The Mammoth Book of Paranormal Romance 2

by Trisha Telep

  Walker shoved his hands into his pockets. “She was killed last week. I’m very sorry.”

  Maybe she truly was a woman of ice, with a heart long since frozen beyond melting, for the words stirred nothing but gentle regret and guilty relief. Perhaps surprise that it had taken so long – the madness that claimed most Seers had started its work on Tatienne’s mind a decade earlier, when she’d looked on her only daughter and had seen nothing but a rival.

  Walker’s face mirrored her guilt, but there was nothing relieved about it. “That’s not the only reason I came.”

  Of course not. Seers were the most powerful creatures to walk the earth – when had the death of one ever come without pain and trouble for those left in the rubble of their broken lives? “Tell me.”

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Is there someplace we can talk?”

  She could take him next door, to the coffee shop, but she imagined nothing he had to say could be said in the presence of humans. Bringing him to her home was too trusting, too intimate – but denying him felt like cowardice.

  Pride had always been her folly. “Come upstairs. I’ll make you some coffee.”

  Walker had thought that nothing about Zola’s present life could shock him. She’d always been a free spirit, and he’d had to acknowledge at the outset of his search that he had no idea where or how he’d find her, which was predictable in its own way. But the one thing he hadn’t seen coming was that she might have run back to New Orleans. “I didn’t expect you to be in Louisiana.”

  No one who didn’t know her would have noticed the tiny flinch, the way her shoulders tensed up and squared, a telling defensive gesture. “New Orleans is a good place for a cat. The wolves ignore me.”

  “I know.” He’d grown up in the bayou, south of the city. “I guess all the stories about my old stomping ground made it sound irresistible.”

  The coffee cup she’d pulled from the cupboard smashed into the counter hard enough to fracture, and she hissed her frustration. “I didn’t come here because of you,” she said stiffly as she shoved the cup aside and reached for another. “And why I am here is irrelevant. Why are you here?”

  Easy enough to answer, and it still might get him kicked out of her apartment. “I need your help.”

  Zola didn’t seem surprised. “Yes, Seers rarely die quiet deaths. I suppose she left a mess behind?”

  That was one way to put it. “Tatienne ran into some trouble with a mercenary group in Portugal. It was bad.”

  “How bad?”

  “Bad enough for them to follow us.” Bad enough for them to kill most of the pride.

  She turned slowly, eyes narrowed, face tight. “Why me? Why throw yourself on my mercy when not one of you had a sliver of compassion in your hearts when she drove me out? I am not a martyr, not for any man. Not even for you.”

  Yes, she would assume no one had cared, because the truth was an unthinkable horror, one he would never reveal to her if he could help it. “I cared, Zola. You have to know I did.”

  “Maybe.” She turned again, gave him her back – this time in a clear show of disrespect. “Maybe not enough.”

  There was nothing to say, no soothing words to offer. “The pride is mine – what’s left of it, anyway – and all I want to do is keep them alive. Keep them safe.”

  “You want to move them here?” Disbelief painted the words. She spun to face him, and her fingers twitched toward her palm, a warning sign that her temper burned hot. Ten years ago she would have followed through, formed a fist and struck him. Her passions had always ridden close to the surface, but maturity had clearly tempered them with restraint.

  “New Orleans is the safest place,” he told her calmly. “Surely a half-dozen lions who only want to keep to themselves won’t get in your way.”

  “Oh, are we civilized now? Are we human?” She abandoned the coffee she’d poured for him and stalked across the hardwood floor to slam a hand on the table next to him. Then she leaned into his space, filling the air with the angry sizzle of a shapeshifter challenge. “I will not be forced from my home again.”

  Keeping a leash on his own reaction cost him dearly. There were few ways to react to such a challenge, and they all ended in violence or sex – neither of which was an option, not if they both wanted to keep their heads on straight. “I’m the only one left, Zola. The only one who stood by while Tatienne drove you out. And I’ll – I’ll leave as soon as the rest of the pride is settled.”

