I lent you any special considerations, I’d have hurt feelings to deal with, and I am not a man known for his comfort or understanding.”

  “Yet, a female who betrayed her own cousin still lives and can still claim the Alexander pride name. Many alphas see your actions in her case as soft.”

  “You have a problem with names, don’t you, alpha of the Yuran pride?” I lean on the elbow closest to Asa, bringing me slightly closer. “Or is it only women you avoid calling by name? Maybe that would explain another rumor I heard about you.”

  “Are you trying to anger me on my first night here? I’m unmated because I haven’t yet met my true mate. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Then his goddess sees him as unworthy and undeserving of a mate. That much I’ve learned since spending time with Jarah and his sons, all ancients who know more about our species than many of those alphas who will attend the alpha meeting. “No, I’m not attempting to anger you. I’m only pointing out your faults and giving you a chance to prepare to counter them in advance.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” Sarcasm drips from Asa’s tongue. “Then consider my comment along the same lines. Many of our kind are questioning your motives where Isadora is concerned. Many alphas would’ve severed her tie to their family spirit and taken her head.”

  “Izzy is powerful. I’m not foolish enough to lose that strength over the misguided actions of her youth. Recognizing her potential and acting accordingly is what a worthy alpha does, along with giving second chances where they’re deserved. Being raised outside the pride means she didn’t learn our values. I guarantee you she’s learning them now.”

  “Vince gave the same opinion of you.” Asa tilts his head to study me with narrowed eyes. “That you were willing to give him a second chance despite what he did to your beloved human. I hadn’t quite believed him, even though days have gone by without learning you ended his life.”

  “My word is good.”

  “As is mine.” Asa draws the barstool closer and sits. “Which is why I said what I did during the alpha call. Mira’s unborn babies should not be sacrificed out of some misguided fear. Babies are harmless. If they do indeed mature into something worth fearing, that’s a different story.”

  “But isn’t that what you believe is necessary for our world? To give our kind someone to fear?”

  “I don’t fear babies.” Asa grunts. “Do you?”

  I shake my head. “But people do fear them. That won’t change because we decide on an alpha’s call that we shouldn’t be afraid of babies.”

  “True. Which is why we need to give the world a reason to be afraid.” Asa drags his tongue along the inside of his bottom lip, the look of visceral hunger once more slipping into his eyes. “A king among alphas, one who’d demand all those he commands to kneel at his feet. Or to respect babies and allow them to live.”

  A king among alphas.

  The phrase stirs hunger within me just as it did last time I heard it. I can’t deny the desire for such a title. With it, I’d be able to sustain a safe haven for my family, my friends, their children, and our neighbors.

  “And how do you propose we go about choosing this ultimate alpha?”

  “That will make an interesting discussion for the alpha meeting, won’t it?”

  “Very interesting indeed.”

  Asa stands, kicking the stool under the counter, and turns to me. “And on another note, I presume your pride is making arrangements to welcome its newest members into its fold.”

  Mira’s children. That’s who Asa’s referring to. I don’t need him to spell that out, and if I did, I’d give away the truth about them technically not being members of the Alexander pride. Honorary members, yes. Mira, Josh, and their family will forever be dear to the Alexanders. “Indeed, it’s been too long since we’ve had the opportunity to hold a newborn up to the moon for our goddess’s blessing.”

  “Their birth is expected soon, then?”

  I shrug. “When they’re ready.”

  The door opens,
and Ilan enters, followed by Julius Lynch with his eldest son Colin at his side. Colin inclines his head slightly in my direction, probably one of the few honest greetings I’ll get tonight.

  Ilan moves quietly behind the bar while the Lynch alpha and his son approach to offer up the same greetings I shared with Asa, then Ilan washes his hands, grabs a rag from a stack of clean white towels, and splays his palms on the counter. “Drinks anyone?”

  “An alpha who is willingly offering to serve others?” Asa chuckles. “Now that’s a sight I hadn’t expected.”

  “Being an alpha doesn’t change who I am. This is my job. This is my normal night to work.” Ilan reaches under the counter, grabs an amber bottle, and pops the cap, then sets it in front of me. “And if you wish to question my commitment to my professions, I should remind you this isn’t my only job.”

