by Moira Rogers
He braced his hands on the arms of the chair. “It’s common knowledge that my mother doesn’t support my business, and none of them know the first thing about horse breeding. It won’t be hard to convince them I need that money, and badly.”
“As long as you make them believe this is a union in name only, for selfish reasons. It’s the one thing I need you to promise me, Luciano. That you won’t ever give them reason to suspect your loyalties can’t be trusted. Your life depends on it, and so will my son’s.”
Nick rose, feeling a little dizzy. “I’m going to make some tea. You two…have a lot to talk about.”
Michelle was focused entirely on Luciano. “Thank you, Nicky.”
“You’re welcome.”
Neither of them really noticed when she left the room, and Nick walked just far enough across the foyer to make it out of earshot. Then she leaned her forehead against the wall and braced her hands on a table. Breathe. Just breathe.
The front door opened behind her, and her father’s voice drifted over her, low and gentle. “Luciano’s here?”
“In the sitting room with Michelle.” She forced herself to straighten and turn to face her father. “How’s Hoffman?”
“Fine. Once they stabilized him, he started healing.” He tilted his head toward the kitchen. “If your sister’s all right for the moment, I need to talk to you.”
“I was going to make some tea.”
The kitchen was deserted. The housekeeper had been absent all morning, and Mahalia had been keeping to herself. Nick had appreciated both, because she’d needed the time to help Michelle. “Did you give Mrs. Kelly the day off?”
“The morning. She wouldn’t accept the whole day.” A hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “She’s always been very fond of you both, and Aaron won her over eventually.”
If she stopped thinking of what came next, of all the practical things, she wouldn’t make it. Nick took a bracing breath as she filled the kettle. “What do we do about Coleman? You can’t challenge him. You’re the Alpha. It isn’t allowed.”
Her father’s low, angry growl filled the kitchen. “Don’t think I haven’t considered breaking that rule.”
“You can’t.” Michelle’s words came back to her. You can use their absurd customs against them. “We can’t afford to break tradition right now, not when they must feel like they owe me reparations for Coleman’s actions.”
“They won’t want to swallow it. If we give them any excuse to back down, they will.” His gaze shifted to the doorway, as if he could see Michelle. “Is Luciano here for the reason I think he is?”
“Michelle already asked if he’d—”
“Don’t like to interrupt.” Mahalia walked into the kitchen, her shoulders set in a tight, tense line. “I just got off the phone with Alec. His father called him.”
Her father’s eyes flashed annoyance, but he didn’t seem willing to order Mahalia from the room, though he would have had no such compunction had it been anyone else. “That’s to be expected. Alexander likes to tell himself his son wants to be involved.”
The older woman frowned at him. “If that was the news, it would have kept.” She turned to Nick. “He just put Derek Gabriel on a plane.”
Shock warred with relief, and Nick sagged against the counter. “Damn it. God damn it.”
“I notice he called after it was too late to stop him.”
Nick slammed the kettle on the stove. “Of course he did.” Because Alec, of all people, would know she’d have told Derek to stay home. Fear ripped through her, with panic hard on its heels. “I can’t be worried about this, Dad. On top of everything else, I can’t be worried that Derek is going to come here, not knowing what the hell is going on, and try to take on Coleman. I can’t.”
Her father laid a hand on her shoulder and glanced at Mahalia. “Did Alec say anything about Coleman?”
Mahalia leaned on the counter. “He said Derek could do it. He said he could beat him.”
“Interfering bastard.” Facing the man who’d killed Aaron herself wouldn’t have been this terrifying. “Derek’s only been a wolf for two years. Even if he knew how these things worked, it’d be dangerous.”
“It’s dangerous no matter what,” her father said quietly. “You know that I don’t hold with the sexism prevalent in our society, but some things can’t be equalized. I don’t care how fast you are, Nicole. You’re half Coleman’s size, and you don’t have the sort of training it would take to overcome that. You can’t fight him.”
“So I should throw Derek at him?” she asked dully. “I’d rather let Ochoa or Hoffman take him. I’d rather let him rot in a Conclave cell for the rest of his life.”
“Be prepared for what that means, then. It would undermine us. Make us look weak.”
“I don’t care.” Even as she spoke, she knew it was a lie. She cared, because Coleman had stolen part of her family. Her pack.
Her father had always been able to read people. “Tell me honestly, what do your instincts demand?”
Retribution. Blood. “I have to—to talk to him. I have to make sure he knows what it would mean.”
Her father looked more tired than she’d ever seen him. “I’ll find a way, Nicole, if I have to. My children have suffered enough.”
There was no other way, and her father knew that. “I just need to see Derek.”
If he hadn’t seen Mahalia on the sidewalk, Derek might have convinced himself the cab had brought him to the wrong place.
He passed several crisp bills through the divider window to the cabbie and climbed out. He hefted his small carry-on as his gaze traveled up. And up. And up.
It didn’t take a knowledge of architecture to see that anyone who occupied the penthouse in a building this lavish had the money to buy and sell him a hundred times over. For one breathless second, he forgot about supernatural politics and death and fate and fought a rush of inadequacy that came from remembering the love of his life was an honest-to-God heiress.
