by Moira Rogers
Ahead of them, Diane flipped on the ambulance’s siren, clearing a path. Alec frowned as he took the next corner. “Maybe Reed takes care of it.”
“No idea.”
It could be a measure of how far out of the supernatural loop Julio stayed—or an example of just how much Alec did in New Orleans in the absence of any official leadership. “I can’t even worry about any investigation right now,” Carmen whispered. “I only need them both to be okay.”
“I know, honey. I didn’t get a look at Franklin.” Tension threaded Alec’s voice, and true concern. “How bad is it?”
“His legs were broken. He’ll need surgery.”
Another soft curse. “I stay out of the clinic as much as I can. I don’t know who to call. Who we need.”
Neither would Wesley Dade, who had no doubt funded this other clinic, as well. “I know an orthopedic surgeon we can call. If it’s for Franklin, she’ll drop everything. There should be space where we can set up an OR, but I’ll have to make some calls, see if we can find a spell caster who can negate his healing while we work on him.”
“My phone’s in my pocket. Jackson’s on speed dial—number three. He’s got magical contacts. And he can round up Kat. Someone needs to track down Franklin’s kid, and Kat’s the one she’s most likely to listen to long enough to realize she needs to get her defiant little ass back to New Orleans.”
“Franklin gave me her number.” She reached into his pocket and retrieved his phone. “I can handle the call.”
Alec’s voice turned rough, tension bleeding through. “Don’t call Sera from my phone. Her prick of a husband will make them both disappear if he thinks anyone knows where they are.”
Her hand found his knee, seeking to soothe more than anything else. “I’ll do it in a little while, when I know what to tell her.”
“All right.” He glanced past her, at Julio. “You holding together?”
“It’s a scratch,” he answered simply. “I think it’s already knitting up.”
A quick check under the bandage revealed as much to Carmen. “I’ll still have to check it out.”
“Yeah, I know.” He went back to staring out the window.
Cold certainty settled over Carmen. “You knew, didn’t you?”
Julio grimaced. “Knew what?”
“What was going to happen.” More than anything, she remembered the fear that had paralyzed her. “When you got out of the car, it was because you knew.”
His skin had gone ashen. “Not soon enough,” he whispered, a small sound full of self-recrimination.
He’d seen it in time to stop her from walking up to the clinic doors. In her mind, she traced her steps, tried to judge how close she would have been to all that jagged, flying glass if Julio’s terror hadn’t frozen her in place. “I could have been killed.”
Alec’s low, furious growl rumbled through the cab as the truck lurched. He bit off an angry noise and steadied the vehicle. “Precognition?”
Her brother snorted. “You have no idea what I’d give to be rid of it sometimes.”
A familiar lamentation, one Carmen had heard from their mother dozens of times over the years. Even when her visions encompassed something she could change, a course she could alter, the lingering images had given her nightmares, sometimes for months.
Alec’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “I don’t want to ask this. I really don’t.”
Julio turned his head suddenly, his expression set, his gaze angry. “We were supposed to be at Cesar’s hotel. A meeting, me and Carmen, at eight sharp, not a second later. He said that—not a second later.”
A sob rose before Carmen fully processed his words. “What?”
Alec’s quiet, vicious curse cut through the cab. More alarming was the way his anger and worry circled inward, vanishing like water from a tub after someone pulled the drain. In moments, he was shut off from her. Quiet.
His voice was quiet too. “That’s it, then.”
“No.” Carmen repeated the denial, shaking her head. “Cesar wouldn’t have gone that far. Peyton could strip him of his council seat for something this careless, and you said it yourself, Alec. They won’t jeopardize their positions because they have too much to lose.”
“There’s one fatal flaw you’re missing in that equation. The one that got Noah Coleman killed and opened up this damn Conclave seat to begin with.”
“He’s not human, Car. None of us are.” Julio sounded as bleak as he was pissed off. “You can’t say Uncle Cesar wouldn’t have done it because he might have. If your boss challenged him enough, he could have completely lost it.”
