by Moira Rogers
She led the woman up the porch steps and through the front door, trying to ignore the way Geraldine’s gaze seemed to linger on the beat-up furniture and bare walls. “The kitchen is just through here.”
“I see.” Though disapproval flavored the words, so did sadness. “He hasn’t made much of a home for himself, has he?”
For Alec, his house had been a place reserved for the times when he had nowhere else to go. “He hasn’t had much of a reason to.”
“I hope you give him one.” The older woman folded her hands together and gave Carmen a serious look. “I know you’re an empath. I won’t pretend that I don’t have ambitions for my son. I want to see him achieve his potential. I want to see him take the power he deserves. But I’ve never wanted him to be unhappy.”
“And when those ambitions run counter to his happiness?”
“Sometimes they will. The strongest among us make sacrifices. We should, because we get absolute loyalty in return.”
The loyalty they garnered was anything but absolute, and most of them were too much like Carmen’s uncle—ready and eager to abuse what they did get. “If you’re looking to me as an ally, I should tell you right now that I will never encourage Alec to do anything that goes against his conscience or his values. It’s just not going to happen.”
Geraldine smiled. “You’re not weak-willed. That’s good. I don’t need an ally, but he will. I imagine sometimes you’ll rather hate me, but I was born a Parker, just like the Alpha’s late wife. My mother was an Ochoa. Leadership and power is in my blood, and in my son’s.”
It would be easy, maybe even satisfying in a petty way, to inform her that Alec wasn’t interested in doing things the old way, that he didn’t believe a good leader’s abilities had to be intrinsically tied to his heritage. But there was no victory in it, nothing to be gained. Perhaps this woman had done the best she could, and perhaps power was simply the only thing that mattered to her.
It made no difference either way. Alec wouldn’t be fighting to bring down people like his parents—doing so would result in little more than chaos. Change would come slowly, born of struggle and difficulty.
But change would come.
It allowed Carmen to return the woman’s smile. “I can’t think of anyone who would do a better job than your son.”
“Then we are allies, whether you believe it or not. In that, at least.” Her gaze drifted around the kitchen and dining room, a tiny wrinkle appearing on her otherwise perfect forehead. “You’ll undoubtedly be busy with plans for the wedding, not to mention finding a place in New York. Perhaps you’ll let me hire someone to take care of the house here. A Conclave member really should have a home fit for entertaining.”
So many assumptions, it was difficult to know where to begin. Carmen took a deep breath and retrieved the coffee from the cupboard. “Actually, I’m going to handle that myself. But, if you have the time… I’ll admit I could use some help with the wedding plans.”
“I know just the person. I’ll make a few calls. Take care of everything.”
Allowing Geraldine control of one day out of a lifetime was palatable. Allowing her to decorate their home wasn’t. “I understand we’ll be expected to stage quite the party.”
“For a Conclave member?” The woman’s smile widened. “Oh, it will be the wedding of the decade.”
On second thought, palatable might be too generous. Still, she and Alec could stand it, and they’d plan their own honeymoon, assuming they had time for one. Someplace quiet, peaceful, with no one but them for miles in any given direction.
Walker Gravois was tall, dark and arguably one of the most dangerous men in New Orleans. He’d have to be, to keep up with Zola, but the lion had a further edge, one Alec recognized all too well from a decade ago—the alertness of a man accustomed to fighting for his life.
They’d all need that edge soon enough.
Alec stood next to Walker in Zola’s second-floor practice area, watching Andrew and Julio take swings at each other under Zola’s watchful eye. Andrew was damn near half a foot taller than Julio, but Carmen’s brother was built like a brick wall—solid muscle and unrelenting strength. Alec had seen him take more than one punch that would have laid anyone else in the room flat out, but Julio seemed capable of shaking off just about anything.
“Mendoza’s a tank.” Walker’s lazy words still carried more than a hint of bayou accent. “But his head would be rolling right now if Andrew wasn’t pulling his punches.”
Because Andrew knew where to punch, and when. Instinct, training—something had clicked in the younger man’s head, unleashing a formidable fighter. “This is half a year as a shapeshifter. Imagine how scary he’ll be in another year or two.”
