by Moira Rogers
“Straight talk, Alec. What are the chances of solving this without violence?”
The amusement faded. “No idea. Not great.”
“So what do I do?”
“For now? Nothing.” Alec pushed off the counter. “Maybe I’m a cynical old bastard and John Peyton really does have a chokehold on the Conclave’s brutal tendencies. But if I’m not…”
The silence dragged on too long, and Derek finally prompted him. “If you’re not?”
“Then maybe you should be thinking about how far you’re willing to go. Conclave challenges are usually fights to the death.”
Derek closed his eyes. To the death. He tracked Alec’s movements by the soft sound of boots on hardwood as Alec left the kitchen and returned to the basement stairs, which creaked slightly under his weight. The faintest whisper of Nick’s voice drifted in from outside, more tone than words, a soft rise and fall as she talked to Jackson.
To the death. The past week had blurred into a confusing jumble of days, punctuated by fear and frustration, but the clearest moments were Nick. Her body under his hands on her kitchen floor the first time they’d given in to lust. Her laughter as she beat him at poker or destroyed a batch of waffles. How good it felt to run with her on four paws, the earth under their feet and nothing but joy and the chase.
He was no stranger to combat. Alec had insisted on the training at first because pushing his body had been the only way to learn it again when everything had turned upside down. Hard physical labor, endless bouts of sparring, running, weight lifting—anything that would teach him his new limits and weaknesses. In time, he’d started to enjoy it.
None of that answered the question of how far he was willing to go. Maybe it was a question he didn’t need to answer, because an unsettling truth stirred inside him, something born of instincts that had nothing to do with mating and everything to do with brutal, savage possession. His human half could balk at the prospect, but it was already too late. The wolf’s answer was primal and unwavering.
All the way.
Chapter Fourteen
Nick made another turn toward the city and flexed her hands. They ached from gripping the steering wheel too tightly, but she couldn’t relax. Not now.
The hours since Wynne’s unexpected visit had passed in a bizarre haze of worrying and waiting. Alec hadn’t been wrong about the effect of Nick’s declaration on the Conclave. A phone call to Mahalia had revealed that, as expected, Enrica and the Alpha had boarded a plane less than an hour after the psychic’s departure. They’d already touched down in New Orleans, and Nick would have already been at Franklin’s clinic to meet them if custom hadn’t dictated that she make something of a grand entrance.
At least Alec had gone ahead with Luciano. If nothing else, Enrica might be more inclined to listen to reason if she saw for herself that her son was fine instead of having to rely on Wynne’s reports.
Nick exhaled. Derek still had no idea what he was getting himself into, but it couldn’t be helped. All she could do now was try to prepare him as best she could.
And that meant they needed to talk.
She reached a relatively straight stretch of back road and slowed the car. “Derek—”
“Don’t slow down.” His gaze was fixed on the side mirror. “I’m pretty sure we’re being followed.”
The rearview mirror revealed a dark sedan fifty yards back, though it was impossible to see more through the slanting glare of the late-afternoon sun. “How long?”
“I thought I saw them before we hit the highway, but they disappeared. Showed up again half a mile back.”
“It could be nothing.”
Derek shook his head, and nervous power flared between them. “It’s not. I can feel it. We should turn up here and see if they follow.”
“Okay.” She flipped on the signal and held her breath as she watched the car behind them. It did nothing, so she bit her lip, made the turn and sped up again. “Maybe it’s a different car than the one from—”
The sedan turned behind them.
Derek let out his breath and twisted in the seat to reach for the bag he’d brought with him from Alec’s house. “Now it seems kind of stupid that we never discussed if you’re good with guns.”
“I usually hit what I mean to hit.” She thought of the remaining two members of the Conclave tactical team and shuddered. “If it’s one of the guys Enrica sent, it won’t matter—”
The back windshield shattered. Nick ducked, fighting to control the car. Adrenaline surged through her, and she cursed.