Worse, Alec didn’t disagree. “We can plan. We can plot. We can have all the best fucking intentions in the world. If someone pushes the wrong button, none of it matters. We’re monsters when it counts.”
Any other time, Carmen would have tried to deny it. Now, she closed her eyes. “If Cesar did this, he’s going to pay.”
Alec’s steely façade cracked—just for a moment—and she felt the vastness of the rage gathering inside him. “I’ll add it to his bill.”
She wished she could feel more from Alec than blankness with the occasional flash of anger and pain. More than that, she didn’t want to face the fact that he’d pulled away from her again, or the possibility that this time he might have done so for good.
Chapter Seventeen
Nicole Peyton was five feet of snarly alpha wolf who looked nothing like her identical twin. Oh, on the surface Michelle and Nick shared similar features—big dark eyes, long brown hair and their mother’s slight stature—but Alec had never seen anyone mistake one for the other.
Maybe it was the clothes. Nick arrived at the block of mostly vacant warehouses in jeans and tiny little tank top that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a hip college kid. Or maybe it was just attitude. The Seer had spent years trying to fade into any background she could, but when Nick entered a room, you knew it.
Her husband herded Kat and Miguel toward the other end of the warehouse, to the bare-bones clinic where Carmen had begun organizing chaos through steely willpower alone. Alec gestured Nick over to the folding table where he’d spread out every cell phone he could get his hands on, along with his list of contacts.
Her frown deepened. “You look like hell, Alec.”
“You’re a ray of sunshine as always, Peyton.”
“I’m not here to blow smoke up your ass. I’m here to help, and I’m starting off by saying you look like you’re barely hanging in there.”
At least one thing in his life hadn’t changed—she was still an obnoxious alpha bitch. The constancy was almost soothing. “I’m trying to figure out how to challenge Cesar Mendoza without ending up with a council seat I don’t want.”
To her credit, she didn’t look surprised. “It’d be tough to pull off, especially if you expected the council to leave you any autonomy in New Orleans. They’d see denying the seat as weakness, for sure.”
“And if I leave another hole in the Southeast council, God knows who’ll fill it, or which one of those bastards will use the advantage to climb over the rest and onto the Conclave.”
“An unenviable position.” She sat on the edge of the table and nodded toward the other side of the cavernous warehouse. “Is that her? Carmen?”
Alec tensed, unsure if the emotion pounding through him was protectiveness or defensiveness. “Yes. That’s Carmen.”
“Damn.” Nick blew out a breath and flashed him a sympathetic look. “Puts you in an even tougher spot.”
Stress made him pissy. “You mean the part where I’m probably going to have to kill my new girlfriend’s uncle?”
It didn’t intimidate her. “Yeah, that part. It’d be hell on a relationship that wasn’t new, but this… This really sucks.”
His life in a nutshell. “Even worse, it’s tomorrow’s problem. Tonight’s problem is that the only safe place for supernaturals to get medical treatment just blew up, and I have no idea if we’ve got enough p
eople to bury the weird details. Like the pool of Franklin’s blood we left behind, or who might have witnessed people dragging him out of the collapsed building.”
“Jackson and I are already on it. You’re not the only one who’s been a busy boy tonight.”
“Two-thirds of the shifters and spell casters in this town make their way through that bar of yours on any given weekend. You spreading the word?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
“As long as it gets done.” One more thing to cross off his mental list. “Does your father know about this yet?”
She bared her teeth in a fierce grin. “Cesar Mendoza can sidestep you all he wants because you’re not the boss of him. Incidentally, my father is.”
John Peyton would come down on Mendoza like a brick wall. Censure would be swift, and punishment would follow. Its severity would depend on how outraged the rest of the Conclave was, and it would be a slow process. It would take time, because if the Conclave loved one thing, it was listening to themselves talk.
