by Trisha Telep
He kicked off his shoes and rushed her once. Instead of meeting her straight on, he pushed off on her shoulder, using the momentum to spin them both around. She went with it, flowing into the turn so fast she whipped around in a tight circle and nearly struck his back.
He broke away and let her come at him, ready to pin down her technique. She didn’t have one; she had at least a dozen, drawing on elements from various martial arts so quickly, so fluidly, he could barely catalogue them.
There was more than a little capoeira influence in the way she moved, especially when she crouched to avoid a blow and immediately retaliated by bracing her weight on one arm and launching into a meia lua pulada. Her legs kicked through the air, spinning so fast they almost blurred, and he barely dodged.
Walker managed to get her on the mat, but she hooked her feet under his legs and threw him off immediately. He landed with a thump on the mat, and she sprang up in another flurry of kicks.
Walker rolled and swept her feet from under her. She went down again – barely – and he threw one leg over her and wrestled her wrists to the mat above her head. “Should we count it off?” he panted.
“I don’t submit,” she snarled, but something other than anger laced the words. Desire. Heat. A heat reflected in her eyes, in the way her body twisted beneath him, not so much testing as teasing. “It has been too long since I fought for survival. I am becoming soft.”
He only wished that were true, that she’d reached a point – found a place – where she could afford to let go a little. “You’re tough as nails and you know it, Zola. I’m just stronger, that’s all.” Stronger but stupid, because he couldn’t help responding to the soft press of her body.
“I’m faster. Speed should balance strength.” Her voice dropped to a husky whisper that invited him to test more than her strength. “It would have, too, if the lion didn’t wish to be caught. She does not have my pride.”
Blood thundered in his ears as sense memory overtook him. He’d had her under him like this before, a mostly innocent situation that had turned to painful awareness in a heartbeat. She had kissed him that time, the awkwardness of the advance eclipsed by her eagerness – and by his own desire.
Memory clashed with adrenaline and the feel of her body against his, and Walker’s dick hardened. He would have rolled away, but that hot invitation in her eyes kept him motionless. Riveted.
The world upended in a surge of sleek muscle. She moved fast, rolling them in a tangle of limbs that ended with her straddling his hips, hands planted on either side of his head. Echoes of that same memory were reflected in her eyes, along with wariness. “If you want that innocent girl, you won’t find her here. I’m a grown woman.”
He hadn’t wanted to want that innocent girl any more than he wished to complicate Zola’s life by desiring her now. “I know who you are.”
“No, you don’t.” She nuzzled the line of his jaw and back toward his ear, her cheek smooth against his face. Her breath blew warm over his earlobe just before her lips brushed his skin, an electric contact. “If you stayed, you could learn. All the things you used to know, and the things you never discovered.”
The most dangerous issue of all was how Walker wanted to respond to the sweet temptation of her offer. He could stay. He had—
No idea what the fuck is going to happen, he reminded himself coldly. He’d be risking her heart again if he promised something he couldn’t deliver, though his body didn’t care. It yearned towards her, desperate to augment his memories with a thousand things he’d never felt. “Zola.”
She closed her teeth on his throat with a purring growl.
Heat streaked through him, and Walker flipped her without thinking. He pinned her hips with his and almost returned the sharp, instinctive caress. Instead, his mouth descended on hers.
He hadn’t known he was going to kiss her until he did, his tongue parting her lips before slipping into her mouth. He’d missed this the most, but instead of trembling under him like she had all those years ago, she bit the tip of his tongue with a needy little snarl and kissed him like she’d forgotten how to do anything else, teeth and tongue and desperate gripping hands, pulling him closer.
They didn’t know each other anymore, but that could change in a moment. A heartbeat. And it would be all too easy to lose himself in her.
Walker tore his mouth from hers and struggled for control as he panted against her bare shoulder. “We have to stop this.”
“Alec will be here soon,” she said, and it might have sounded more like agreement if her body wasn’t still hot and pliant under his.
