Moira Rogers: Zola's Pride

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.”

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.