Alec didn’t have to wonder where it would end. They’d bicker. They’d fight. John would push for civilization. Some would side with him for favor. Some would oppose him out of pique. The Conclave would fail to find a consensus or present a united front, and whatever sentence they handed down wouldn’t be enough.
The Conclave wouldn’t solve the problem. But they’d keep Cesar busy. They’d keep themselves busy.
He’d use every god damn minute of that time to come up with a way to end this bullshit once and for all.
Nick watched him, her eyes wide and nervous. “You look scary.” Instead of turning it into a joke, she made the observation solemnly. “Alec, don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
For all her dominant tendencies, Nick wouldn’t understand. Her battle had been for a quiet life, the right to live outside her father’s legacy and her society’s rules. She had her people—her tiny little pack—all those faces in the cheerful family photos that lined the walls of Luciano’s ranch. Keeping them safe was her job, and she’d fight for it. She’d kill for it, if she had to.
Alec envied her that clarity. Not even thirty and she’d found her life’s purpose. He was on the wrong side of forty and only starting to realize he’d been hiding from his.
He looked away from Nick, toward the opposite end of the warehouse. The jumble of two-dozen voices made it impossible to sort out one from another, but his gaze found Carmen like she was magnetic north.
The helpless terror he’d felt in her earlier was gone—or so well hidden no one would believe it was there. She’d taken control of the makeshift clinic with the unwavering steel of any good drill sergeant, and people went running in whatever direction she pointed them. Life could knock the woman down as many times as it wanted, and she’d still get up and save the world.
God help him, he wanted to save it with her. For her.
“Alec.” Nick sighed. “Jesus, I hope Cesar Mendoza knows what he’s opened up.”
“Don’t think he could, Peyton.” Alec glanced back at her and smiled. “Because I’m going to do the stupidest thing there is. I’m going to fix our world.”
Carmen dragged her hair back into a sloppy ponytail. “Okay, Miguel. Clark needs help moving equipment out of the storage area and into the finished rooms on this end of the warehouse.”
He hopped off the desk immediately, moving with a grace he hadn’t always possessed. “Got it.”
She turned to Kat, who’d already pulled a sleek silver laptop out of her bag. “I hope you brought your own Wi-Fi, because there are a few things we need to find, and quick. They’re not in the inventory Franklin already stocked, but we need them in the next day or so.”
“I brought everything.” A boxy white MacBook and two tiny netbooks joined the first laptop on the table. “I figured you might need more than one computer online for the next few days, until I can set up something a little more permanent. I’ve got a mobile hotspot. The range isn’t great, but I might be able to boost it enough so that you can get a signal from anywhere in the building.”
“Thanks, Kat.”
Tara waved her cell phone at Carmen. “You said you called Sokolov up in Shreveport, right?”
“That’s right. She’ll be down first thing in the morning.”
“I know a guy who works in anesthesia at Our Lady of the Lake.”
“In Baton Rouge?”
“Yeah. He knows plenty of spells that could come in handy, including one that can slow Franklin’s shifter healing long enough for Dr. Sokolov to operate.”
The only member missing from their specialized OR team. Alec’s partner Jackson had offered to try if they couldn’t find anyone else, but the last thing any of them wanted to do was take chances with Franklin’s well-being. “Offer him whatever he wants if he can be here tomorrow.”
Tara grinned, already dialing. “I’ll talk him into it.”
Carmen slid her hand into her pocket, closing her fingers around the borrowed cell phone there. Kat had handed it over readily, without question, and it was time for Carmen to use it.
The offices that occupied one end of the warehouse had been modified and outfitted as exam rooms or meeting spaces. When she found one with a large desk and a single folding chair, she sat down to dial the number Franklin had given her.
It rang five times before the call connected. Carmen heard rustling, then the sound of a door clicking shut before a quiet, tense voice answered. “Hello?”
“Is this Sera Sinclaire?”
The sound of water filled the background. A shower, maybe, or a sink running. “Kat? Is that you?”