He rocked back to his knees, scrubbing both hands over his face. “Are you hungry?”
A rough knock sounded from below before she could answer, and Zola sighed and rolled away. “That will be him.”
Resenting the other man’s intrusion was ridiculous, especially since he’d only come to help. Walker rose, his body still painfully tight. “Later, we need to talk about this.”
“We’ll see.” She came to her feet in one graceful movement, hands already smoothing her dishevelled clothing. Trying to erase any visible sign that he’d touched her, though it would take days for his scent to fade from her skin.
It pleased him more than it should have.
Another impatient knock rattled the front door. Walker bounded down the stairs two at a time and dragged it open to find a tall, imposing wolf with dark hair, dark eyes and a dark scowl that faltered when he dragged in a deep breath.
Confusion flickered through his eyes, then he tilted his head, eyeing Walker with obvious appraisal. “So. I hear you’re John’s half-brother. Didn’t realize you were so friendly with Zola, too.”
He held out his hand. “We go way back. I’m Walker Gravois.”
“Alec Jacobson.” The wolf had a firm handshake, strong, but not overly aggressive. “Zola here?”
“Upstairs. She’ll be down in a second.”
“Ah.” A knowing little smile. “Can I at least come in? You and I can talk.”
“Yeah, sure.” Walker locked the door behind him and pulled the shade tighter. “Did you manage to reach the Southeast council?”
“Skipped them.” Alec leaned against the desk. “Got some hush-hush info from the Conclave instead. Your group – the Scions? They’ve already petitioned the Conclave for permission to extradite you.”
“I’m not surprised.” If he’d gone straight to Conclave sources, he had to be more connected than Walker had realized. “What about the rest of the pride?”
“They seem focused on you, for now. The Conclave . . .” Derision filled Alec’s voice. “Well, off the record? They’re spinning their wheels. Some of them want to hand you right over, and the rest don’t want to get involved at all, because it’s not a wolf matter. Right now, they’re looking for an excuse to say it isn’t their business.”
He’d already thought of it. “Like if the pride belonged to someone else. Someone who’d never crossed the Scions.”
“Like if the pride belonged to Zola.” Alec nodded shortly. “Here’s the deal, Gravois. The Conclave might order that we give you up, but they know we won’t. Not if Zola doesn’t want us to. New Orleans is pretty much off the grid right now, and the Conclave isn’t ready to force a confrontation. But they can’t exactly admit to your Scions that they’re so powerless that they can’t hand you over. So if they’ve got a reason to stay out of it – like Zola being in charge and you being one of her people now . . .”
“Then they’ll stay out of it.” Walker’s gaze drifted to the stairs. “The Scions will come anyway. For me, at least.”
“Does she know?”
“I told her they’re not going to give up.” Walker squared his shoulders and turned to face Alec. “I protected Tatienne when they came for her. She may have been nuts, but she was one of us. I killed a few of them, and now the Scions have a personal score to settle with me.”
The stairs creaked behind him, and he marked Zola’s passage easily
by the whisper of bare feet on hardwood. “I am hearing you both quite clearly,” she said when she reached the ground level.
Alec responded to her irritated tone with a lazy grin. “Never figured you couldn’t. Just catching your friend up on the lay of the land, darling.”
He addressed her with irritating familiarity, but it was the way Zola reacted to the endearment that made Walker grit his teeth. She stared at Alec, flat and hard. “Behave.”
The wolf raised both eyebrows in a clear What did I do? expression. Zola snorted and turned to Walker, speaking in French. “He’s testing you. He tests everyone. He seems to think it makes him very clever.” She looked to Alec and switched back to her deeply accented English. “We do not have time to play your wolf games, Alexander Jacobson.”
“You’re the one who’s always telling me that cats play better than wolves.”
“Yes, because cats know when play is appropriate.”