  Ilan’s vow to the Host is an eternal one. Once an angel of death, always an angel of death. And Ilan doesn’t need a reason to take someone’s life. All he needs is to be given their name.

  I glance at Asa and envy Ilan for his immunity. For me, actions have consequences, and my insistence among the shifter world that Mira is still an Alexander, not just an honorary member, might be the one that damns me. Witches—and those powerful enough to develop into shamans—are born along family lines. And a shaman who’s born a half-breed might very well be a living nightmare.

  Twenty-Three

  Zoe

  With my hands tucked into the pocket of my oversized borrowed hoodie, I turn down the cobblestone road where Dr. Fairchild’s office is located in the back of a coffee shop. Not much has changed since my last shrink appointment. Homeless people still huddle in doorways. Piles of dirty snow separate cleared spots with plastic chairs set out on the streets. And the unique stench of piss and garbage choke me.

  I take it all in, doing my best not to make eye contact with any of the street people, then focus on the wooden coffee shop sign just past the halfway house. Why a well-respected doctor would choose to set up shop in one of the shadiest parts of Charleston, then ban guns in his office is beyond me. Why Dr. Fairchild wouldn’t even have a sign for his office is another puzzle I never figured out. For way too long, however, I made the trek into Charleston to see my state-appointed shrink. Of course, now I know better. The state didn’t appoint him. Vince and his alpha arranged for me to see Dr. Fairchild.

  Cold air fills my nostrils on a sharp inhale. I savor the numbing cold for a moment, then blow out a foggy breath. The only way I’m going to learn why Vince saved me from a certain death sentence at the hands of the Shifter Council is to talk to those involved. Since neither Vince nor Asa are going to give me a straight answer, that leaves the shrink who still gives me chills when I think of him. Honestly, I can’t say why either. He never so much as shook my hand or raised his voice.

  I cross the street, avoiding a shopping cart and the homeless man bundled under several blankets. I don’t have any money to toss in his bucket. A smart woman doesn’t bring a lot of cash when she’s walking alone in the city, especially in high-crime areas. Actually, a smart woman avoids streets like this, and if I’m going to make it as an alpha’s mate, I shouldn’t put myself in danger. Then again, just being an alpha’s mate sets me in the crosshairs. On the other hand, just being mated to me will put Kade at risk from the thing I invited into my soul.

  And I still don’t know why or how I ended up with my crazy doppelgänger, but Dr. Fairchild does.

  Curling my fingers around my keys, I pull my makeshift weapon to the opening of the hoodie’s pocket and hurry forward. The warmth of a dryer vent blows across my legs. I move past it.

  An arm reaches out and catches my waist, spinning me. A black man with frazzled dreadlocks in need of a taming stares down at me. Black flames dance in his eyes for the briefest of moments. My keys are pressing into his gut in the next second. He grabs my hand but doesn’t squeeze. “Are you lost?”

  “Define lost.”

  He smirks. “I’d say you’ve found your place in this world, and it’s not here. So why are you walking around in these parts?”

  “I’m looking for answers. My old shrink has them. He’s going to give it to me straight, or I’ll expose the sham of a practice he’s running out of the coffee shop down there.” The truth spills out, coaxed free by the man looking into my soul.

  He peers over his shoulder, then slowly turns back to me. “Answers mean jack shit. Don’t change anything. Doesn’t make anything better. Sure won’t make the nightmares go away. Stubbornness is the only thing that’ll keep your demon at bay.”

  “Who are you?” Though I know what he is—someone like me. A shaman. The black flames are our calling card. At least, that’s the common factor I’ve picked up on.

  “A friend, another patient of your shrink, some random homeless guy—doesn’t matter, but I’ll give you a piece of advice, if you want it.”

  I nod, more curious to hear what he has to say than to question why he stopped me in the first place.

  “If you can’t escape hell, make it your bitch.” He releases me and steps back. “And screw everyone who says the damned can’t find their way out of the darkness. That’s what candles are for.”