“Kat lent me her phone. My name is Carmen Mendoza. I’m calling because your father’s been hurt.”
Sera’s breath caught. Hard on the heels of the gasp came a protest. “He’s not—if you know Kat, you know…what he is?”
“I know.” Carmen swallowed hard. “I work with Franklin at his clinic.”
“Oh.” Her voice sounded young and afraid. “Is it—how bad is it? Is he going to be okay?”
“He’s all right. Stable. He needs surgery, probably tomorrow.” She hesitated. “Your father told me you live in Arkansas. Can we send someone to pick you up, or—?”
“No!” Something clattered in the background, then paper crinkled. “I’ve got a pen. Give me the address, and I’ll come.”
Carmen rattled off the address she’d already memorized. “If you need help finding it, just call Kat’s phone and someone will answer. I think most of us are going to be here all night.”
“Okay. How did—was it Kat? Did she track me down?”
Lying might have been easier, but Carmen refused to do it. “Your father gave me your number and asked me to call.”
Sera let out a soft breath. “Are you sure he wants to see me?”
A heartbreaking question, and so simple to answer. “I don’t think there’s anything he wants more.”
“Okay.” Relief, for a moment, but tension wreathed the words that followed. “I just need to talk to my husband. I’ll be there by tomorrow morning.”
“Sera.” Instinct—and Alec’s words—prompted Carmen to speak. “If you need help, if you need anything, call us. Please.”
“I will.” A muffled male voice called out in the background, and Sera swore. “I need to go. Tell him I’m on my way, okay?”
“Be safe.” Carmen disconnected the call and rubbed her hands over her face. So much left to do, and all she really wanted to do was hide.
Her uncle, her family. All this pain and destruction, just because Franklin had flouted an authority that wasn’t supposed to extend to him in the first place. And now Alec—
She stomped on the thought, pushing it down with absolute determination as she rose and made her way back down the half-lit hallway. There was no mistaking Alec’s intention; he planned to make sure that nothing like this ever happened in his town again.
His town.
She pushed through the exit and into the
controlled chaos of the main warehouse. Alec still sat at a table near the entrance, talking to Nicole Peyton. Though his glowering had subsided into a sort of quiet thoughtfulness, she didn’t doubt that rage still boiled inside him, high and hot.
He would challenge Cesar and end up with his council seat. He would do it because he had no other recourse, even though he’d lain in her bed only days before and told her that anyone who went up against the Southeast council would die trying to change it.
His town.
He’d survive the first round of challenges, maybe even the first few. But no one could stand alone against an establishment, against so many who wanted to keep things exactly the way they were.
Lady luck favors you if you bring a friend. Or two.
Wesley Dade’s words. Days old, but they echoed in her ear as if he stood beside her now, bringing painful clarity to the core issue at hand—Alec couldn’t change the council, the Conclave, by himself.
Spotters keep count, and the big player drops in to strike while the iron’s hot.
He couldn’t do it alone, but he didn’t have to.
“Carmen?” Alec’s fingers brushed her shoulder, bringing the warmth of worry and protection. “You all right?”
She must have been staring, so lost in thought that she hadn’t even noticed him crossing the warehouse. “I’m fine. I was…I was just thinking about something someone said to me the other day.”
Worry intensified. “What’d they say?”
“That counting cards is a group activity,” she answered absently. “What if you didn’t take on the council alone?”
Alec’s fingers closed on her chin and tilted her head back. “Honey, you’re scaring me more than a little. Do you need to sit down?”
“No, listen.” She grasped his upper arms and looked up at him. “One person they don’t want on the Southeast council? That person’s a target. I’m talking about bringing backup. Majority rule.”
Alec blinked. Frowned. “I’m trying to think of a reason why that wouldn’t work. It feels like it wouldn’t work. It feels…”
“It would take special people, ones you trusted. Ones who wanted to help, not take what you had.”