She heard the bag tear as Derek ripped off the zipper in his haste to get it open. He pulled out a compact semiautomatic and straightened in his seat. “Let’s hope all the target practice paid off.”
Fear gripped her as another bullet ricocheted off the car with a metallic zing. “I don’t think I can lose him. Not on this road.” Not with the trees so close to the car and no side roads in sight.
Derek rolled down the window and leaned out far enough to get off one careful shot. She heard the bullet hit the other car, but they didn’t slow at all. Derek swore. “How much trouble do they get in if they hurt you?”
“A shit ton.” Nick spotted a road ahead and stomped on the accelerator, counting on the car to perform on par with her reflexes. “But he might not be so worried about that after what went down at Alec’s office.” If he’s still in his right mind at all.
He glanced over his shoulder for a split second. “Can you make that turn up there? That dirt road? I might get a clear shot at them while we’re turning, and I think we need to get out of the car.”
The shaky panic spiked again. “You build houses, Derek, and I’m an accountant who makes a living mixing kamikaze shots. We’re not trained. We’re not soldiers.”
“He’s a badass, but he’s outnumbered.” He fired another shot out the window, and this time she heard glass crack as it shattered the windshield of the car behind them, sending the man swerving across the road.
Even if she didn’t trust herself, she trusted Derek. “Hold on.” She waited until the last possible second to turn, and the car slid and shuddered. The road didn’t look like a driveway, but a “dead end” sign flew past as Nick stepped on the gas again.
Derek fired off three shots in rapid succession as the other car careened around the corner and hit the brakes. Metal sparked behind them, and she heard the sound of breaking glass and a screeching noise as a tire blew and the car’s bumper scraped the road.
“Shit.” Nick barely looked at the road in time to spot a fallen tree leaning across it. She managed to avoid it, but the man following them slammed into it.
“Have you got room to whip around?”
“No.” The road had widened, but not nearly enough. Still, they were on dirt, so she hit the brakes anyway and jerked the wheel.
They narrowly avoided two more trees, and the back end of the car skidded wildly before stabilizing. By the time they came to a stop, facing the opposite direction, Derek had his door open. He tumbled out, the gun still in his hand.
“Derek—” She scrambled out, dust burning her eyes and lungs, to shout a warning, but the man behind the wheel of the sedan was still. “Be careful.”
Derek reached the crumpled car and nearly wrenched off the passenger side door. He dragged the barely conscious man across the seats and dumped him onto the ground with a low snarl. “Is there a pressing reason why I can’t shoot him in the head?”
Nick grabbed his arm. “We need to talk to him. Unless you know a good medium, that’ll be hard to do if he’s dead.”
His fingers tightened around the gun. “I bet I could find one.”
“Derek, we don’t have time.”
“You’re right.” Derek swung the gun down to point at the man’s knee and nudged him in the side. When he stirred and opened his eyes, Derek smiled coldly. “The lady wants to ask you some questions. Start talking or I’m going to shoot pieces off of you.”
Nick took a deep breat
h. Enrica could have gone rogue and sent him after her, but it was unlikely. Not only would it jeopardize everything the woman had worked for, but she had nothing to gain by the action. Which meant the man on the ground was operating on someone else’s orders…or was just out for revenge. “Where’s your other buddy? The one who made it out with you?”
His eyes rolled back in his head, and ragged laughter spilled out of him. “No one made it out. No one’s making it out. Just tell your mutt to shoot me.”
Her blood chilled. “No one’s shooting anybody.”
“Not ruling it out,” Derek muttered. “He sounds cracked.”
“Cracked.” The man laughed again. “You should know. You and your psychic bitch.”
“Shut up.” Nick glanced at Derek. “Put him in the trunk. We’re taking him to the meeting with us.”
Derek was breathing heavily. A hint of the wolf stared out of his eyes as he lowered the pistol. “He’s talking about Kat.”