  The vivid memory of the piece of Kade’s soul cutting through the shadows in my soul returns and offers me a hope I hadn’t wanted to grasp. The fear of losing his light as I do each time I’ve reached for the rays of the moon in my dreams kept the hope at bay. In this moment, I reach for it. Thanks to this shaman. “What’s your name?”

  He turns and walks away, but his voice drifts to me, a whispered reply I hear in my ear. “Bryon.”

  I stare at him until he turns the corner, then jog to the coffee shop and slip inside. Soft music and an empty room greet me. Not a single patron in sight. Honestly, I can’t remember ever seeing anyone enjoying their java or any of the pastries on display behind the glass cases.

  On a slow pivot, I take in the coffee shop’s windows, display counter, tables, and the closed wooden door between two large potted plants. There’s no sign indicating a psychiatrist’s practice is located here either.

  A gray-haired woman pushes through café-style swinging doors from the kitchen and pulls out an old-time coffee grinder and a metal container with the word coffee embossed on it. She sets both items on the counter then glances my way. “Jeremiah is waiting for you, Ms. Conway. Go ahead in. I’ll bring some freshly brewed coffee to the two of you in a few.”

  “You remember me?” It’s less creepy to ask that than to question how Dr. Fairchild knows I was going to show up here. I didn’t call. I just remembered this was his open office hours morning, a time he set aside for all his patients to come and visit if they ever needed to talk.

  “Of course.” Wrinkles ripple over her aged face as if her smile was a pebble tossed into a still lake. “Kindred always remember each other.”

  “Kindred?”

  “Those of us who carry battle scars.” She presses a balled fist to her chest. “Here. Mistakes that’ll follow us for life unless we let them eat us up and release us. I’m too stubborn for that. I knew you were too, the moment I laid eyes on you.”

  Mistakes. Yeah, I’ve had my share. I won’t make any more. That includes allowing this woman to distract me. The less time I spend off Alexander pride lands, the better. I won’t prove Kade wrong by getting myself killed or kidnapped. He’s trusting me to stay safe…to be his queen. I can’t deny how very much that title appeals to me even as I struggle with my emotions and the past.

  I motion to the coffee grinder with a jerk of my chin. “Don’t bother bringing us any coffee. I won’t be staying long.”

  “Then I’ll have a cup waiting to take with you.”

  “Thank you.” I approach the door, determination in my steps. It’s time to remember everything.

  “Zoe?”

  At the woman’s gentle tone, I stop with my hand on the door. “Yeah?”

  “Can I give you a piece of advice?”


  Apparently, today’s the day for random strangers to put their two cents into my life. “Sure.”

  “Nightmares lie. The only escape from Hell is through death. Yours or someone else’s.”

  “Then it’s a good thing I don’t plan on dying.” I open the door and enter the warm, elegant office where I spent so many hours, some of which are merely a blur of memories.

  The crackling fireplace beckons me. I don’t fight the lure to get closer to the hearth. There’s nothing better to chase off the chill of walking through the streets of Charleston than soaking in the warmth of angry flames leaping and popping and devouring the logs sacrificed to them.

  With my focus on the fireplace, I stride across the room and sit in the high-backed leather chair positioned cattycorner to the grate. Then and only then do I look across the room to where Dr. Jeremiah Fairchild is seated behind a gleaming dark wood desk.

  He tugs the desk lamp’s metal chain. Light brightens the green glass shade, illuminating the desk’s surface and casting a soft glow over his features. His sandy-blond hair sports a few streaks of gray and his full beard is peppered with white. Not a shifter, then. He’s aging too fast to even be a single shifter. They live hundreds of years to the measly few decades humans get.

  “Welcome, Ms. Conway.” He grabs the wire-rim nosepiece and sets the nostalgic professor-style glasses on the ancient book in front of him. “I haven’t seen you in ages.”

  “I’ve been busy.” Running from the past and following Dr. Fairchild’s order to forget.

  “Young people often are.” He links his fingers and scrutinizes me, narrowing his eyes and leaving me with the impression he can see into my soul. “What brings you back here?”

  “I’m a shaman.” No use pretending like there’s not a big pink elephant in the room we can both see. “You knew that back when you started my therapy.”

  “Of course.”

  “Vince told you, didn’t he? Or whichever member of his pride that secured your services?”