“Don’t really want to.” Walker grinned. “One more reason to keep on his good side.”
It helped with one of the nagging worries about what would come with the challenge tomorrow. “I’m glad I’m not sending him out to get his ass handed to him.”
The lion sobered. “Still might not be an easy fight. I heard some stuff about Hughes. Real nasty shit.”
“Never thought it would be easy. I just need to know Andrew has a chance.”
“Oh, plenty, provided he can hold it together in an actual fight.”
Julio ducked a swing and backed away with a snort. “We can hear the deconstruction. It’s very uplifting.”
Alec had no sympathy. “You’ll hear a whole hell of a lot worse during an actual challenge. At least we want to see your punk asses make it through in one piece.”
Andrew kept coming, and this time Julio landed a punch to his gut. It wasn’t enough to stop him, but it gave him pause. Julio danced back, panting. “I think Callaghan’s ready.”
“What about you, Julio? You feel ready?”
“Why wouldn’t I be? Y’all left me the easy one.”
“Don’t get cocky, kid.” Alec took a step forward and snapped to get Andrew’s attention. “Enough. You need to be fresh for tomorrow.”
Andrew growled and spun away, flexing his shoulders, his breathing so deep and rhythmic it had to be a conscious effort to calm himself.
Zola slashed a disapproving look at Alec, moved to Andrew’s side and murmured something too soft to hear. Then she raised her voice. “Julio, with me.”
She disappeared down the stairs with the two of them, leaving Alec alone with Walker, who asked, “Got time for a serious question?”
He should have seen it coming. Anyone who had the slightest interest in the power structure of New Orleans had found a chance to speak to him over the past week, starting with his father’s awkward attempts at reconciliation. No one knew if he was going to win, but they knew they’d better be prepared.
Walker was more straightforward than most, and Alec appreciated it. “Worried about the new world order and where the lions fit into it?”
“You hold my marker, mine and Zola’s.” Walker nodded slowly. “Just wondering if you plan to do anything with it once you snag this spot you’re after.”
Alec hadn’t allowed himself to envision a world beyond Friday—not yet. “Whatever I do, we’ll all figure it out together. The rest of the country may not be ready for it, but it’s about time the wolves in New Orleans started playing friendly with everyone else.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” He offered his hand. “Good luck.”
Clasping the lion’s hand, Alec could only hope he wouldn’t need it.
Chapter Twenty-One
Carmen recognized the clearing behind Alec’s house instantly. The place where he’d chased her, caught her.
Kissed her.
Now, people milled about, a dozen she knew and even more she didn’t. All here to bear witness to a fight that could end in death.
More than one death. Alec stood a few feet away in a loose circle with Andrew and Julio, their voices a low murmur. On the other side of them, Kat stood by Miguel, her face pale and miserable.
As more people filtered into the clea
ring, Alec broke away from the other wolves and strode to Carmen’s side. “How you holding up, sweetheart?”
She had her empathy locked down, everything and everyone shut out, even Alec. “I’m fine, I’m—” At this point, only a resolution would make her feel better. “Jorge Ochoa just accosted me and said he’s always admired me. What is that all about?”
“Sucking up.” Alec slid an arm around her waist and tugged her close. “It’s good. It means he’s sure I’m going to win.”
Most of the gathered throng seemed to be, perhaps because they sensed Cesar only fought because he had no face-saving alternative. “Be careful. Promise me you will be.”
“You know it.” Heedless of the crowd, he leaned down and brushed his lips over her cheek. His voice lowered to a whisper. “I need you to do something. Something only you can do.”
“Anything.”
“When Andrew’s fighting, keep an eye on Kat.” His breath barely stirred her hair, but his body was tense against hers. “Empathically. If something happens to him, even if he’s just hurt… The last time she saw someone hurt him, she killed two men. Jackson can lock her down, but he needs to know if her empathy’s about to go nova.”
“I can ask her,” she murmured. “I’m sure she’ll want me to. She wouldn’t want to risk hurting everyone.”