  She recoiled, leaving only the lingering scent of her skin. “You’re asking me to lead.”

  A frisson of irritation made him grit his teeth. “Those are your options, Zola. Lead or follow. You can’t stay alone in your territory forever.”

  “I don’t—” She bit off the words and paced away from him, leashed energy vibrating with every step. “You haven’t told me enough. Why do you need to come here? Why are there only a half-dozen of you left? My mother had more followers than all of the lions in this country combined.”

  The truth was uncomfortable because, willing or not, he’d been a party to it. “She did, and now they’re all dead.”

  She reached the far wall and pivoted, meeting his gaze across the space that separated them. “Are you still being hunted?”

  “Yes.” Walker waved to the other end of the sofa. “Sit down, and I’ll explain everything.”

  Two

  Zola did the only thing she could. She sat.

  A half-dozen lions. At its height, her mother’s pride had numbered in the forties, lions from every continent flocking to kneel at the feet of the generation’s only lion Seer. To imagine that strength reduced to just a handful – and all strangers. No one would look at her and see a vulnerable girl.

  Perhaps she could lead them after all. If she had to. “Was it my mother’s madness?”

  “I don’t think so, not at first.” Walker sipped his coffee. “There were a lot of mouths to feed, and the pride needed money. Tatienne said lions made the best warriors, the fiercest, so she started looking for underground fights.”

  Bloodsport. Not the same as a clean challenge, not when magical cheats were common and death was all but guaranteed to anyone who fought long enough. It was madness, no matter what Walker claimed.

  Worse was knowing whose fighting skills she would have bartered first. “You fought?”

  “Yeah. Mixed martial arts stuff, but only the invitationals for supernaturals. I’m not a cheat. Some of the others weren’t so picky.”

  So they’d died. But surely not so many, so quickly. “And after the fights?”

  “Your mother found other kinds of work, mercenary stuff.” Walker glanced at her, his eyes tight with shame. “Mostly body-guarding or lift jobs, sometimes intimidation. She sent a couple of the newer guys out once for what I was pretty sure was a hit, but she knew better than to tell me so.”

  Morality had slipped from her mother’s grasp along with her sanity. Zola’s stomach knotted at the sheer disgrace of it. Unfair, perhaps – she could hardly be held responsible for the actions of the mother who’d driven her away – but she’d always cherished her memories of an earlier time. Of the woman whose mind hadn’t been consumed by magic, who had soothed a daughter’s childish hurts and taught her to be strong and fierce.

  But the Tatienne she’d known had died many years ago. “Why did you stay with her?”

  He didn’t deny that he’d wanted to leave. “By the time I realized how far gone she was, I couldn’t abandon the others.”

  “How far did it go?”

  “Too far.” He set his cup on the table with a clatter. “She was already dancing close to the edge, and Portugal was the last straw. She’d managed to move in on another group’s territory, was stealing their commissions. That got their attention, but what held it was Tatienne.”

  Walker hurt. His pain dug hooks into her heart, tore at the scabs of wounds she’d thought long since healed. Words of love hadn’t been the only kind they’d whispered o
n long nights in the desert. She could remember all too easily the way her chest had ached as her mother turned cold, how Walker had taken her in his arms and comforted her after each argument, each fight.

  Every one but the last, and that stood between them, a wall she couldn’t knock down. It wasn’t her place to touch his cheek or his hair, to give him that gift, that knowledge of belonging. All she could do was coax him to finish the story, though she could guess the end. “They targeted her because she was a Seer?”

  “They call themselves the Scions of Ma’at,” he answered. “They’re mercenaries who work in basic pair groups – a shifter and a spell caster. They train together, live together, you name it. Each pair is considered one entity. One fighter. They’re all about balance and order, and Tatienne’s nature offended that.”

  The name tugged at a memory, but it slipped away before she could grasp it. “But they’ve killed her. They’ve killed so many. Why are they still hunting you?”

  “Because they haven’t settled the score yet. We—” Walker rose and paced to the other side of the room. “We killed even more of them.”