Alec held up both hands. “I told your man how things stand with the Conclave. If you take over the pride, the Conclave’ll tell the Scions to fuck off, and hell, they might even listen. The wolves have managed to keep it under wraps that they don’t quite have control of their pet Seer anymore, so most of the supernatural world’s still trembling in their boots.”
Walker had heard about Michelle Peyton, just like everyone else. The fact that she was the wolf alpha’s daughter had kept her alive when other Seers had been killed. “They’d better hope it stays that way, or she’ll become a target. The Scions think Seers are an abomination, and they’ll only stomach their existence as long as they’re under control.”
Alec pushed off the desk. “There’s not much else to tell. You two need to talk. If Zola wants to declare herself the leader, all she needs to do is call me. I’ll pass it on to the Conclave.”
“Thank you.” The words didn’t come easily. Having so little control over his eventual fate scared the hell out of Walker, and it made him unfairly pissy. “Thanks, I mean it.”
“Thank me by not stirring up too much trouble. We’re between crises.” He prowled towards the door with an easy arrogance that made Zola’s fingers tighten on Walker’s arm. “You two have a good afternoon.”
When he was gone, Zola blew out a breath. “I do not always care for him. He’s useful when there’s trouble, but the same traits that make him useful make him aggravating.”
She’d slipped into French again, and this time Walker followed her. “As long as he gets things done, right?”
“Perhaps.” She moved away from him and locked the door, then closed all the blinds, blocking out the early afternoon sun. “It is always about power with the wolves. Accepting their help is acknowledging their dominance. He knows I will do no such thing. So he plays his games, and I must play too. Tiring.”
“Seems like it might not be the only game he wants you to play.”
Zola’s lips curled into a tight, amused smile. “Yes, a fact that might be flattering if Alexander Jacobson were capable of keeping his pants on. I’m not interested in a man who falls into bed with a different woman every night.”
Her declaration would have been reassuring – if he’d been jealous. But Walker wasn’t stupid, and blind jealousy wasn’t an option when the scent of her skin lingered on him, and the memory of her body against his stirred arousal even now. “He’s not a lion – which helps me not want to punch him in the head.”
She laughed, warm and delighted. “Believe me. Prolonged exposure will make anyone want to hit him. Unless they want to sleep with him.” One dark eyebrow arched. “Do you?”
He pretended to consider it. “Tempting, but I’ll pass.”
Amusement glinted in her eyes as she tilted her head toward the stairs. “I can’t cook as well as your brother, but I’ll make do. Let’s have lunch . . . and talk.”
He folded his hand around hers. “That sounds good.”
Three
Lunch turned into a mess. Zola tried to remain casual while lion and woman fought a fierce battle inside her. Walker seemed willing to stick to safe topics, telling her about those who remained in the pride as she crashed about in the kitchen. She tried to listen, but her gaze caught too often on the strong line of his shoulders or the firm curve of his full lips. Desire had settled to a low simmer, one that flared at the most inopportune moments.
She burned their meal while imagining his hands on her skin, his mouth on her throat, his hard body between her legs. Even abandoning the meal and dragging him out to a local cafe didn’t help. With their future so uncertain, the lion judged every woman who smiled at him to be a threat, and Walker’s beautiful eyes and sharp cheekbones attracted a good deal of feminine appreciation.
Mate. Such a foolish word, one with which the wolves were endlessly obsessed. Her mother had not allowed formalized matings amongst the pride, too concerned that loyalty to a mate would supersede the loyalty she thought her due.
Mate. A foolish word, but one that plagued her, tickled her mind and wiggled under skin until tension had her strung tighter than the finest bow.
If she didn’t take Walker to bed soon, it might be the death of her sanity.
Assuming he’d accept such an invitation. That he wanted her was not in question. She’d felt proof of that fact hard and hot between her thighs on the practice room floor, so good she could have rocked up against him and driven herself to bliss without his assistance. But oh, how good his assistance would be . . .