“Don’t mention—” He broke off, pulled back and smiled down at her. “Who am I kidding? You know how to handle it, and you have no idea what a relief that is.”
“We’re in this together.” She caught sight of her father across the clearing and quickly averted her gaze. “Has anyone figured it out yet? The other challenges?”
“Not that I can tell.” His smile faded. “And we shouldn’t give them a chance. Everyone who matters is here. It’s time.”
Fear spiked, intense and unavoidable, but she knew her shields would hold it in. She stretched up to kiss his cheek. “You’re ready.”
“Because of you.” He turned his head and caught her mouth in a hard, hungry kiss that promised it wouldn’t be the last. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered against her lips, then turned and strode toward the center of the clearing.
Carmen released a breath on a shudder and ignored two people who looked like they might try to talk to her. Instead, she walked over and slid her hand into Kat’s. “Can I stand with you?”
“Yes.” Kat’s fingers closed around hers, so tight and desperate Carmen’s hand ached. Power prickled against her shields, the pressure of an empathic gift as angry as it was vast. Next to her, Kat shuddered. “I don’t know what’s worse. Watching, or not watching.”
“Not watching.” Imagination combined with ignorance, and the waiting… “Not watching would be worse.”
“Maybe.” Kat didn’t sound convinced.
Quiet fell around them as Alec reached the middle of the rough circle of onlookers. He stood there for a moment, letting tension mount, then pivoted and found Andrew in the crowd.
Andrew stepped out into the circle. He spoke low, but his voice carried through the shocked hush. “I challenge Drummond Hughes for his seat on the Southeast council.”
Shocked silence.
Kat’s grip grew impossibly tighter, her breathing too quick.
Alec had pointed out Drummond Hughes to Carmen. He was a lean, sharp-looking man, made of hard angles and rough edges. Disdainful brown eyes narrowed as his gaze flicked over Andrew and jerked to the Alpha. “You dragged me here to face a farce of a challenge from a mongrel bastard who was human last year?”
John Peyton’s blank expression didn’t change. “Even new wolves are afforded the right of challenge, Hughes.”
Hughes lifted a hand and jerked at his tie, but his gaze found Cesar’s. “If you and your bitch niece planned this little misdirection hoping to catch me off guard, you’re going to be fucking disappointed. I accept the challenge, but he doesn’t deserve a clean fight as a wolf. I’ll pound his human face in.”
He peeled off his shirt, revealing a number of tattoos and scars scattered over his rangy form. He’d fought before, and hard, the kinds of fights that went down in littered alleys and underground clubs. The kind where people died bloody, horrible deaths.
Andrew tossed aside his own shirt and kicked off his shoes. “Yield or die,” he said simply as he walked into the circle.
Frantic murmurs rose around the perimeter as Alec backed away, leaving the space to Hughes and Andrew. Kat’s breath whistled out between her teeth, and her nails pricked Carmen’s hand. Andrew’s name left her lips on a heartbroken whisper that no one else would hear.
Hughes growled menacingly, and Andrew didn’t blink. “Then we fight.”
“We fight,” Hughes agreed, stalking forward. He spat on the ground at Andrew’s feet and muttered something too low for Carmen to catch, his face alight with fierce anticipation.
Andrew’s hand shot up and closed around the man’s throat. He punched him in the face once, twice, then a third time. Hughes hung, limp and already bloody, dangling from the steely grip. “Yield.”
Silver flashed, so fast that only the glinting of the sun gave away the movement. Hughes had a switchblade in one hand, the other locked around Andrew’s wrist, clutching as he drove the knife toward Andrew’s side.
A quick headbutt startled Hughes enough to deflect the blow, and it sliced along Andrew’s side instead of digging deep. Kat gasped and clutched at Carmen as Andrew knocked the knife away and drove his fist into his opponent’s face one last time. The man dropped to the grass in a heap, unmoving.
Andrew turned to face the crowd, his gaze lingering on Kat. She stared back, her heart in her eyes and naked pain on her face.
A man Carmen didn’t recognize rushed to kneel by Hughes, and his face was ashen as he looked up at John Peyton. “He’s dead.”
