Zola's Pride

Chapter 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 who would look on 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 bodyguarding 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 on 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 borne 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 pissing off 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 barreled 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 favorite. 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 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 toward 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 center 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.”

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 toward 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 disheveled clothing. Erasing 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 are knowing 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 toward 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. That 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.”