“Stand like that for too long, you’ll get a crick in your neck.”
Derek jerked his attention back to Mahalia with a self-conscious smile. “You suck at quitting smoking.”
“With the week I’ve had, no shit.” She crushed out the cigarette and reached for his hand. “We need to have quite a talk, but we can do it in the elevator on the way up. Does that blow your mind, or what?”
“Mahalia, my mind’s been blown for a couple weeks.” Her hand was small, almost delicate, but something about her grip was comforting all on its own. Maybe because he’d trusted Mahalia since the first time a nineteen-year-old Kat had dragged him into the bar Nick would eventually own and proved the supernatural community wasn’t all bad.
He’d been human then. Still young, still stupid. A whole lot’s changed since then. “Tell me what’s going on, because Alec’s version sounded like a battle plan.”
She snorted and lowered her voice. “One of the Conclave members murdered Aaron, and now the Peytons have to get their pound of flesh. I was hoping you’d understand, because I sure as hell don’t.”
Alec’s terse instructions had been to the point and starkly terrifying. “I think it’s an honor thing. Pistols at dawn and the whole damn outdated shebang. They can’t let the insult lie, but tradition states the Alpha is above challenges unless they’re formal ones for his place on the Conclave. Alec said that if they break tradition, they’ll lose all the leverage they have to keep Michelle and her kid alive.”
The doorman pulled open the door, and Mahalia shook her head as she walked into the lobby. “It’s archaic, honey. You sure you want to be a part of it?”
He didn’t, but it didn’t matter, not while Nick was a part of it. “What are you still doing here?”
She cast him a sharp look and called the elevator. “I don’t run out on people who need me. But I’m not going to be nec
k-deep in their politics, either.”
Derek turned it into a joke because he didn’t know what else to do. “Don’t worry. You’re short. Neck-deep for you should be just past my elbows.”
“Smartass.”
“I’m trying to cope.” He swallowed as the lights flickered on the display above the elevator, marking its progress up the impossibly tall building. “How is she? How are they?”
“Michelle’s in hell. Nicole…” She blinked hard and stared straight ahead. “Nicole needs you.”
The anxious animal pacing inside him agreed. “I’m here. I’m all in, May. They may not want me in the game, but I don’t care anymore.”
The elevator hit the top floor. “I don’t think it matters, Derek. I’m not an expert, but I think we’re in uncharted waters.”
The doors slid open onto a private hall decorated in rich tones of crimson and gold. It wouldn’t have been so bad if the wealth had been ostentatious or gaudy, but Derek knew just enough to understand that understated, effortless elegance wasn’t effortless at all.
He was still wearing the faded jeans and T-shirt he’d had on when Alec had shown up. His hiking boots fell heavy on the spotless, polished hardwood floors, and he caught a glimpse of his reflection in a gorgeous antique mirror, his tired features overwhelmed by what had been a five o’clock shadow two days ago and mussed hair that badly needed trimming. He didn’t belong here.
Too fucking bad.
Nick’s father pulled open the heavy oak door before they reached it. He’d looked worried when Derek had first seen him in New Orleans. Now, he looked twenty years older. “Gabriel.”
Manners, Derek. He didn’t know who that silent voice in his head belonged to, but it offered sound advice. “Mr. Peyton.”
He stepped aside, his expression inscrutable. “Nicole’s in the kitchen.”
Not exactly an open-armed greeting, but he hadn’t been expecting one. The fact that the Alpha wasn’t wrestling him back into the elevator was as close to approval as he was likely to get. He should consider himself blessed and get to the kitchen. To Nick.
Of course, finding the kitchen on his own was another problem.
He didn’t have to. Nick appeared in a doorway off to his left and froze. She stood there for a few seconds, her face pale and eyes red-rimmed, just looking at him. Then she breathed a sob and hurried across the foyer, past her father and Mahalia.
He dropped his bag a second before she launched herself at him. It didn’t matter anymore that John Peyton, Alpha of the fucking United States, was standing there eyeing him with what had to be disapproval. It didn’t matter that he felt grungy and out of place in a house so far out of his league it made the moon seem within reach.
She mattered. Derek closed his arms around her body and dragged her against him, his heart aching at the way she trembled. Nick had always been small, but for the first time she felt fragile. The last week had broken something inside her, and it made him want to scream.
Later. He buried his face in her hair and whispered her name.
“They killed him.” Her voice was small and muffled. “It was Coleman, but they all did it. They’re all responsible.”
“I’m sorry, honey.” Useless words, but all he had. “I’ll help you with whatever you need to do. Anything.”
“I know.” She pulled back at the sound of footsteps retreating, leaving them alone in the foyer. “Come on. Get your bag and I’ll take you to our—to your room.”
He lifted the bag without taking his gaze from hers. “I missed you. I missed you so damn much, Nick.”
Her hand still rested in his, and he felt the tremor that ran through her. “I…” She shook her head and pulled him down a hallway. She didn’t stop until they reached the last door, and he almost stumbled when she yanked him through it.