The Alpha stared at the fallen council member for a moment, then seemed to shake himself. “Andrew Callaghan. What belonged to Drummond Hughes is now yours, by right of tradition.”
“I don’t want his stuff,” Andrew rasped. “Just the seat.”
A ripple of reaction ran through the crowd. Before it settled, before anyone could speak, Julio stepped forward. “I challenge Sam Hopkins for his seat on the Southeast council.”
Not silence, not this time. Outright pandemonium. Someone shouted a denial. Someone else cheered, a sound cut abruptly short when a middle-aged, slightly overweight man stepped out of a knot of suit-clad men to Carmen’s right. “This is outrageous. We were summoned to witness a challenge, not be challenged ourselves. This is outright duplicity.”
“Quiet!” The Alpha’s roar cut through the outrage. “There’s no law that prohibits this, nor are you guaranteed advance notice of a challenge. It stands. Now, will you answer it or forfeit?”
Hopkins sighed, as if tremendously put-upon. “I’ll answer it, of course. We’ll fight as wolves, if someone would clear the field.”
Several younger wolves hurried to do so as Julio began stripping out of his clothes, but he hesitated as he caught Carmen’s gaze. He looked grave, almost sad, and her heart thumped painfully.
She’d seen that look a hundred times before. Her mother had called it a Cassandra moment, when she’d had a prophetic vision or dream that spelled a doom she couldn’t share because doing so was useless.
Julio. There was no time to speak. The Alpha had already confirmed the challenge, and no one could stop it now.
Alec appeared at Carmen’s side, claiming the hand Kat wasn’t holding. “I think your uncle’s trying to convince himself that the challenge was a bluff,” he murmured. “That he’s getting out of this.”
It didn’t matter, not with that bleak look in Julio’s eyes. “Something’s wrong.”
He stiffened at her side. “What do you feel?”
“It’s hard to explain.” Hopkins had stripped down already, and now he knelt, shifting forms so quickly it was all a shimmering blur of magic. As a wolf he cut a menacing figure, large and powerful and absolutely vicio
us.
“Your brother’s survived plenty of challenges,” Alec said, his voice steady. Unwavering. “He can do this.”
Maybe she’d imagined it all, a product of her own nervousness and tension. “He can do this.”
Julio bent low and shifted too, though Hopkins barely waited until the magic settled before pouncing with a snarl. They rolled through the grass, jaws snapping, and Hopkins landed his first blow, a rake of claws across Julio’s snout. He yelped and bit, closing his teeth on the older wolf’s leg.
More snarling. The wolves twisted over and over, moving so fast that sometimes she couldn’t follow the fight at all. Julio was powerful, but Hopkins had cunning and experience. More than one feint turned into an attack, claws digging into Julio’s body again and again. Shallow cuts, but they were slowing him down.
One strong rush knocked Julio off his paws, and only a last-minute wrench of his body kept Hopkins’ teeth from sinking into his throat. They bit into his chest and shoulder instead, and Julio howled.
Closing her eyes wasn’t an option. Closing her eyes would mean she couldn’t watch what came next.
Julio struggled to stand. Hopkins aimed his next biting attack at Julio’s other front leg, and he didn’t even try to avoid it. Stunned, or maybe even going into shock—
A single loud roar, and Julio closed his massive jaws on the back of Hopkins’ neck.
Hopkins howled in pain. He shook. He twisted. Julio’s teeth dug deeper, until even Carmen could smell the blood in the air. The older wolf hit the ground, back legs kicking frantically, his paws scrabbling at the dirt.
A loud growl echoed through the clearing, followed by a loud crack. Hopkins twitched and fell still, and Julio slowly released him and stumbled back. Carmen breathed a sob of relief when he didn’t fall.
This time, the Alpha himself bent to check Hopkins, but stopped short at the sight of his glassy, lifeless eyes. “Julio Mendoza. What belonged to Sam Hopkins is now yours, by right of tradition.”
All hell broke loose.
Through the planning and the schemes, it still came down to this—bloodstained dirt and violence.