“Yes, he’s talking about Kat.” Her suspicion had been right. The man was out of his head, and the whole chase suddenly made sense. No one who’d been trained by the Conclave could have been bested by her driving.
“He’s going to go back to the Conclave and keep talking about Kat.”
Could he really think it would be the first they’d heard of her? “The Conclave already knows about Kat, Derek. Just like they know about Jackson and Mahalia and you and everyone else who has anything to do with me or Alec. They know.”
He trembled. “They can’t know what she’s capable of. I didn’t know what she was capable of. I didn’t know she could…”
Their captive bared his teeth in a challenging grin. “Scrape out a man’s brains and stick ’em back in backwards? I’ll tell them. I’ll tell everyone if you don’t shoot me.”
Nick closed her hand around the gun, her pulse racing. “He doesn’t want to go back to the Conclave and face my father. That’s why he’s saying this.”
“I know.” It was barely a whisper. He let go of the gun, but leaned down and pulled the man to his feet before throwing him against the side of the car. “So help me God, if you do anything to put my family or my friends in danger again, you’re going to wish her father had taken you apart piece by piece.”
Nick situated her finger on the gun’s trigger and stepped back. “I have some chain in the trunk.”
“Don’t do it. Shoot me. Shoot me or I’m going to—” The man’s voice cut off as Derek dragged him away from the car and slammed him back into it hard enough to knock him unconscious.
Nick could barely feel the weight of the steel still clenched in her hand. “Get him in the trunk.” She was anxious to begin negotiations. During that process, at least, Michelle and Aaron would be safe, their lives guarded by the honor and word of the Conclave.
She longed to see her father. Even if the burden of saving Michelle’s family had to rest on her, simply being near his solid strength would help. He couldn’t officially interfere, but he could advise her. He could be there.
She just had to hold it together until then.
***
Derek had been to Franklin’s small clinic a dozen times since he’d become a shapeshifter. The building was tucked away from heavily trafficked streets and seemed unremarkable from the outside. The clinic provided free care to walk-in patients and was reputedly run on the donations of several rich beneficiaries who preferred to remain nameless.
Like most supernaturals in New Orleans, Derek knew the truth. Whatever stream of revenue kept the clinic’s doors open was supernatural in nature, as were a large number of the patients who visited on any given day. Mixed in with the human staff were a number of psychics, witches and shapeshifters who treated their kind discreetly, regardless of affiliation.
It was neutral ground. Franklin permitted no feuds or political distinction inside the walls of his domain. And his domain it was, no matter how often he protested that he just kept things running. Within the four walls of the clinic, his word was the law, and the law was peace.
Franklin met them on the sidewalk outside with a smile and a short nod. “Your dad’s already here, Nick. I put him and Mrs. Maglieri in the conference room.”
“Thanks, Franklin.” She was pale even in the heat, and her hands trembled as she tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’d better not keep them waiting.”
The conference room was oblong and ran the length of the back of the building. Inside its pale blue walls was a long table. Only three chairs sat at it now.
Derek paused just inside the door out of instinct, standing with Franklin as Nick crossed the room on her own. Standing on the opposite side of the table were two wolves whose power screamed danger though they stood quietly.
He didn’t know what he’d expected when he’d envisioned Nick’s father, but it certainly wasn’t the man he saw. John Wesley Peyton rivaled Derek’s height, but he was as wide as Aaron through the shoulders and even more intimidating. The woman next to him—presumably Luciano’s mother—seemed slight in comparison. Nick looked outright tiny.
But what Luciano’s mother lacked in physical presence she made up for with a cool air of confidence. It was clear she considered herself the equal or better of every person in the room, up to and including the Alpha, and she barely spared Derek a glance.
Nick’s father, however, stared at him. He could feel the Alpha’s calculating assessment, and it was then he realized how strongly Nick carried his scent.