  “And they seek vengeance?”

  “An eye for an eye,” he muttered grimly. “That’s their idea of balance. Of justice. Maybe they’re not wrong in theory, but the people I brought over had nothing to do with what happened.”

  And only six yet lived. “How many lives do they demand?”

  He turned and met her gaze. “All of them. All of us.”

  Her lips parted to give voice to the protest growing inside her, one born of instinct and ancient feelings, not logic. Years might have passed, but she remembered what it was like to feel the familiar press of his power and know he was hers.

  She shielded herself with logic. “Surely they’ll be cautious about chasing you into this country. The wolves’ Conclave might not always be efficient, but they can be ruthless against outsiders.”

  “I’d hoped as much,” he admitted, “but I can’t rely on the Scions’ willingness to shy away from enraging the wolves. For all I know, they don’t give a damn.”

  There was one way to find out, and it was probably the reason he’d come to her in the first place. “You want me to call Alec Jacobson.”

  “I hear he’s the one in charge around here.”

  “He’s the one in charge of the wolves.” A distinction Alec didn’t always understand, but one she had no intention of letting anyone forget.

  Walker scratched the back of his head in a familiar gesture. “Then he’s in charge, Zola. The wolves run the States, or have you forgotten?”

  He’d been gone a long time, long enough that he might not know how petty the leaders of the wolves had become. “The Conclave might unite against an outside enemy, but they’re weakened. Not what they were. As long as I don’t confront them, they do not try to rule me.”

  He shrugged. “Then I’ll leave it up to you. All I care about is getting the ball rolling. I need to make sure my people are safe.”

  “I’ll call Alec Jacobson.” A concession, but not as big as the one she was about to make. “You should stay here tonight.”

  Walker tilted his head to one side. “You don’t have to do that, Zola. I know it isn’t – I have a place to go. I’ll be fine.”

  She wouldn’t be. She couldn’t close her eyes to sleep, knowing he roamed the city and might disappear before she’d pried the truth from him. Before he’d given her the closure she deserved, the final balm to the heart he’d broken so long ago. “Stay. We have things to discuss. You owe me this, in exchange for my help.”

  Some of the tension faded from his stance. “Are you sure?”

  Zola couldn’t help but smile. “Sure that you owe me? Yes.”

  “Sure that you really want me to stay.”

  Yes. “You’re sleeping on the couch.”

  A slow smile curved his lips. “I expected nothing less.”

  The smile spoke of wicked confidence and lingering heat, evoking a strong enough reaction to drive her from the couch in search of her phone. Calling Alec would give her time to catch her breath, to find her balance. Perhaps time to fool herself into believing that she’d invited Walker to stay in search of closure, when the truth seemed so much more damning.

  Her rebellious heart wasn’t trying to close the chapter of her life dominated by Walker Gravois. It was trying to start a new one.

  Walker sat behind the dojo’s small front desk and fielded another inquiry about class schedules and rates. The phone had been ringing nonstop all morning, making it clear just how successful a business Zola had built for herself.

  But she needed help. There was a whole level between the ground studio and her apartment on the third floor, a single cavernous room where clients worked out or sparred between private lessons. Right now, it sat empty. Someone could be up there teaching a second class. And if she had someone working the desk—

  Knock it off, Gravois, he told himself firmly. It’s her business, not yours.

  A particularly enthusiastic kiai drew his attention back to the floor, where Zola ran herd over a dozen supernatural children. Most knelt in a ragged circle, fidgeting with the abundant energy of youth, while one tiny wolf with bouncing pigtails barrelled through taikyoku shodan so fast it looked like a blur instead of a kata.

  Separate classes for humans and supernaturals, another thing that had to complicate her scheduling. She definitely needed help, and he had to remember that he was the last person who should offer it.

  Zola murmured encouragement to the girl as she corrected the position of her arms, then watched her execute a few vigorous punches. “Better,” Zola said, raising her voice. Her gaze caught Walker’s across the room, and she smiled a little. “Up, all of you. Along the far wall.”

