Keeping a leash on his own reaction cost him dearly. There were few ways to react to such a challenge, and they all ended in violence or sex — neither of which was an option, not if they both wanted to keep their heads on straight. “I’m the only one left, Zola. The only one who stood by while Tatienne drove you out. And I’ll — I’ll leave as soon as the rest of the pride is settled.”
She recoiled, leaving only the lingering scent of her skin. “You’re asking me to lead.”
A frisson of irritation made him grit his teeth. “Those are your options, Zola. Lead or follow. You can’t stay alone in your territory forever.”
“I don’t—” She bit off the words and paced away from him, leashed energy vibrating with every step. “You haven’t told me enough. Why do you need to come here? Why are there only a half-dozen of you left? My mother had more followers than all of the lions in this country combined.”
The truth was uncomfortable because, willing or not, he’d been a party to it. “She did, and now they’re all dead.”
She reached the far wall and pivoted, meeting his gaze across the space that separated them. “Are you still being hunted?”
“Yes.” Walker waved to the other end of the sofa. “Sit down, and I’ll explain everything.”
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 would look at 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 body-guarding 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 born 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 enraging 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.”