So much for subtle. He’d never have another chance to make a first impression—a good impression—and it took him a moment to remember it hardly mattered. Nick’s father had probably compiled a file on him the first time he’d stepped into Nick’s bar. There was no chance to make any impression at all. He’d been judged long ago and found unsuitable.
It had never seemed like such an insurmountable barrier before.
“Nicole.” Her father held out his hand.
“Hi, Daddy.” She took it, and he enfolded her in a quick hug. When she pulled away, she blinked hard. “Thank you for meeting me, Enrica.”
The woman nodded once.
Nick went on. “I brought a peace offering. One of surviving men from—”
Franklin cleared his throat quietly behind him, and Derek turned to see that Luciano had joined him at the back of the room. “Nick, your father and Enrica thought it would be best if Luke and Derek waited in my office while you three have your talk. That agreeable to you?”
Stricken, she stared at her father, who met her disbelieving look with an impassive expression. “I…” She turned her gaze to Derek, an apology in her dark eyes. “If that’s what they prefer.”
Derek tried to smile. “It’s okay. I’ll wait for you.”
The two older wolves seemed surprised he’d spoken, and Luciano cleared his throat. “Come on, Gabriel. They have things to figure out.”
He couldn’t turn away, not with Nick staring at him with guilt and pain in her eyes. Two steps back took him out of the room, and Franklin murmured an apology as he pulled the door shut behind them.
The walls were soundproof. Either that, or the three wolves on the other side were staring at each other in silence. Whatever the case, Franklin didn’t give Derek a chance to brood on it. He nodded toward a door on the other side of the hallway. “There’s a couch in there and a minifridge with some drinks. Make yourselves comfortable. This could take awhile.”
Luciano walked into the office, pausing only briefly before bending down to inspect the contents of the small refrigerator. “Want a beer?”
“God, yes.” The office door whispered shut with a soft click as Derek sank to the couch. “Was I not supposed to open my mouth in front of the Alpha?”
“Don’t take it personally.” Luciano tossed him a can and popped the top on one of his own. “I’m not allowed to speak, either.”
“Jesus.” For the first time, Derek forced himself consider the kind of life Luciano had obviously led. Derek might have lost his par
ents, but he’d been an adult with a couple decades of parental adoration and approval behind him. He’d never had to wonder if his family might turn on him for political gain.
A few days ago sympathy for Luciano would have seemed impossible, but there was no mistaking the uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. He looked at Luciano and saw the man’s tense expression ease into wry amusement. “Don’t feel bad for me over something stupid like that. You want to pity me? Do it because I have even less of a chance than you do of ever being with the woman I love.”
Derek had almost forgotten the entire reason Nick trusted Luciano. “Has Michelle’s life always been this…” He groped for the right word. “Complicated?”
Luciano stared down into his beer. “Michelle’s got it pretty good. They’ve kept Seers in cages before, or under heavy sedation. Killed a lot of them if they seemed particularly unstable.”
The words were bleak. Tired. Derek had known the reality of Michelle’s life intellectually from the moment she’d shown up at Nick’s bar, but there hadn’t been time to understand. The most primal part of him felt the strange, terrifying power every time she entered a room. She was different, unnatural on a level it shamed him to consider. But if even he felt it…
Luciano’s silent hopelessness was more telling than a thousand passionate words. With nothing filling the tense quiet of the office, Derek finally faced the one truth he’d been fighting all along. “They’re not going to let her and Aaron go, are they? Nothing Nick can say or do will make that happen.”
“Let them go where?” Luciano ran a rough hand through his hair, leaving it hanging over his forehead in disarray. “There’s nowhere for someone like Michelle to go.”
Instinct told him Luciano was telling the truth—or thought he was. Which left only one question. “Then what is Nick trying to do?”
“She’s trying to make sure Michelle doesn’t end up dead or in a cage. If they—” He sat next to Derek. “If the Conclave agrees, someone can be responsible for her. Sort of like a—a keeper.”