  One or two of the children groaned, but they still formed a staggered line against the mirrors. Zola moved to stand beside the desk and nodded. “Sprints. Thirty. Boys, then girls, then boys, then girls. Go!“

  The seven boys took off toward the far wall, the shapeshifters outdistancing the one child who sparked with magic instead of feral power. Zola turned her back on the spectacle and switched to French. “I cancelled my afternoon classes. When the little ones are gone, we’ll be able to concentrate.”

  “It’s a nice place, Zola.”

  Pride shone in her eyes. “Yes. My place. My home.”

  And he’d stumbled back into it. Guilt raked at him, and he had to force a smile. What if her involvement went beyond allowing him to use her contacts? If he’d brought his fight to her . . .

  He’d never survive if his mistakes hurt her.

  She read his turmoil in the fake smile. “I wasn’t helpless, even as a girl. Whatever comes, I’ll handle it.”

  He should have known he wouldn’t be able to fool her. “You shouldn’t have to. That part’s on me.”

  One dark eyebrow swept upwards. “You think I need your protection?”

  Careful, Walker. “I think it’s my responsibility if I bring my trouble to you.”

  “Only if you’re better at handling that trouble than I am.” She smiled in teasing challenge as the doorbell jingled, announcing the arrival of the first of the parents returning to retrieve their children. “Perhaps we’ll see later.”

  Definitely a challenge. “You looking to fight me?”

  “Just a friendly sparring. I’m sure we’ve both learned new tricks since the last time.”

  So many layers of meaning, even if Walker was fairly certain she’d meant the words innocently. “Can’t wait,” he murmured, lowering his gaze so she wouldn’t see the awareness there.

  Zola slipped away to resume watch over her charges, running them back and forth as more parents and guardians arrived, until the front of the dojo was crowded. More than one of the wolves cast curious glances his way, but no one approached him, not even when Zola sent the last of her students stampeding toward the exit.

  She closed the door and threw the deadbolt. “The children are my favourit
es. They haven’t learned to be afraid yet.”

  “But they’re aware.” They’d recognized him as out of place.

  “New Orleans is safer. Not safe.”

  Another thing that hadn’t changed in the years he’d been gone. “My half-brother still lives here.” Better to get that out there, to let her think it had influenced his decision to come back, even if it wasn’t true. After all, he hadn’t dragged his ass into John’s restaurant past closing time, asking for help.

  No. He had come to her.

  She brushed her fingers over the light switch, leaving the dojo lit only from the broken light slanting through the blinds on the front window. “Yes, I remember.” Her footsteps took her towards the stairs, as if she expected him to follow. “I enjoy his cooking.”

  Surely John would have said something if Zola had taken pains to introduce herself. “Have you met him?”

  “Of course.” She hesitated, then turned while balanced on the first step, putting her eyes level with his. “I told him only that I’d met you during my travels, and that I’d considered you a friend. He never indicated he knew otherwise.”

  Because his brother had never been a meddling bastard, and it was a dozen kinds of wrong for Walker to regret it now. “John’s the quiet type.”

  “Mmm. Some say the same of me.” A smile played at the corners of her lips. “So. Do we spar?”

  So that was what had her in such an all-fired hurry to get upstairs. Walker acquiesced with a shrug and one raised eyebrow. “If you think you can handle me.”

  Laughter was her only answer as she spun and launched herself up the stairs. He had to follow at a run, and barely ducked a swing when he made it into the open room above.

  He circled out of reach, keeping a sharp gaze on her centre of gravity. “That wasn’t quite fair, honey. Cheap shots are beneath you.”

  “No such thing.” Her weight rested nimbly on the balls of her feet, and she swayed a little, smiling. “Never start a fight you don’t intend to finish, no?”

  “The cardinal rule,” he agreed. “But you know dirty fighting exposes weakness.”

  “So does friendly banter.” She darted forward, a feint obvious enough to be easily avoided. “Play with me, Walker.”