It was her room. Framed family pictures and black-and-white photos of the city plastered the walls, and it felt the same as her house back home, cluttered and eclectic and warm.
Derek barely had time to drop his bag again before Nick was back in his arms. “I missed you too. I love you.”
He lifted her this time, clear off the floor, and stumbled back. He hit the door, slamming it shut behind them with a noise he barely noticed because Nick was against him, in his arms, and all he could think about was kissing her.
So he did, covering her mouth with a low groan and kissing her with a desperation that wasn’t even about sex. He needed her to be safe and close and happy. Needed her to be his.
He needed to be hers.
Nick clung to him, her fingers threaded through his hair, and whispered words against his mouth. “I don’t care what happens, I’m not letting go again. I can’t.”
The words were everything he needed and, for the next few heartbeats, the world ceased to exist. The harsh, cruel world of prejudice and politics, sexism and violence—everything faded away in one moment of blissful fucking perfection.
Chemistry, magic, love—it didn’t matter what it was, just that it felt like he’d spent the last two years struggling against the current only to let go. Peace settled over him as he kissed her again, savoring the softness of her lips and the warmth of her body.
Her mouth left his to trail over his cheeks and jaw. “I need you, but I’m scared, baby. I know why Alec sent you.”
Derek curled his hands in her hair and urged her head back. “First things first, Nicole Peyton. Alec didn’t send me anywhere.”
“You mean that.” Her eyes blazed with something hot and primitive, something that stirred the wolf inside him. “You came for me.”
“Damn right I did.” Now that they were together, she didn’t feel fragile. She felt strong, dangerous, the dominant magic inside her an equal for his own. Together, they could do whatever they needed to. “I don’t give a shit if things are dangerous. You’re not dealing with it alone.” Never.
Her small hands framed his face, and she kissed him again. “Thank you for being here.”
“No place else to be, Nick.”
Doubt and then a fierce protectiveness flashed across her features. “We need to talk to my father.”
He’d come here prepared to kill a man for her if he had to. It didn’t say much about him that facing her father seemed more daunting. Or it says something about her father. “He’s not going to love me, Nick. It’s okay. He doesn’t need to, as long as you do.”
“That doesn’t mean I’m going to let him treat you badly.” Her jaw tensed. “No way.”
Alec had told him not to waste time worrying about earning the Conclave’s respect. Nothing he could do would matter, because he wasn’t one of them. And that included Nick’s father.
But Nick seemed determined, and he couldn’t bring himself to deny her that hope. “Okay, sweetie. You’re the boss.”
Nick kept her hand wrapped tightly around Derek’s as they stepped into the kitchen. Her father and Mahalia were side by side at the counter, chopping vegetables and speaking in low tones. “Dad?”
His gaze snagged on their joined hands for a moment before it reached her face. “Yes?”
“We need to talk.” She pulled out a stool beside the island and sat. “Figure out what to do about Coleman, and what comes after.”
Her father nodded and set down his knife to brace both large hands on the counter. “First off, tell me if you knew what your sister had planned.”
“I knew when she asked Luciano if he’d marry her.” She rubbed her thumb over Derek’s hand. “She didn’t consult me beforehand, if that’s what you want to know.”
Derek’s fingers tightened around hers, but he stayed silent as her father frowned. “She didn’t consult anyone, and that’s not like her. If it’s because she needs to take control, that’s one thing, but I’m worried about her making impulsive decisions out of grief and desperation.”
Mahalia shook
her head as she began to chop broccoli into a colander. “I’d bet anything it’s the former, John. I’ve seen people crazy with grief, and Michelle’s not that. If anything, she’s locked down.”
The description brought a sick feeling to Nick’s stomach. “She said she needed to decide for herself. To do something about her future instead of just letting everyone else handle it.”
“But Luciano…” He trailed off as his gaze flickered to Derek.
Derek didn’t flinch. “Luciano cares about her, and that makes it a sticky situation.”
They didn’t have the luxury of taking too much care with Luciano’s feelings. “Even if he winds up with a broken heart, he’d count it as a small price to pay for Michelle’s safety. He can guarantee that, Dad. You know he can. Hoffman and Ochoa are just dying to shut Enrica out after this whole mess.”
“As if they would have done any better.” He straightened, rising to his full, impressive height. “They’ll use this as an excuse to say women don’t belong in positions to power. To keep you off the Conclave.”
It was the moment of truth. Nick met his stare. “It kills me that they’ll take this and twist it into some misogynistic bullshit. But personally? I don’t care if they shut me out. It’s not for me. It never has been.”
For the first time in her life, the words didn’t bring a disapproving look from her father. He studied her in silence, that tired, worn expression worse than ever, and nodded. “I understand.”
It seemed too easy, and it scared her. Before this whole fiasco, her father wouldn’t have hesitated to try to convince her, to sing the praises of leadership and its rewards. That he didn’t try now spoke more loudly than his words. “Do you understand? Really?”
“I wanted to change our world for you and your sister. I wanted to make us civilized. Maybe we’re not as ready for it as I’d hoped, and I’m through making you pay the price for that.”