Unfortunately, business could only wait so long. Zola showered while Walker made calls to wherever he’d stashed his people, some place in Mexico where a witch enhanced the spells woven into a charm Zola’s mother had given them. The last gift of her fractured mind, magic that hid their presence from the Scions.
Magic that wouldn’t last forever. Zola braided her hair and gathered her willpower. They’d spent precious hours circling. Stalking. Neither was ready to commit to the one conversation they needed to have.
It was time to stop playing.
Zola stepped from her bedroom and found Walker in the living room studying the framed photos on her walls. “You studied with DeSilva?”
“Four months.” Her gaze drifted over the rest of the wall, over a dozen framed photographs of her with her many teachers, some of her most prized possessions. She’d honed her craft under the greatest masters who would teach her, flitting from country to country for six years after her mother had driven her from her pride.
She stepped forwards and lifted her hand to brush the frame of a photograph of her standing next to a man who barely came to her shoulder. “I stayed longest in Okinawa. With Nakamura. He’s a psychic. Precognitive. Just a few seconds, but that’s all he needs. I’ve seen him take down shifters twice his size.”
Walker laughed. “You don’t need bulk when you know what the tank coming at you plans to do.”
Her preternatural speed had been of no use against Nakamura, who had left her with her fair share of humility – and a healthy respect for psychics and spell casters. “I’ve only been in New Orleans for a few years. It didn’t feel safe to settle in one place at first. I didn’t know if my mother might change her mind and come after me. Or if her enemies might.”
He didn’t argue with that. “Did you enjoy your travels?”
She gave him the truth, because she’d be demanding plenty of it from him soon enough. “Not at first. I was young. Scared. But my teachers gave me confidence, and I grew.”
His voice roughened. “You did all right.”
“Yes. I did.” No turning back now. She pivoted to face him, and worked to keep her voice even. “I will take your people under my protection. I will reform the pride. But, in return, you will tell me the truth.”
Walker stepped back, such a small movement that she wondered if he realized he’d done it. Retreat had never been in his nature, any more than it was in her own. Nor was the wariness in his voice. “The truth about what?”
Zola braced herself. “Why did you let her drive me away?
Why didn’t you follow me?”
She saw the moment he decided to tell her, and she knew it would be the truth. His eyes shadowed, and he sighed. “I couldn’t stop you, and I couldn’t follow you. Not without putting you in danger.”
“Because of my mother?”
“Because of your mother’s orders.”
She hadn’t realized hope still lived until it fluttered weakly in her chest. “What would she have done to you if you’d followed me?”
“Tatienne said that if any of us went with you, she’d have to assume we meant to start our own pride. A rival pride.” He met her gaze. “She would have killed you, Zola.”
Zola closed her eyes as pain rose, bringing the sharpness of memory with it. Tatienne as a younger woman, pale skin bronzed by the relentless sun, her auburn hair streaked with gold. Zola had inherited her colouring from her father, chocolate and twilight, but her mother had been all the colours of a desert sunset. Power had sung in her mother’s veins, but so had love. Love for her daughter, for her pride.
The Conclave’s Seer was heavily pregnant. Would sweet little Michelle Peyton lose the gentleness in her nature? Would the son she carried beneath her heart turn some day to find his mother had vanished, lost to the ravages of a power too great for one body to contain?
“Hey.” Walker urged her face up with gentle fingers under her chin. “I know it’s horrible. That’s why I promised myself I wouldn’t do this to you.”
Too late, she scented salt. Her cheeks were wet with traitorous tears, revealing the depth of her helpless vulnerability to the one man who’d always had the power to lay her heart bare.
She recoiled, stumbling back two steps before turning and scrubbing away all evidence of her lapse from her cheeks with two shaking hands. “She loved me once. She loved all of us. Whatever monster she became, whatever she did to the people she had sworn to protect – it is not our fault. It is no judgment on us. A Seer’s power consumes them.”
“That’s all true.” He cupped her shoulders, rubbed his cheek comfortingly against the top of her head. “Doesn’t mean it can’t hurt.”